Look! Baby robins in a tree just outside where I work!
Look at their adorable little eyes!
and their ugly little faces!
Look at how you can't see their mama about to dive-bomb my head!
At this point, Thursdays are gorgeous by definition.
I don't have to go into work until noon - which even with my long drive, means I don't need to be walking out the door until 11. "Sleeping in" at this point mostly means sleeping until 7:15 - 7:30 am. This is usually because the cat, realizing that she and Jason are both awake, becomes concerned that I am not also awake and stands over my head meowing until I open my eyes. Then I smell whatever breakfast Jason made for himself, because our apartment is a shoebox and the kitchen is like ten feet from the bedroom. That wakes my stomach up instantly, and of course the rest of me follows wheresoever the stomach shall lead.
This morning, though, it wasn't his cooking. I woke up sneezing four times in a row at 6:45, and once you've had that sort of traumatic wakeup, there ain't no goin' back to sleep.
I will say the cat seemed a touch disappointed that she didn't get to be my annoying rooster-kitty this morning.
Because pet ownership is wonderful, except for the part where they are little furry alarm clocks and there isn't a snooze button.
I tell myself that having kids will be so much different.
For one thing, kids aren't furry except in very specific circumstances.
Also it takes them a whole lot longer to figure out how to jump on the bed.
These birds come and eat mulberries outside the gift shop window at work.
This is the most in-focus photo I was able to get before they flew around.
Notice how it's not focused on the bird at all? Exactly my point.
Stupid smart birds who didn't want their picture taken.
Book-wise, I both lied and did not lie about my next reading plans. I totally did read that book on Krakatoa, but not until after I read a book on Jim Jones and the horrors at Jonestown. Those books were both such heavy reads, though, in such different ways, that my brain feels about nonfiction'd out.
I'm ready to bury my head in magazines and breezy things for however long it takes to reset back to my usual "MUST LEARN ABOUT THE WORLD" brain-place.
Jason and I are a couple of weeks out from going into super-high-gear when it comes to house-hunting. We're sending out the serious preliminary e-mails now. We are both so ready to be homeowners. Our apartment complex has not been a bad place to live, but we have lived in apartments for years and it's just time to have a place where we can paint the walls and maybe not have carpet in every room but the kitchen. I am so done with beige carpet. I am just so done with beige.
As God as my witness, I will never have beige carpet again!
Seems like an appropriate subject to have Scarlett O'Hara levels of emotion about, right?
Ah, let's not kid ourselves. It's not like any of you are surprised I feel that strong about beige.
I have Scarlett O'Hara levels of emotion about literally everything.
Sometimes I care so much about how good my coffee is I tear up a little.
And sometimes I have pictures of baby birds that are so cute I post an entire rambling, silly blog post just to give myself an excuse to stick pictures of birds in there for you to see.
Look at their little beaks!
and their little feathers!
Look at how duck mamas don't dive-bomb you when you take pictures of their babies!
Okay, so you can't see that part. Just trust me. They don't.
Although, if you think about it, not a single part of the actual post that I expressly sat down to write so that I could put up those pictures of birds... not a word of it actually had anything at all to do with birds.
I'll leave you to it.