My Name is not Lacy.

Thusly, life can never be at the pinnacle of bad.

I actually did not read a book tonight. This from a woman whost doctor has reported that the oil has been leeched from her hands by reading too much did not hold a book in her hands this evening.

What did I do on this momentous occasion?

I sorted beads.

I spread paper on the floor for the cat (and he is in feline rapture) then placed a bowl of tuna, a favorite spangle ball and catnip on afore mentioned paper. The cat is in Sphinx pose. When I wake at sunrise, he will still be in this position.

I did all of my laundry. Even the lingering riff raff, bottom of the basket laundry.

I watched four hours of the west wing.

I listened to Talk Talk over and over.

I folded the laundry.

I watched a show on octopi. Did you know that octopi, when faced with danger, are capable of emulating algae or seaweed and stealthily walking away from a predator as if nothing were happening?

"Yep. Nothing goin' on here! Just a piece of seaweed. Ooohhh, look! I'm a cocoanut! Don't want to eat me!"

The entire time, I was caffeinated, restless and refraining from making life changes based on boredom.

Sick of the gray. Sick of the dirty snow. Just a small leaf bursting beyond the crusty snow would make my spirit soar.