It's dark...

And today, for the first time in a while, I succeeded at waking well before six a.m. This particular Monday marks the real end of summer: I have had to be off-island for weeks at a time in the past month, first for the Institute, then for my own vacation (one I took begrudgingly- nice to have time off of work, not so pleased to go off-island). Now it is back to a sane, and hopefully, a writer-ly schedule. It does help that I have my cat back, since she is excellent at reinforcing my alarm clock: I actually have to set my poor bare feet on the cold floor in order to placate her with about 23 tiny Purina pellets. Her sitter had her on half-rations, and beast does seem to have lost weight; when we climbed on the scale last night, she was at a comparatively svelt 13 pounds. Nevermind that I have serious doubts about the accuracy of said scale. It flatters. It may turn my head and to hell with my health...

But yes, I hit snooze once, to allow for some drowsy moments to reflect on the night's battery of dreams- in the past couple of nights, I have hit the dreamer's jackpot: previously in REM, Stephen Colbert showed up, and cut a caper (he is even cuter in person- like a button that man!!!); and last night Hugh Laurie showed up (now literally the man of my dreams). Yep. A kinder, gentler, single-dad version of House. Still kind of a cranky doctor, but you know, actually emotionally available. Given that I was waking from this sort of mushy fan-dom, it is clearly even more impressive that I put my little feet on the floor no later than 5:10 in the morning. My wholesome behavior paid off.

By 5:30 I was back in bed, with breakfast, coffee, and computer.

You see, I have match-made.
I am not proud.
But I am achingly curious.

The third date was last night, and due to Eastern/Pacific time differences and my resolve to wake at a most respectable hour, I went to bed before the results were in. I opened gmail, and the much anticipated email was there, in bold before me. It was three, no... four lines:

"Nooo! Damn you, with the going to bed!

Anyway, regards back to your cat, and omg, yay for capering Colbert. Best dream ever.

Be brave with the writing -- remember how easy it was when we were doing it daily? 'Sides, I have to know what happens!

So, E--- and I went to the pier, but also to the tar pits. Oozing sludge! Mastodon skeletons! Obviously, all very hot..."

Beyond illustrating (omg) that linguistic standards are sliding dreadfully in the electronic age, even amidst English teachers, it was not a terrifically illuminating account. I was righteously outraged, and started to shoot back an indignant response: "Seriously? Seriously." (Yes, the new Season of Grey's Anatomy has started, no I haven't yet managed to watch it...)...

But then, in the periphery, I saw I was not alone on my contact list- there was one other green island of availablity at that early hour. Or in her case, that late hour: Ms. Beauregard herself. Twenty-four minutes into our chat (a totally made up figure, btw), I did send the succinct two-word response email, just for ephemeral posterity. She was up very late working on a research proposal: I was up early to putter. There is nothing more delightful than being a putterer, and puttering is even more delicious when one putters about distracting people who should be feverishly productive. Someday I hope to putter professionally. Which is to say I should like to be an essayist. Or in these lax times, a blogger?

Would you like to read about the relative hotness of the tar pits in L.A.? I bet you would. So I will tap out a few words:

string theory
giggles

And that's all you get. Never mind that the one reader left to this blog is in fact the inamorata of the tale, and already knows all the details better than I.

In other news, let me recap last week- my material adventures in the big city of Portland:

two light-weight scarves
one set of stackable rings (two of peridot, one of pearl), yearned for since April
one skirt (sensibly long and olive)
sundry unmentionables- perfectly utilitarian
three black tops cut to flatter
one gauzy, striped silver shirt, completely frivolous and urban in style, but oh so affordable
one "career jacket" which assumes one's career requires a youthful cut and cap sleeves- goes well over the aforementioned frivolous silver shirt...
one shirt with genuine color- colors even! With the same flattering cut as the others...
one narrow brimmed fedora, in suitably muted tones; my white one was inexcusable after Labor Day.
one tube face wash
one tube charcoal clarifying mask
one tub ginger float bubble bath
one book combining two stories of gothic New England suspense/horror

It was a perfect orgy of spending, I admit. In my defense, I was stocking up on pretties for a long winter, and I was preparing to re-enter spinsterhood, two years older, and two years wiser.