I was a busy girl last night; I was actually far more productive than I thought I could be. For months, my kitchen table has been largely hidden by piles of old stuff from school, bills that I’ve paid but not filed, and notes for pieces I plan to write but haven’t gotten to yet. Mixed in there was also a heavy smattering of random crap, including sixteen dollars in American bills: guess I forgot about those. The counter beside my stand mixer and the top of my art deco cabinet were in a similar sad state. I became a woman of action.
Last night, on a Saturday when I could have been out having fun, I got my kitchen together. It really wasn’t a priority until school went back in last week, since I need the table to do my marking. My desk and printer and all that are in the back bedroom, but the light is better in the kitchen and I get to sit beside an open window while I slave away. Today, I have turned my strut on: I am feeling very accomplished because I decided to fix the kitchen up, and (ta-dah!) I fixed it up with gusto. I also found a bunch of things I need for work, so tackling the kitchen was a wise choice all around.
After I polished the table (with Pledge, because why do something if you’re only going to do it partway) I had a bubble bath with The Book Thief. Note the italics. Those indicate that I was in the tub with a published piece of fiction, not a kleptomaniac with a love for literature. I decided to teach it as my main grade 9 novel this year after some colleagues gave it rave reviews, and I’m making a point of reading it early so I can get resources together to teach the thing. Good news: it’s phenomenal young adult fiction. Not good news: I got sucked in, and read in my cosy bed last night until well after I should have turned out the light. I won’t state the exact time, but it rhymed with “free.”
Needless to say, I was looking forward to a fabulous Sunday sleep in today. I imagined dreaming under the duvet with a morning breeze flowing in the open window and the songs of happy birds on the wind. I fantasized about staying in bed as late as I wanted to, particularly because tomorrow is Monday and Monday means a date with my stupid alarm clock.
Unfortunately, at about seven minutes after eight this morning, I started having a dream about an evil creature that hauled itself out of a swamp. This creature had hot, murky breath, and tortured its victims by tasting them all over before killing them with toxic flatulence and starting the actual ingestion. When he started licking me, making sure I was appropriately seasoned, I realized I was in for it and knew the only way to escape the nightmare was to wake up.
It didn’t exactly work.
Apparently Sherman’s sleep schedule, which was beautifully set at “summer” has already shifted over to the sorrowful schedule that is “school year.” The speckled one was up, hungry, and ready for the day, regardless of how late his momma tidied and read last night. Dog owners know that, “Go lie down” does not work on a pup who wants his breakfast and needs to drain his reservoir.
I was a good mammal momma. I hauled my sorry carcass out of my (wonderful, glorious, cosy) bed, and let the dog out. Leroy was clearly ready for breakfast, although he generally won’t turn down food at any time of the day, so I kibbled him and the dog. After Sherman had finished all the things he needed to do outside, I brought him back in, put him in his kennel for safekeeping and went back to bed.
I won’t tell you what time I slept until, but it rhymes with “almost fun.”
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