Sundays are my least favorite day. There's no mail to look forward to. Television sinks to its most inane (no Bones reruns). Once upon a time, in life number one, they were hellish because of crushing hangovers that I couldn't complain about and had to muscle through doing all kinds of chores to show how sane and happy I was. Earlier, Sunday meant an hour cringing in a pew at St. Sebastian's, hoping my German grandmother would not notice when I rested my butt against the seat to take the weight off my knees on the tortuous, unpadded kneelers. So, today, I slept in till noon. Felt just fine, actually. The dogs and I had a leisurely brunch of pancakes with apricot (sugar-free) spread, walnuts, cinnamon and Cool Whip, with a cup of steaming Sumatra on the side. Then I headed out to the sensibly timed meeting at 2PM, then to Costco for tapioca pudding, among other things. Have been thinking. Most people are not beautiful. I looked for them while plying the aisles, and found two possible candidates, both young women, both blond, neither one particularly happy, and you would think beauty would be a cause for continuous joy, wouldn't it? Oh, well, I bought the dogs another bed, this time a huge fleecy cushion that I can throw down beside the bed so they have somewhere to go when they get kicked off of it in the night for fidgeting. Everyone needs a nice fleecy place to lay down, I think. Yes, I'm rambling here. It's that kind of day. It's 5:30. Think that is too early to curl up in bed with a mystery novel and International French Vanilla Coffee? Yeah, probably.
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