This was one of those weekends that leave me feeling less rested on Monday morning than I did on Friday morning. Well, maybe it's not quite that bad, but I could definitely do with another day of weekend. I think I get that feeling most often when we go out and about more than usual. (I am a homebody at heart.) Saturday, we spent most of the afternoon out shopping. At least it wasn't a fruitless excursion-- if nothing else, we found Donald a couple nice, new pair of shoes (at sale price!) for work, to replace an old pair at the end of its miles-- but it still doesn't feel like a proper Saturday when you have to compete with crowds and long lines in shops.
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Hm. What more is there to say? So much of what I can think of-- what's presently on my mind-- isn't likely to interest anyone, including myself. It's mostly a list of things I need to do today. Laundry, for instance, as well as some general house-cleaning. And more important than those tasks-- going through a pile of papers and sorting things into piles: stuff to file, stuff to toss, stuff to discuss with Donald (to decide whether to keep or toss), and bills-- which I really, really hope aren't too close to being due. Piles of paper stress me, precisely because I'm worried I'll forget a bill that's due. It's surprising, really, how often I still allow things to pile up, considering that it does stress me out to have stacks of paper that grow by the day.
One might also wonder, in this age of automatic billing, why I don't simply have all our bills paid, well, automatically. We do take advantage of that service in one or two cases, but I guess I'm not completely up with the times. We've progressed past the point of paying with checks from our check book, as we did back when we were just married, but we still haven't reached the level of technological dependence that we let the computers handle everything for us. Not quite yet. ;o) (This is largely because I feel that if I didn't have to look at bills in order to pay them, I wouldn't examine them closely enough.)
So. Shall I next describe for you in depth my process for sorting laundry? (g) No? Well, you're probably right. Have to leave something to write about another day. . .
One might also wonder, in this age of automatic billing, why I don't simply have all our bills paid, well, automatically. We do take advantage of that service in one or two cases, but I guess I'm not completely up with the times. We've progressed past the point of paying with checks from our check book, as we did back when we were just married, but we still haven't reached the level of technological dependence that we let the computers handle everything for us. Not quite yet. ;o) (This is largely because I feel that if I didn't have to look at bills in order to pay them, I wouldn't examine them closely enough.)
So. Shall I next describe for you in depth my process for sorting laundry? (g) No? Well, you're probably right. Have to leave something to write about another day. . .
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I've been re-watching my way through Wives and Daughters again, a bit at a time. It's better than I remembered, though there have been several times I'd have liked to reach through the screen and slap someone. I suppose I'll have to watch North and South (the Gaskell one-- not that Civil War thing from the 80s (g)) again, next, though from what I remember of that one, I expect to find it at times a dreary process. From what I recall, those characters behave even more maddeningly-- and there's also the whole "social issue" aspect of the series. Yes, yes, I suppose authors like to have something of substance in their novels, but some of them manage to do it without making you feel you're being preached to-- and honestly, I am either annoyed or bored when those things encroach too far in my entertainment. (I probably sound like a thoroughly spoiled little brat, but I don't care. :oP)
Speaking of irritation in the form of "entertainment"-- though it's hardly my only complaint with the show, I'm exasperated by the frequent mention of "this economy" in the last two episodes of Desperate Housewives*. I could almost hear the writers: "See how current-- how relevant we are? We feel your pain! Truly, there is no disconnect between the Hollywood elite and you commoners stranded in the cultural wasteland between L.A. and New York." (Not that the Hollywood elite would like the insinuation that they have anything to do with Desperate Housewives. (g) But you get the point.) Of course, nothing on that program should surprise me, at this point. I haven't yet forgotten the episode in which the neighborhood had a whole day's warning of the approach of one specific tornado-- a tornado, not a hurricane. People had time to tape their windows and make leisurely plans about where they would weather the storm. I don't know if they meant it to be funny, but it certainly was!
*Now that I've admitted to still watching that silly, silly show, I need hide nothing from you, my faithful readers, for what confession could be more shameful? ;o)
Speaking of irritation in the form of "entertainment"-- though it's hardly my only complaint with the show, I'm exasperated by the frequent mention of "this economy" in the last two episodes of Desperate Housewives*. I could almost hear the writers: "See how current-- how relevant we are? We feel your pain! Truly, there is no disconnect between the Hollywood elite and you commoners stranded in the cultural wasteland between L.A. and New York." (Not that the Hollywood elite would like the insinuation that they have anything to do with Desperate Housewives. (g) But you get the point.) Of course, nothing on that program should surprise me, at this point. I haven't yet forgotten the episode in which the neighborhood had a whole day's warning of the approach of one specific tornado-- a tornado, not a hurricane. People had time to tape their windows and make leisurely plans about where they would weather the storm. I don't know if they meant it to be funny, but it certainly was!
*Now that I've admitted to still watching that silly, silly show, I need hide nothing from you, my faithful readers, for what confession could be more shameful? ;o)
