The air is turned down a bit lower than it should be, the bean soup is boiling on the stove, and I’m drinking the hottest of coffee. I vacuumed the floor, I folded some laundry, and I balled up (another) watermelon. I’ve had a migraine on and off for the past several days and I’m trying to not think about the migraine that lasted nearly half of last year’s summer, although something very good came out of that migraine and that something was this pair of shoes:
(I haven’t worn them since September, and I believe I will change that status before the month is over.)
Noteworthy: This particular migraine is making my fingertips especially sensitive to textures like towels, bed sheets, Henry the dog, and paper. If you were in the same room with me right now, you would probably be thinking, “Hrm. I wish I wasn’t in the same room with her right now.” Permission to leave? Granted! I hold no prisoners here, but I do feel the need to remind you that we’re going to be having bean soup. You might want to stick around.
Sometimes it’s raining and Henry the dog won’t stop barking and I pull up my Photo Booth app to capture my feelings photographically and I don’t really mind the filter that the most recent person was using, yet all of a sudden I look like I’m bleeding out of the corner of my eye, but it doesn’t bother me because I think bloody eyes (and the absence of eyebrows) don’t matter when skin is bright and green. (My hair is so long! It will be cut on Wednesday and then it will look even longer because I know a lady named Erin who is a wizard! Have I told you that it (meaning my hair) actually blows in the wind now? It blows in the wind along with The Answer, my friend! How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died, Bob Dylan?!)
My FB feed has been filled with racist sentiments from some surprising (but mostly not so surprising) people over the past week and I might could partially blame my migraine on my own inability to understand why people say and do what they say and do. (“Might could” is a phrase I learned while living in Nashville. I hate it, but I mostly love it.) This morning one of my imaginary friends posted something particularly insensitive and disgusting. Their post was followed by a post from a woman in my Tour de Fleece group:
The yarn is lovely, and the final sentence of her status update was perfect in so many ways.