palace of winds

I finally broke down and ordered S1 of Grey’s Anatomy, even though I think it’s pricey for only 9 episodes, and even though I have a suspicion that if I just waited I could eventually find it cheaper. I had a reward certificate, though, and I came to the realization over the weekend that it’s my favorite show on television right now, the one I’d pick if it came to it (which is sort of weird, now that I think about that, this mental ranking — in what conceivable situation would I be forced to pick just one television show to watch per week?). And on top of that? Grey Matter. Faaantastic. I think my lunch hour will be spent reading the archives.

Jo came over last night and brought this gorgeous key lime (Key lime? Key Lime?) dessert from D’Amico’s. It was a lovely cool custard sort of affair with a curled rose of white chocolate and yum. Yum. I love the brightness of lime.

I have not been missing meat. I haven’t been super-strict or anything, but apart from a few dishes scattered over these last weeks — month? it must be nearing a month now — I’ve been pretty much vegetarian. Psuedo-veg, then, I suppose. Ovo-lacto-pescetarian, with occasional lapses? Well, not lapses, since I don’t think meat-eating itself is wrong. Blah blah blah. I brought a salad (lettuce, red onion, cucumber) and a sweet potato for lunch today and the two and a half hours until then seems an impossibly long time. I adore sweet potatoes.

The office plant (remember Fern?) is looking a little sad and bedraggled. We moved it — for some reason, I don’t now recall — and so I forget to water it even more often now. Maybe there is a small subconscious part of me pleased with the winter-wilting, as it so often matches my own office-mood. Longing for the sun and warmth and a good drink. Summer air.

Ooo, the UPS man is going to get that eye thing that I can’t spell. Lasick or what have you. He came in just now in glasses, a lovely little dark copper-rimmed pair. Said he was sick of contacts, which I understand. I wear mine maybe half the time now, on odd whims. Depending on clothes, hairstyle, laziness. If I think I will exercise that afternoon.

My across-the-hall neighbor has me dreaming of cycling this summer. I have a vague itch for a new bike, a pipe-dream of getting in shape enough to cycle to work and back each day. I have no good clue how long it would take, though; certainly much longer than my fifteen/twenty minute-ish commute, though unlike my commute it would be full of fresh air and sunlight and birdsong and flower blossoms swirling on the breeze and music-montages, and me waltzing into work radiant, fit, glowing, with a haircut that requires just a quick headtoss and a wardrobe that’s all at once classic and chic and casual and sharp.

That’s how cycling works, right?