The Steven came home surly from work in the virtual mines and after much coddling he sullenly headed to bed, so it's just me, the cat, and eight ounces of lonely merino. It could be worse. Much worse. The relative silence is nice.
As this is a date with myself I went to the fridge and, like any faded old bombshell, whipped out the favorite Bulgari Tea Vert cologne and had myself a hit. Here I am: alone in the dark, in pajamas, looking at the ceiling, smelling fantastic. (This magic stuff is a direct call-back to sometime prior to the 20th century when fragrances became gender-specific. If Chandler Burr declares it sublime, who the hell am I to disagree? The link above is Burr's story to how this scent crept into this bottle and it's unexpected success.) The seaglass green flask lives in the refrigerator door, next to the mayonnaise and nail polish. Dang: this stuff even smells twinkly.
The lunch hour today was spent in the midwinter sunshine of the Jupiter Garden, plying a colleague with Jupiter's latest stout and discussing federal grant restructuring in the upcoming administration and the trickle down in the UC System. The beer helped pass the time as we tried to agressively bore the socks off each other with Administrative Speak. Hell hath no fury like an accountant with misplaced overhead, apparently.
So. Here we are; alone in the dark at the end of the day at the end of the work week.
Let me give you something pretty to take the edge off this dark night: Here's a curious little film previously posted on Le Divan Fumoir (a curated collection of beautiful design). I love this film, right down to the little fox hat and the color of the childrens' cheeks.
Well, that's about it for me tonight. Sleep well, 'Possums.