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Stealth post, so I'll be brief:
Digit the Cat has returned, and he's a bit scuffed up. Of course you'll read the details here, but 2 inch foxtail, people. Anyway- my boss is giving me the side-eye of doom, so go read, and then open your virtual paypal wallet. You might win something.
Have a great weekend!
Still no computer. And with what summer camp costs, won't get one for some time. Sheezy beezy, people: summer camp is expensive.
No knitting at all. I wonder if not blogging keeps me from knitting. Or it's probably lack of inspiration: I went through all my pattern books and old magazines and nothing inspires me. So I'm catching up on my reading (currently Kafka on the Shore).
One of my busy-making tasks at work is to file away business cards. This is so boring that a few times I've actually nodded off, starting awake when the phone rings. Luckily I haven't been caught at it. So now I do it no more than five minutes at a time, and I sing Led Zeppelin songs to myself to try to stay awake. Hence the title of the post.
Enough randomness for now. Catch ya later.
Serioulsy. That's how my story begins. It was dark and stormy on June 12th 1967 and my mom hopped on a bus to deliver me in Kings County Hospital, because my father was freaking out so much my mom refused to get in the car with him.
Today I turn forty. How do I feel about that? Eh. That's not a bad eh. Just a not-a-whole-lot-different-than-39 eh. Let's talk at fifty.
Forty ain't bad. It feels slightly weird saying it... but it doesn't feel bad being it. I kinda like who I am; 20-year-old Iris had a hard time leaving "teen" behind (there's a story for you) but today's Iris likes being mature. Only I'm totally not, but simply by virtue of being forty years old, people will presume that I am mature.
I was hoping my divorce would be final by now, only there was a delay in paperwork. I would've loved to be divorced and forty in the same month; I'll settle for the same year. W'ever*. I'll be out celebrating my fortieshness with friends, and pretty much doing what 39-year-old Iris was doing. But certainly not what 20-year-old Iris was doing. Noooo. I don't think my liver could handle it.
*People attempting to show how mature they are should not quote Kappa MIkey in their posts. Just sayin'.
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