These short little biography Penguin classics are total cheating, but I don't care, because they've been pretty good. I read George Balachine's last year and recently finished Charles Dickens'. Now that was a productive man. In addition to his novels, he did all these public readings of his work, including the murder since in Oliver Twist. He also guarded his private life towards the end so virulently that it's still not clear whether or not he had a mistress and whether or not he had a child with her. One of the most famous men of his time was somehow able to keep secrets. Hmm.
Speaking of being productive (not being secretive), I tried really hard today to be so. I cleaned the bathroom; I vacuumed; I washed every single thing (coveree thing, sheets, blankets, and quilt) on our bed; I washed the towels; I washed the darks; I installed a brand new expandable silverware tray; I took our taxes by the accountant's office: I recycled some magazines and put a few aside to leave at the gym. I cooked fagoli soup and made brownies. I also went to the gym and did the elliptical and took a yoga class. I guess I'm writing this because I still feel like... like, wait, what did I do all day? I'm the type of person who has to write out what she does after she does in order to cross it off so I'll feel like I did something. I guess I just did it publicly today.
The Mr., who just moved back here last week from training in nearby-but-still 1.5 hrs away- place, is still not home yet from work (it's 9 p.m. on Friday). Since I cooked supper (see above), I feel indigent.
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1 comment:
Dang, you were seriously productive.
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