I'm ok! Really I am!

Alana just went rifling for me in the comments of my last post, which I now realize was quite some time ago. I guess I couldn't think of anything to talk about. Or I was trying to be witty about Cosmo and failing, so kept mum*. Or reflecting that a career change is a very cool souvenir to bring home from a destination like the Central Valley**. Or making up for neglecting my book blog. Or rejoicing in the fact that I don't have a garden, and therefore have no need for GT***. But since I've been incommunicado for almost as long as Beth, here's...

What Mella did during SCB's Staycation

• Lived through phenomenal electrical storms (part of the same system that has Iowa immersed), which knocked out power to my office building so that we all had to stay home for a day.
  
  
• Inadvertently destroyed, then painstakingly (emphasis on pains) restored, my wireless connection.
  
  
• Took care of a boatload of personal administrative tasks that have been niggling at me for weeks.
  
  
• Got all my curtains pressed.
  
  
• Laundry.
  
  
• Met up with my Boston friends P and A, who were in town for a wedding. Got all the dirt (and it was good) about the old workplace from P. Went to Buckingham Fountain and Millennium Park and the Art Institute.
  
  
• Somehow - I still don't understand how, because there shouldn't have been anything wrong with the shoes I was wearing - gave myself massive blisters on the soles of both feet while hanging out with P and A. Could barely stand for two days. Raided podiatry section of Walgreens.
  
  
• Called my dad on Father's Day. Discussed the fact that the seemingly infinite supply of Baby Boomers will keep a stranglehold on culture until they croak, by which time their grandchildren will be in early middle age, thus reducing the long-term functionality of my generation to, "spawn-and-die." Also discussed the proper role of generational niche ministry within the context of a robust ecclesiology. Also discussed golf - specifically, Tiger driving into ice plant.
  
  
• Called in sick with blisters, because I literally couldn't walk. Felt very stupid. Considered, and decided against, embellishing excuse for the sake of believability. Only got slightly laughed at by all the distance runners with whom I work.
  
  
• Worked at kitchen table all day with feet on ice. Left window open to enjoy pleasant breeze. Developed allergic reaction to grass.
  
  
• Used up two boxes of Kleenex.
  
  
• Finished reading The Time Traveler's Wife for a book club meeting that I couldn't attend because I couldn't walk.
  
  
• Went to visit S. Compared and contrasted the relative merits of Facebook, Cubs Fans, Science Fiction, Electrical Engineers, Cats, Church Mission Statements, and Boys. Also played "My Condo Neighbor is Creepier than Yours." Also ate pizza.
  
  
• Accidentally redirected delivery of my neighbor's UPS package to my office (the notice was left on my door by mistake, and I'm expecting a package, so I assumed it was for me and scheduled redelivery online). Confused receptionist to no end, since no one with his name works here and it was delivered to our office address and company by name, and contained automotive parts, which have nothing to do with our business and are not what I ordered anyway.

Mella's Plans for the Weekend

• Fix something I messed up at work. Meh - as things that need fixing go, it's not that bad, but still.
  
  
• Put things away (I'm so bad at this).
  
  
• Hang newly-pressed curtains.
  
  
• Give the cat a pedicure.
  
  
• Finalize plans for Austin trip.
  
  
• Shop for ingredients to make punch for a wedding shower/reception I'm co-hosting Sunday afternoon. Be thankful that a teetotaling subculture makes such endeavors far less expensive than they might otherwise be.
  
  
• Oh - also buy gift for same event. Almost forgot.

*I haven't ruled out trying again.
**That part of the country has always depressed me in an overly-reminiscent-of-Steinbeck sort of way. When I see dead grass, my subconscious reacts with a terror of dying in existential misery after a lifetime of futile hard labor. Sorry, Wende.
***I hate dirt. I don't even like repotting my houseplants.