There are worse things I could do

I wish I had something to report, some interesting hobby I have taken up such as miniature ship construction or street art, an exciting story involving an altercation with a neighbor over boundaries or barking dogs; or maybe a harrowing tale of office supply deceit and mayhem, but alas, it's pretty darned boring around here.

Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. After our non-stop weekend, I am grateful for a little peace and quiet, but it does make for a pretty boring life. I suspect prior to blogging, I didn't think much of it, but when I sat down to post today, it occurred to me: I lead a pretty drab life most of the time.

I doubt you want to hear about laundry, runs to the bookstore, lack of progress on knitting my sweater or all of the limbs in our yard, so I won't bore you with any of that.

Instead, let's talk about what I could be doing instead of leading a peaceful existence.

I could, for instance, be fretting over the fact that my mother has chopped up all of my childhood photos and put them into a book. Mind you, most aren't cropped, they are chopped and there is a difference. Gone is the background or even part of my face in some instances, no care taken to preserve any of them. In fact, the one of my grandmother and I, the only surviving one of us together when I was a child, is the size of a quarter now.

I could, if you will, be going through my closet and take out all of the crap that I pass over each morning in a quest to wear the same thing over and over and over again.

I could be trying to figure out how a family in Oregon is stranded in a recreational vehicle for 17 days, watching news of a full-fledge manhunt for them on a mini-television and not do anything about it.

I could, if I chose to, be plotting my revenge on our neighbors for mistreating their two dogs tied to 12-inch ropes in their backyard.

I could be planning the complete renovation of my bathroom, that is, if I knew where to even start.

Or maybe for a little excitement I could dig through the cleaning supplies beneath our kitchen sink and get rid of all of the chemicals we don't use. Have I ever used oven cleaner? Will I ever need to? That would imply that I actually use the oven.

I could, if I felt the need, start trying to figure out what I am wearing for Easter. It's apparent that said sweater will not be complete and even if it was, I have no idea what I'd wear with it.

Or maybe, just to spice things up a bit, pull out old love letters and photographs and realize all over again why I am with my dear Cynical and not my high school sweetheart, the rebound man, my downstairs neighbor or running boy.

Instead I think I will just watch some television, read my new book or maybe knit a bit on that sweater. Sounds like much more fun than my other options.