The internet is the shizzit.

I've been interspersing getting moving and work to-do-list things done with dreaming about how to decorate our new apartment. Now, in my brain, this can range from casual thinking all the way over to crazy obsessing and not sleeping as a result. I get antsy. I get unsettled, until things are most put in place and decorated.

In the process, I find website like this one, with 100 things I'd love to remember to think of doing with or for A, and another 100 that are just "c'mon, who has the time?" ridiculous.

I've also seen a lot of artwork. Again. On so many websites. I now belong to DailyPaintworks.com and have a variety of still lifes (I have yet to buy one, but food still life paintings intrigue the heck out of me), clouds, and trees marked. And some landscapes. Wow, are there both extremely talented painters (two of my favorites are Carol Marine and her still lifes, and Karin Jurick who I just found today and whose composition and colors and all of it have me really inspired), and the not-so-talented. The latter is the category my art would fit into, if I were a painter, and that's just fine. Perhaps not so much when you're charging as much as the more, what, talented? creative? folks, but whatever.

I've also been all over Etsy again, where I think I first saw Carol Marine's work. Again, wow the range of people painting and then asking others to pay money for their results. And again, I find myself thinking "man, maybe making a living as an artist isn't quite for you, huh? maybe just do it for yourself."

But then again, I can be a downer like that.

Writing just to write

We live in a new apartment now. In a different part of the city.

All three humans in the house have strep throat, although if the medical forums are to be believed (and, really, they never are), the dog could easily be carrying it, too. Pacifiers, sippy cups and toothbrushes will be discarded and replaced on Monday, when I should also finally be not contagious.

All three humans in the house have spent a LOT of time in said house these last 4 days.

We've done an awful lot of hanging around, random art projects, building with A's new cardboard blocks that my mom brought over for her, bathing, taking medicine, running out of things to do, and going to sleep and starting all over again in the morning. Voluntary quarantine gets old. Then again, losing friend with kids because we went out and had playdates anyway, would be worse, so we chose the former.

You'd think, with life being this slow, I'd be writing all the time. But I'm not. I'm also not reading, or ever in the mood to watch a movie after A goes to sleep. I may have gotten on this kick when my mom and I started packing up the old apartment and there was no time for anything. I've been mentally stimulated to my limit a lot, and imaginary-decorating a new apartment in my head ranks right up there. I downloaded the new issue of Oprah and couldn't do more than look at the shopping pages. I could hardly read the half page little snippets of interesting people and their interesting lives. The book section didn't even merit a stop to read titles. Too overwhelming.

But I've also done a lot of hanging out with my daughter these last 5 days, and that has been a good thing. We are both sick and slower. And I'm getting to practice just being around. And letting go - she was back in diapers for a few days - and I did my best to just let that go.

That's about all I've got right now. I thought I should write something before I just stopped blogging altogether.