Trumpet Blowing and Goal Setting

The trumpet blowing part: Last night I did the most awesome mandala. I love it. I love it when I do something creative and I love it. I love it when I tell the world about how I love it when I do something creative and I love it.

I feel a bit delirious. My football team hung on today to record the kind of victory that makes you believe that you will have a heart attack before the final siren. It was jolly good fun. Then I came home tonight and cooked myself a meal that tasted fandoogilytastic which I made up as I went along AND used up the last of the pumpkin.

I am so talented at mandalas and fandoogilytastic meal-making. It's really quite amazing :)

Okay. I will stop now. It's terribly unbecoming having someone going on so much about how great they are. If you're really great you don't need to go on about it. You just let your actions speak for themselves. But seeing none of you either saw the mandala (which I can't be bothered scanning and which I am not sure will even fit in the scanner, being in an A3 visual art diary), or ate my dinner, I just thought I would let you know.

If it makes you feel better, now you're irritated at my trumpet blowing, I fell over before. I fell over in my bedroom because I stumbled over a pair of shoes that were lying outside my cupboard. I had time on the way down to think, "Oh, look, I'm falling over. Oh, no, I hope I don't break anything." Which leads me onto my goal-setting:

The goal setting part: I have set myself this goal that by winter - ie 1 June or, if I am running late, the true winter, the solstice - that my house will be in decent shape. That is, nicely vacuumed. Shit put away in cupboards. A shower without scunge in the bottom of it and a garden that has vegetable seedlings merrily growing because I have planted them, and that does not have giant wads of overgrown weed infested area down the side of the house.

I want to for once be able to look out the glass doors in my kitchen at the drear groaning turgid skies outside and actually be able to see them because I have cleaned all the glass from where the dog stands and looks outside at the drear groaning turgid skies and leaves his nose imprints behind.

I want to sleep all winter in a bed whose mattress has been turned. (I actually *dreamt* last night I turned my mattress. Don't you wish your life was as exciting as mine?)

I want a playroom whose floor contains only (a) carpet or (b) loose bits of clay and not folders and pieces of paper and stationery and STUFF. Just stuff.

I want to be like that irritating proverbs 31 woman who can laugh at the winter days to come ... that's if I can muster up the energy to laugh, that is. And just as long as I can do it in my dressing gown.