Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Sloth Sloth Sloth

Time: 3:07 pm

I am wearing: red yoga pants and an 11-year-old "Pinelow Park" t-shirt, with grungy hair and bare feet. I'm so gorgeous, you could barely handle it.

I am listening to: the fan, the air conditioner, and Karl (who is working on an essay here) typing.

Temperature outside: 28 Celsius, going up to 32.

How am I feeling? Well, as if it's not already unbearably hot in this house, my left shoulder is radiating heat as a result of me burning it badly. Note to self: start applying sunblock in a paranoid fashion. It would not do for me to be burnt and peely on my wedding day. Oh, and slothful.

Which of the Seven Deadly Sins am I currently committing? Sloth. When it's this hot outside, I can't help but feel like I'm a 14-year-old on summer vacation, and why should I have to do anything? I should be reading Montgomery books and wandering barefoot through my garden.

What should I be doing? Laundry and unpacking from last week. Dishes. I should clean up the living/dining room area. I should get in contact with the Bible College and see if they could move our reception to a smaller room. I should be couriering a couple of neglected invitations. I should be packing up my belongings. I should be working on German.

What have I done? I have finished reading The Blue Castle. (Have I mentioned my love of the character Barney Snaith? He makes me hug my knees for joy.) I helped Karl plan out his conclusion so that it would be less "Deus ex machina." And...that's it.

I have consumed: two pieces of pizza, a piece of Father's Day cake from Karl's family (with coffee ice cream -- don't tell the allergist), some weird Dill Pickle Doritos and a banana. Poor, lonely banana.

My daily affirmation: here

Unpleasant realisation: the Oriental Poppies, which I nicknamed "the Triffids" when I was in Grade 10 and my mother planted them in my tiny, old-worldy garden, have taken over my garden. I hadn't time to tend my old flower garden this year or last, and so the poppies that I used to faithfully uproot every year, pretending that I thought they were weeds (so large and showy for such a small garden), have taken over. They've forced my dusky pink columbines backward in the garden, and I wonder if any daisies will be allowed to grow. I think they're also interfering with the rose bush. This troubles me. Triffids.


Meg Persson said...

Oh my, I haven't laughed this hard in ages. Very funny post.


PS. We don't have a garden.

Queen of West Procrastination said...

My garden at my parents' house. And I still feel sorry for that banana.

Anonymous said...

Maryanne, I find the juxtaposition of a discussion (well, a mention)of Blue Castle and an overbearing case of red-poppy planted by your mother very interesting...

Except that your mom totally isn't controlling at all. I mean, you ARE allowed to sneeze.

age of insomnia said...

I had to write a lesson plan on The Day of the Triffids back when I was still going to be a teacher...

...I didn't read the book, but I had some great activities.

One of them was to dress the entire class as triffids, and attack random people on the street, then have a kid dressed up like a journalist interview them on their feelings related to the attack.

My prof wrote "you're not taking this seriously enough" on the front page of that assignment. Which was true.

Life of Turner said...

Here's something awesome: I got to this page by Googling "lesson plan" and "Day of the Triffids" for a class. You were the fourth link.

Derek out.