So I checked the weather in Pennsylvania, just to know how to pack for this week’s camping trip:
27 degrees Celsius (or 38 with humidity — that’s 100 F!) and thunderstorms now through Thursday.
Hmm. Sounds like Montreal.
Guess I’ll be packing light clothes and raingear. Oh joy, oh rapture.
The gods love Goldschlager.
S’all I’m saying.
Yes, yes, I know the Divine is all around us, but…
I can’t be the only person who doesn’t truly believe her altar is “on” unless there’s a candle burning somewhere, can I?
Hurrah, it’s finally raining! Which means, of course, that the mild sinus headache I’ve had all day has blossomed into what threatens to become a migraine.
So, the quick entry: Had a terrific evening of cider and relaxation with girlfriends at the local pub on Friday night; I ended up going home early because of a headache brought on by who knows what. Saturday I led an experimental meditation workshop on the weekend which by all acounts was a success. So successful, in fact, that instead of lunching together afterwards we all went our separate ways, drowsy and warm fuzzy-like. Sunday was wine and cheese with friends, and the joys of using the remote for my camera for the first time in four years (I kid you not).
I have an important idea brewing in my head concerning my future. It’s not quite fully formed yet; still vague. It seems important, though. I’ll let it incubate for a while longer.
After only an hour of sleep last night, I’ve been a bit stunned all day – just not quite with it.
So I did what I used to do when I needed a boost: I moved furniture around.
No, not everything; just my desk. I turned it 90 degrees (that’s a square for those with new natal chart knowledge) to the wall. It doesn’t stick out into the dining room as far as I thought it would, and I’m quite pleased. Besides, with it exposed like this, I’ll be less likely to let stuff pile up on it.
Oh, that’s not the only thing I did today; I took a couple of hours and sorted through about ninety-eight pages of notes on the trad-vs-eclectic Craft book I’ve been working on. In the end, after it sorting it into about seven different files of related topics, I realised that I’m going to just sit down and start writing it one day.
I talk in general terms about spirituality here for a few reasons: I want it to be as accessible to as many readers as possible, and there’s that secrecy thing that often travels with neo-Pagan worship. Now and again I’ve said that I’m currently nearing the end of my third year of clergy training, or that I’ve been working on homework, or something of the sort. But that’s about as specific as I get.
Well, that 36 page exam I mentioned that I was writing a week and a half ago? It’s no longer in my hands. A pass is 93%.
I am now officially biting my fingernails. Oh, sure; I know I did my best. There are, however, a variety of people I don’t want to disappoint, for various reasons.
It’s been a long, strange journey, as Skippy says. Every time I turn around, there’s been a new challenge. Being resourceful, we’ve found ways around (or right through!) them. Come what may, there’s every reason to be proud of my current position, whether I surpass that 93% or not.
I’m still biting my fingernails, though.
A couple of years ago, Skippy told me to be like the cork: sure, you get drowned by breaker waves, but you can just pop right back up again.
Fine. But you know, being a bloody cork means drown, gasp, drown, gasp…
Kind of like how I defined reincarnation during a recent study session before our priesthood exam: Lather, rinse, repeat.
Birthday summary: tea in bed. Phone call from my parents. Open gifts from parents. Watch cartoons. Go window shopping – window shopping because not one of our medieval stores had anything spectacular. I did get a Japanese bamboo roll pillow, though, and I am now an official Lush fan. That was my present from my husband: carte blanche in the Lush store. Mmm. Bath bombs, bubble bars, massage bars, soap, powder, face scrubs… my bathroom now smells like Lush, which is pretty darned all right in my book. Then sushi for dinner, where the staff gave me a piece of cheesecake for dessert. Anyone who knows me knows that cheesecake isn’t my thing. They’re always so kind, though, so I looked at my husband and said, “I’m going to eat some of this.” It turned out not to be such a sacrifice: it was the lightest, non-cheesey cheesecake I’ve ever tasted, more creamy than anything else. Then we went home and had a bottle of my dad’s amazing red pinot noir.
This morning, I woke up way too early, and wrote a short story before nine AM. I know; I think I must be sick, too. (Yes, Ceri, it’s on its way…)