I feel fuzzy. Not fuzzy in a good way - like an old teddy - but fuzzy in an elderly way - like my brain doesn't quite work. It's cold outside and my car is broken. It announced its brokeness when my fella and I were on our way to spend our last shekels on some groceries. It's the front brakes according to the fella. We got the groceries and got it home and here it will sit until Monday when I'll take it to the local wonderkind at the Toy Box - the garage. Meanwhile I'll sit befuddled with how things seem to me today. My computer - the new one that is - just popped off this morning and it took some fiddling about to get it back on. The dog's ears look askew. Have I landed in an alternative universe?
We couldn't find reasonable cheddar.
There is a photo in the Saturday Globe & Mail illustrating a book review about a book called Mad Women about a 'real life Peggy Olson who made it big in advertising. Only the picture is of various Mad Men and Joan Harris (yep, the sexy one). I find this highly irritating. Or I might if my brain didn't feel so fuzzy.
I want to go see The Hunger Games but I sort of kind of find youth well, you know, kind of euwhhhh right now and they might be there.
I don't want to work on my one-page synopsis though I did make a date with my editor friend for us to spend 2 hours hammering it out on Monday (if I have a car that is).
A bunch of us are getting together to fete my writing pal, Gwen, for the birthday she had between Africa and home - she just told me she'd come and get me as I am somewhat trapped. That's a nice thing.
Maybe I'll knit.
Yes, I'll do that. Just like a fuzzy old woman would.