Meanderings: September 16, 1999

Thursday,
September 16, 1999

Good Lord. I don't know what was wrong with me yesterday (unless it was a combination of PMS and jet lag) but I went home and slept for fourteen hours. At least it seems to have done the trick -- I'm feeling a hell of a lot better today, so it's time for an entry of the proper length

First off, it's time to play Embarrassing Pics, the game that ensures you will become famous one day just so that the papparazzi can drag out old, squirm-inducing shots of you from your dim, dark past and make you want to drive off a cliff alá Thelma and Louise!

Today's entry is, in fact, hot off the Polaroid roller, as it was taken by the Bodacious Brit yesterday morning while he was testing 20-year-old flashbulbs on his antique SX70. As you can see, I had just gotten up for the morning, and was swathed in my elegant pegnoir while I blearily paged through my email. What you can't see in this saucy little photo is the fact that I was blinded for 30 seconds afterwards as a result of having a flashgun go off a foot from my sleep-encrusted eyes. Whee!

Oh, and I do usually brush my hair, honest. More shots next week!

Last night I was a very, very naughty girl. I should have spent much more time working on "Raising Beauty" (although I did do about 500 words, honest). But, uh. . .well. . .Lyndon went out and bought me a new embroidery hoop yesterday while he was at Skärholmen, and I had that beautiful crossstitch pattern for the Carson House, so. . .um. . .I embroidered last night.

I'm so ashamed. I told myself that I wasn't going to pick up the needle until this weekend at least. I should have been stronger, should have been able to resist the lure of the parti-colored silks, the flashing silver needle, the taut white Aida cloth stretched across the unforgiving frame. But, oh God, I couldn't help myself. It called to me, it really did -- out of that plastic carrier bag, a tiny, wheedling voice kept crooning, "Come on, Melanie -- just a few lines. You can stop after a few lines, right?"

Ha. I'm weak, I admit it. And what's worse is, the quilt for Benedict is starting to join the chorus, and there's that crocheted Victorian afgan that I started in California that still needs to be done. If it keeps up at this rate, I'm going to have to join Craftaholics Anonymous, and then where will I be?

No, I can handle it, really I can. I'm strong, and I know what I'm doing. Just let me just put these few stitches in, and I'll be right back to work, honest. . .

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