"All that we are arises with our thoughts." ~ Buddha

I've been sitting at my desk most of the morning staring at laundry I need to fold and thinking of my kitchen floor. It really wants me to clean it. But the sun is streaming through my window and I can hear winter birds on the other side, and I want to just play Scrabble.

I have a new job.

Also, I need to order carpet for my living and family rooms. I don't have any idea how to shop for carpet.

Two weeks ago I cut the tip off my thumb. It was very odd because while it didn't hurt at all, it bled forever. At one point I had five bandaids on it because the nurse at the emergency room told me not to take off the initial bandage but to layer on top of it until the bleeding stopped--which it finally did. Later that same night I noticed my small toe was wet. When I looked down I saw enormous amounts of blood coming from it. Somehow I managed to take off the tip of that toe, as well (note: "tip" does not include bone or sinew, just a lot of skin from the top of the digit). Weird.

I finished reading Wilkie Collins's The Moonstone. I can't remember when a book has delighted me quite so much. I'm unsure why I love it but I recommend it to anyone who enjoys a good story told in a unique way. I'm still smiling about it.

This year, because of the loss of jobs and hospital bills and other such nonsense, I've been scrambling for Christmas gift ideas. I'm thinking of giving kisses beneath the mistletoe and calling it good. So if you're on my gift list and that does not appeal to you, avoid me when you see me because I'm not kidding about this.

DJ made me cookies yesterday. Sigh....it is possible that those were the only things I ate. But I drank milk with them so probably that's okay--except I'm lactose intolerant, so maybe not.

Darrin and my father went into the mountains to chop down Christmas trees this morning. I'm fairly certain, given the states of their health, they will both die of heart attacks while searching for the perfect tree. Hopefully, I'm wrong, but I'm still waiting to hear from them. They were supposed to call about an hour ago to let me know they were still alive. I'm pretending they're just not in a place where they have phone service. It's more likely, however, that they're talking so much that they forgot.

Today I am singing Christmas carols as loudly as possible. If you have a favorite, let me know--I'll sing it for you. Adam told me my rendition of "Santa, Baby" is slutty, which is, in my mind, an appropriate interpretation of the song so I consider that a very high compliment. Never mind the fact that I forgot the words in the middle and just danced around my kitchen until the music got to a point where I could join in with lyrics. Adam also said he believes that if I ban "Grandma got run over by a reindeer" because I think it's tasteless and misogynistic, I should do the same for "Santa, Baby," for similar reasons. My answer was to sing "Santa, Baby" one more time. Adam has put on his headphones and is refusing to talk with me for at least five minutes.

The title/quote of this post has nothing to do with the content. I put it there because when I first read it I thought it said, "All that we anuses with our thoughts." And while I know that makes no sense, it still made me laugh--for about five minutes--because that's just how sophisticated my sense of humor is today. Also, it reminded me that my first experience speaking with Tolkien Boy happened because I similarly misread something he had written (he wrote "ennui", I read "eunuch"--it could happen to anyone), and he had a chat box on the sidebar of his blog where I shared my optical typo, not knowing he was there at the time, and he responded to my gleeful revelation with his belief that being a eunuch would not appeal to him. He took all the wind from my sails because I was planning to hit-and-run, but then felt it would be rude not to talk to him. So we had our fateful conversation and then never spoke again for almost three months, at which point we began an online conversation that has lasted nearly seven years.

Next week is filled with rehearsals and performances. The following week will be filled with baking and more Christmas carols. The next week I retrieve Tabitha from the managed care facility and we get to have her home for Christmas and New Year's Eve and Day.

December is a good month.