the many moods of the madame

November 10, 2010 Candace Morris 7 Comments

a working breakfast

Good Morning, other people who also stare at computer screens.
Above, you'll see my working breakfast, complete with blueberry streusel muffin and coffee that I must milk because it is entirely too gross to consume without.  Ahh, office coffee.

Today is good.

Yesterday was a day where traffic actually made me cry and thrash about in my car
(note: on my way to Nordstrom to pick up a pair of boots that were left on their stretchers, which ended up STILL being too tight on my Norwegian calves).
The gray rain couldn't have been more melancholy.
The food I ate couldn't have been more bland.
I began to fall into a spiral of overwhelm...you know, the kind where "What the heck am I going to make for dinner??" speedily snowballs into, "Oh my god, when am I going to have children?!!!"
It's a slippery slope, that dinner conundrum.
(note: I made Devon's* meatball soup).


finishing

Quite in contrast, the day before yesterday (also known as Monday) I noticed a goodly amount of euphoria surging through my blood.
My music (currently the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack) couldn't be loud enough.
The leaves couldn't have been more vibrant and stunning.
Finishing my book couldn't have been more profound.
Everything leaked beauty.
My heart could not contain it.

ride home
I suppose it would be true to fashion if I were to engage in some sort of overly-serious analysis of these particular mood swings.  But I just kinda don't care.
And this not caring is my newest skill set.

It's the jolly good time we women get to share...
and I guess I'm used to just being along for the ride.



*(another note: Devon just launched her new blog and etsy store.  So great!  She's an important creative resource in my kitchen, so I wanted to share her with you. One of my most treasured gifts are the hand-written recipes she sent me while I was living with my sister earlier this year.  Devon mentioned not having profound words to comfort me, but that she did know she could cook well, and that sharing these with me was her way of comforting me.  It warmed my heart so much AND I continually read her note and use those recipes.  Story says: USE YOUR HAND TO WRITE THINGS.  End Note.)

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