potage de cygnoir

Today I spotted new growth on our hyacinth bulb and Christmas cactus, and marveled at how an unassuming corner of the kitchen one day can suddenly burst.

That metaphor can go either way, from the exhilarating makeover of a once-plain person to an outburst of violence from a shy and retiring character.

I am neutral today, so either fits.

Tonight Judith and I turned the corner on our walk home and I yelled “holy crap!” because I did not expect to see that. I fumbled with my iPhone and here is the result.

I wonder when I will start expecting to see it, and if that expectation will mean that I am a little more at home.

Today was one of those all-around stellar days marred only a little by a nagging health issue (surprise surprise). Volunteering was just about perfect, with the added bonus of a conversation about personal productivity tools that made me very, very enthused and also curious if this is something I should be pursuing professionally while the library job market does its … adjustments.

A quick dash home and then back out again to meet Judith at the hair salon to take advantage of their bring a friend, get a haircut at half-price deal. It started to snow while we were inside, but we made it down to Wagamama for noodles without losing our Bond-girl blowouts, to paraphrase J.

We took a different route home, which helped me sort out another piece of the old mental map. It was a brisk single degree as Judith told me about the cherry blossoms and daffodils and crocuses that will appear all over the city in just a few short months. That tiny prediction made me suddenly and absurdly happy.

Hope is like that, I guess.

I really shot myself in the foot with the 500 words a day challenge. Between homework, slush reading, and Project 365, the storytelling part of my brain is exhausted before I even sit down to write. My offline journal has suffered as a result; I’m settling for the little notes I leave in Moodscope each day. But that’s not exactly cathartic writing, and it sure as hell isn’t helping me finish a short story.

I’ve fallen into the old trap of meta-living.

The tiny pig was adamant. Her new tarot deck had just arrived, and she could tell my future in her cards.

Who was I to argue?

• Present: Strength, reversed.
• Immediate challenge: Nine of Pentacles.
• Distant past: Knight of Swords.
• Recent past: Nine of Swords.
• Best outcome: Eight of Swords.
• Immediate future: Ten of Pentacles.
• Factors affecting this situation: Four of Pentacles.
• External influences: Three of Pentacles.
• Hopes and fears: Five of Pentacles.
• Final outcome: Queen of Cups.

That’s as far as the pig got. She is still learning how to interpret the cards. And needs to shuffle better.

My presentation went off the rails. I actually said “dire repercussions to the fabric of space-time.”

The day started out great. I woke up on time and got settled in front of my computer and new SAD light. During the fifteen-minute treatment at 50% strength, I felt pretty good, and immediately afterwards I was energized and excited about craft day later in the afternoon.

Less than an hour later, I was nauseous, headachy, and the energized feeling had worn off into a bad caffeine buzz feeling.

So no crafts for me, just grocery shopping and homework and a little crying in between those two because … well, no real “because”. I guess that is why they call it a disorder. Sadness for no reason is lame.

With the day I’ve had, talking about the fabric of the space-time continuum was a pretty logical endpoint.

So we’ll try the SAD light again tomorrow at 25%.