My Creativity Dominatrix, Madame Keystroke, is cracking her whip and I am trying to oblige her by posting something in my woefully ignored blogverse. I guess I am more of a top than a bottom because this whole being told what to do thing just makes me want to rebel. I mean, I've already been sitting in front of my computer for a good hour today and still had no particular intention of blogging. But she swears if I don't blog this weekend there will be wrath and who wants that? And when someone has known you for over 30 years, they know enough about you to make the wrath particularly squirm-inducing. So, blogging it is!
Spring is offering up her usual tease here in the Pacific Northwest. We get a few specacular days of sunshine and various plantlife bursting into blossom and everyone breaks out the shorts and flip flops and runs to the garden store. Why do we always seem to forget that it's going to rain until the end of June? The worst tease is sunshine during the work week and dreary greyness and rain on the weekend. Att his rate, the damned chicken coop we are supposed to be building will never get finished and the garden will continue to be a wildlife refuge for slugs and weeds until school is out.
You might think that being cooped up in the house would lead to indoor Spring cleaning. God knows my house could use it. Half finished projects have taken over every available surface and the mountains of clean but unfolded laundry just migrate around the house attracting various cats looking for a soft spot to curl up.
Instead, I am suffering from ovulationally induced insanity which only seems to be good for daydreaming, obsessively texting, checking my Facebook and email every 2 seconds, long bouts of existential introspection (which leads to more texting and long angst ridden emails written late at night to my luckily patient and tolerant BFF), and pornographic thoughts pretty much 24/7. I feel like a 16 year old - in other words, like my head is about to explode from constantly thinking about sex and the meaning of life. Some months hormones are just not your friend.
Let's just chalk it up to Spring Fever. A few days of sun after all the gloom and cold of an Oregon winter feels a lot like good drugs. We all OD on soaking up rays and the eye candy of all that exposed skin everywhere and now I'm suffering withdrawal. Waiting mode has begun. I am waiting for Summer, waiting for concert dates to arrive, waiting for my tattoo artist to call, waiting for this hormonal roller coaster ride to get past the loop-de-loops so I can reinstate my mental filters and get my laundry folded.