This morning I was awoken at eight-thirty (eight-thirty!!!) by the BOM BOM BOM of horrible tweenage music. As I lay there, a war broke out within my soul. Part of me, the old, crochety twenty-six year old swore up and down we were going to go down there and kick in the door and break whatever CD was in the machine THAT INSTANT. Then the twelve-year old part of me reminded me how annoying we used to be when we were twelve and listened to "Phantom of the Opera" over and over and over again at top volume and how no one had ever threatened to take our cassette and pull the threads out until there was nothing left but a shining pile of innards. Yes, I said, but did we listen to Phantom at EIGHT THIRTY IN THE BLOODY MORNING?! Luckily for all involved, sanity prevailed and no doors were kicked in. But I have a sneaking suspicion today's music may have been something along the lines of "High School Musical" in which case it might have been kinder to commence door kicking/CD shattering, etc. Arg.
So, fully awake at eight thirty I proceeded to:
A. Finish my jacket (yay! It looks really cool!)
B. Watch some more "Boondocks"
C. Do yoga.
D. Make pancakes and coffee from beans (and this time I think I got the amount right so my coffee was merely "strong" as opposed to "espresso injected directly into your soul")
E. Work on "Bell Hollee" for four hours, pausing briefly to discover that the house where Nelson got married to Frances is now a destination for honeymooners.*
And now it's quarter to four and I think it's time I got out of my pajamas and braved the shattering cold to get some quesadilla stuff. I has a craving.
I love Sunday.
*Ow! Historical irony brick! HAHAHAHAHAHA!