Okay, so technically, the second thing is completely subject to the individual in question, but I personally prefer red, and am all happy, happy, joy, joy about my new strawberry red colored Post-It Notes.
Meanwhile, my fingers are splattered with blue paint, some sort of nautical-Cape-Cod-esque shade thereof which, in ways I don't understand, looks lighter on my skin than it does on the wall, even thought the original paint is this really annoying pale blue color, which would make a lighter base than (yes, even my) skin.
Meanwhile, I have been of the, "What day is today? . . . No, I don't mean the date, I need the day of the week," level of busy. I made my first-ever baby quilt (I'll show you later), did a crap-ton of shopping chores with The Husband, mostly painted a bedroom (after moving everything, including its inhabitants OUT of it), and read a lot, lot LOT of pages of books I intend to review over on LibriAgo: Book Lives. Oh, and I had an eleventh anniversary, though the celebration for it is still in planning stages. We want to be able to actually relax on our night out.
All of which should explain why only SOME stuff has been coming along with The Book. It's summer. I've got lots of lives to live right now, and the fictional ones are just going to have to tough it out until the real ones get a chance to catch their collective breaths.
Will you wait for me?
Personal Note: I have the oddest relationship with pens. Some I love, some I hate (I'm looking at you, fine ball-points), and some just randomly hit this pressure point/nerve-ending in my thumb the exact right way to send spasms of pain crawling through the bones of that thumb and most of my skin. I can't even bear to sign my name with pens like that. The really weird thing is, usually these pens are the kind with the squishy, ergonomic sleeve to hold on to.
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