I think I'm becoming boring. Really. You know how I used to be such a fascinating person? No? Don't remember that? Well, I was. I was always dreaming and scheming and doing things like moving to Amsterdam or getting stuck in the mountains with a boy.
Well, I think I'm becoming boring. I think it's this house. Have you ever read A Year in Provence? B0-Ring. All the guy ever talks about is fixing up his boring home and drinking wine. That's me, except without the interesting aspect of wine. What's on my mind is mainly sealant and faucets and closet tracks. Bo-Ring. I'm like those new moms whose talk consists 70% of the various kinds of waste their babies emit, based on what they've eaten. But less gross, and slightly less interesting still.
This morning I spent 1 hour getting a splinter out of my finger. Last night I moved furniture around (and attained the aforementioned splinter). Tonight I plan to hang pictures. That's what I have to share today.
And the thing is that I like it. That ambition that used to be in me to be always finding, exploring, achieving, seems to be dimming. Some would call it maturity. Some would call it nesting. Others old age.
In any case, welcome to my new boring blog.