As I cleaned, I was interested by the disproportionate number of vases that I now own. My vase to flowers received ratio is something like 300:0. I don't know that it can work that way, a zero in a ratio, but life can be that way. I think. Anyway, you get the idea.
Then it was October and all the flowers available were pink in honor of the Race for the Cure. I don't care for pink (yes, I am currently wearing a pink shirt, but that's different. You're looking at my shirt, not me, so I can wear pink. I just don't like to look at a lot of pink. And it's really about certain colors of pink: bubble gum and mauve are bad, rose and magenta are OK. It's a thing. I can't really control it.) So I didn't buy any flowers then to celebrate my hard work.
But I also didn't forget. I either have to buy flowers more often (since I don't expect my reception of them to go up at all. It's up to me. Sigh.) or get rid of the vases. And this one, it's really dark green, it was my mom's. So it stays. Therefore, I must buy flowers. I can't fight logic like that.
P.S. National Novel Writing Month is not going well for me. I'm so far behind that I feel like I'm at work every time I sit down at home. You can tell by the red days on the calendar and the fact that most of the few words I have written were done in the Houston airport. I'm on vacation next week. Because of my current impecunious status, I think I may have to stay home (although I haven't quite given up the idea of a cabin on the lake, there's plenty of inventory now in November). I'm thinking of a writing tour of central Arkansas, a laptop view of the places I go to try to make myself write. That sounds like fun. I might also put my best line of the day down...tune in. I'm certain of only one thing: there will be many, many trips to Sonic included.
P.P.S im·pe·cu·ni·ous/ˌimpəˈkyo͞onēəs/
Adjective: Having little or no money.
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