the evil that is getting up too early

Our new puppy likes to wake me just before the alarm... ten minutes today, half an hour yesterday. Just enough time so that it is not worth it to go back to sleep, but early enough for annoyance and regret.

Just nine more minutes, please...

Recently I discovered this and this. A writer's version of bookcrossing. And of course, I had to sign up (for the second), voyeur that I am. I know it is not as authentic as the discovery of a private diary, but when I was younger, I loved the collections of Griffin and Sabine, and I enjoyed reading the diaries of famous people, starting with Anne Frank, and more obsessively, Sylvia Plath.

And before I go to shower and greet the day (ah, Wednesday before spring break, not so terrible as Friday where the students cannot contain themselves), I must say--our kitchen smells like paint and I am glad. We have taken down the Miss Havisham cabbage roses and replaced them with a classy paint job. We couldn't have done it without my mother, who insanely gave up great chunks of her spring break for me (which I deeply appreciate), and I love that feeling of newness... when you walk into a room you have forgotten you rearranged, the pleasant surprise that it is new and better. I really love it; it looks like a completely different place. (Of course, now I want to reface all of the cabinets and get a new countertop, but I think this is what happens when you start making that house you bought your own.)

And really, just one more thing: the wedding is less than five months. Eep.