I was just thinking about how I don't ever really have anything profound to say in my blogs anymore, and why this is. When I started my first blog, back in 2002, I felt like I was profound all the time. Now sometimes I go back and read that blog and I get annoyed with how self-important I was, all caught up in the drama that was my life (the broken heart, the missing London, the blah blah blah blah of it all).
So it leads me to wonder - have I really run out of profound things to say, or has my threshold of profundity gone up several levels? I still notice things, think about stuff, make plans and all of that, but really, in the grand scheme of things, it all seems so small and petty. We are truly the center of our own universes, but really, my universe just doesn't seem as profound anymore.
Anyway, spent the weekend doing Weekend Things including buying a new netbook (i've been wanting one to replace my tiny asus, which I sold on ebay, for a few weeks), watching he's just not that into you (the book version convinced me to move back to Cali from Tennessee, where i was in a Really Boring Relationship with a guy who Just Didn't Care despite my making lots of excuses for him), finishing up tiling the walls in the bathroom, cleaning, laundry - all that exciting stuff.
I'm behind on my words-per-day, but I'm going to do some writing before bed, and tomorrow. Hubby is going to LAX to pick up a houseguest, and I'll have the evening to myself. I'm thinking a nice fire, hot chocolate, snuggles with the cats, and my netbook, all cozy in the living room with candles. All the girly trappings.
I go up to San Jose on Thursday - haven't flown in three weeks or so, and I had been getting into a nice rhythm of not traveling, but it's only for a day, and then no flights till July. One good thing about the stinking economy is that I have a reason to not fly so much.
I've been feeling a little bit depressed lately, which has been amplified by the fact that I listened to Tori Amos for two hours today. I had forgotten how much I loved her. But she does make me peevy. And the June Gloom is bothering me. It's been nice for a few days to feel like autumn is here already, but I'm getting sick of it and am ready for the sun to come back out. And I'm reading a galley copy of Past Imperfect by Julian Fellowes, whom I love. And that's about it really. I am bemoaning my lack of profundity, listening to angry chick rock, and watching cheesy movies whilst vacuming. Such a cliche.