canast-y

My hair deserves a certificate of achievement today.

DUDES HERE’S THE DEAL: I had PMS yesterday. I slammed my thumb in my desk drawer and almost started crying, and that almost-crying continued for three hours thereafter. In the interim, I renovated my closet.

It began as packing; I discovered I have probably 47 pairs of capris and an equal number of tshirts with obscure quotes on them, not to mention 12 more pairs of flipflops than I estimated. I’m pretty much set for the cruise. Since I was in there, I decided to expand my closet-delving efforts into adding to the donation pile, which is threatening to take over my bedroom.

You’d think that PMS would be a terrible time to be sorting-through and trying-on clothes, but it’s actually perfect. One becomes ruthlessly nonsentimental. It’s also kind of freeing to get rid of a pair of pants you hated for not being a size 8 when you were at your thinnest and not-coincidentally most self-hating time. I ended up with two more trash bags full of clothes, and a hell of a lot more closet space.

Anyway, I’m very glad I skipped fightingknitting last night. For one, because it would’ve probably turned into the non-struckthrough version of the same, and also because there were only two things in the entire universe that could’ve possibly gotten me to exit my domicile once I removed my pants:

• a fire AND a tornado AND a giant centipede infestation, all at the same time.
• a personal escort from the entire Gopher hockey team.

Prior to the pants-removal, I stopped at the vet to pick up Optimus Prime’s meds (my cats have all been renamed at this point; the others are Number Two and Larry). The office recently moved next door to its old location in St Louis Park, and I see why my bill is 3.2 billion dollars every single time I visit: it’s gorgeous now. I’ve seen less-fancy ultralounges in Vegas. There’s a wall of pristine white ‘cat condos’, Asian-inspired wooden benches, pedestals topped with fluffy beds, and a flatscreen TV set into the wall in the lobby, playing videos for cats, starring fluttering birds and many varieties of tiny rodents. It’s like the vet decided to validate every crazy cat lady’s fantasy; it’s fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

Anyway, I was going to write more about Monday and my plans for tonight (to sit on the couch with Matt, which will be rare and glorious; perhaps we will even find a good reason to celebrate), but since I’m here late today, I’m going to go spend my lunch-hour at Target. Hot.

Not to rub it in or anything, but in exactly two weeks from this moment, I’ll be snorkeling in St Thomas. AWESOME.

Jenni