I found out yesterday that Crocs makes a ballerina flat. And it comes in seafoam, celery, and SILVER. Why do I find this irresistable? Especially the part where they can basically be rinsed out at the end of the day and still look decent. Can't say that for my Danskos, no matter how much I love them. My mom keeps telling me to go use the gift certificate she got me for my birthday, but who wants to get a pedicure when you're still wearing cold weather shoes? I say this, but I'm already breaking in a pair of sandals I got at Marshall's last week in hopes that the weather will warm up just a wee bit more and I can actually show my toes some sunshine in the near future.
I'm at home on my Thursday, as usual, practicing some music for a concert I have in two days and working on the paper. I wish there were only one paper, but for the moment there is only THE paper for seminar that has been plaguing me for at least a month and a half and the part where my teacher re-tooled my topic two days ago makes me more than just a little bit nervous. So I'm starting over, I've written six pages of the 18 she expects to receive in two weeks, and I'm just going to hope for the best.
The mailman comes into the foyer of our house to deliver the mail to us and our landlord, who lives directly above. He stands there sorting the junk mail and the advertisements and the bills, trying to make sure everything goes in the right place, and Sam being the very good watchdog that he is, goes up and growls at the mail slot. When the rubberband-bound pile of junk comes through the slot, he circles it, growls at it once more for good measure, and gives it the deep-tissue sniff (as we call it around here). No one would ever call Sam ferocious but I tell you what, he can growl and sniff with the best of them. Good Sam. You growl at that junk mail.
I had another dream last night - this time I was in the last performance of Don Pasquale, none of my costume pieces were to be found, my props were not in their proper places, and I managed to not come on correctly in a single place. Halfway through this dream I said to myself, "What happened to my aria?" I know that I have anxiety about sucking on stage, but when it reaches into my subconscious mind, that's just going a little too far. Two more weeks and the semester is over. I must keep telling myself this.
Why can't I have normal anxiety dreams about being naked in front of the class or something?
2 comments:
because if you were naked in front of something it wouldn't be a class
Dixie has developed a great set of lungs, and there is much consternation in the neighborhood as to what breed our "other dog" must be as Dixie is so affable and timid in public.
She's big on the "deep tissue sniff", too, which I think is a fantastic descriptive term for that particular act.
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