This week I’m addicted to sweatpants. Fashionable sweatpants, of course — you know, circa 2005 velour, but without anything obnoxious (or otherwise) written across the ass. Sweatpants I’m sure I’ve made fun of, that I never would have bought for myself, but which were left here by my dear sister (sorry, Jenny). I’ve appropriated them, giving them good wear while she’s away, always meaning to return them on the next visit.
The bug disaster of February 2009 seems to be over. I thinned my wardrobe and my library. I discovered some really great clothes, too — namely the sweatpants and a pair of fantastic jeans I can’t quite remember buying — perfect dark blue, actually fitting at the hips so that they don’t need to be cautiously pulled up so I don’t show any crack when I sit down. I can’t say the bug disaster was worth these finds, but they are a silver lining.
In other news: I am haphazardly growing a tiny herb garden in my kitchen. I have no idea how to do this, or if I’m doing it correctly, etc., but little sprouts are coming up, and it’s more exciting than you would think. On the menu for summer: basil, lavender, parsley (even though I said it was useless), thyme, rosemary, and oregano. Maybe I’ll start cooking again…
Pretty good, not my favorite. Did make me cry at the end. And I feel like it speaks to something I think about a lot (and even more with my yet-to-materialize-10-year high school reunion possibly coming up): Basically that we all follow our paths, and none is better or more noble than the next. Some things we choose, some we fall into. Some are inevitable, seemingly destined. And our places shape us, one way or another.
These should arrive soon: