Yet another person has expressed disbelief that my entire winter wardrobe has been assembled from scratch in ten minutes. Note to the general public: all girls are not clotheshounds. I may show some alarming tendencies in that direction, but I rarely follow up on them.
Irregular Choice shoes might be the new followed-up-upon tendency.
I woke up this morning with Fruvous's (Moxie Fruvous) "Fly" going through my head. I don't know why. This, of course, brought back sitting on the roof of Lloyd, singing snippets of "My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors" and hearing jhave say, resignedly, "You know the Fruvous." (Well, duh. They're the choice of bookish nerdgirls everywhere.) That was shortly after we watched the bald eagle spiral out of sight over the mountain and shortly before I had far too much wine.
The hospital cafeteria has come up with something surprisingly good for breakfast. I forget what it's called, but it seems to be a mixture of egg and maybe masa flavored with cumin and chili and topped with salsa and cheese, then baked in a water bath. It's kind of like Migas for the Masses.
Speaking of migas, I have a surfeit of good corn tortillas and some excellent jack cheese. Hmmm. Breakfast.
I opened all the windows this morning (it's only about 60 right now) and the cat is loving it. She likes to sit on the bedroom windowsill and feel very butch.