But Slenderly. . .

Today, however, I cleaned out my closet. . .

Wow, hello.  I have to tell you, I feel like I've been underground for the past two weeks, like a little sad mole who squints at daylight and toils away underground, furiously digging deeper in its tunnel.   

So, work.  It kicks my ass occasionally.  This case, at least, is awfully fun (topic-wise). It hit full stride in the beginning of April, and I've spent the vast majority of all my days and weekends glued to the computer, drafting, fielding endless questions from two partners -- or sequestered away in a conference room with the team (all four of us), bickering over argument support and fine-tuning our papers, taking the red pen to paper again and again and again.  It's honestly amazing to review the difference between the initial draft I send off into the world and the final one that gets filed, a product of days spent working over word by word.  The rare original phrase survives, though the skeleton is largely intact. The time commitment utterly, totally, sucks, but the feeling of seeing one your sentences from a filing show up in the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal is indescribably surreal. 

Nonetheless, I am so happy to be on the other side.  DK is so happy that I'm on the other side. That's the hardest part, by far.  Coming home, again, at two in the morning, stopping to slip off my shoes in the hallway so the clack of heels won't wake up the sleeping sweet lump in the bedroom.  The cat, blearily wanders out to glare curiously at me while I take off my coat.  I finally slide into bed, touch DK's back, whisper "I'm home" after he startles awake.  Kiss the back of his head, breathing in his soapy smell, and fall asleep with my hand on his back, an reassurance to myself of a connection.  I think, "Just one more week," and fall asleep thinking of to-do lists and circuitous worries. 

It all finally finished on Thursday, when two big whammies came due (a filing and, in another case, a big deposition). I symbolically celebrated by chopping off my hair (CHOP) in a long-needed cut.  

And this weekend has been perfect.  Quiet and just the two of us and a shockingly lovely New York.  We started off Saturday early, with a big cup of tea and quick read, then worked out at side-by-side treadmills with a hard, punishing run.  I fussed at my hair, worried it was too short, too boy, but DK ruffled my head of little curls and told me to stop being dumb. The weather was amazing, bright sunshine, 70s, and we held hands walking up to the Morgan Library, to look at the Vasari (el al) drawings.  Then walked across town to one of our favorite galleries to look at a show of an artist I really like.  I've thought about a particular drawing of hers for a year and we went into the back to see it again – and took the plunge!  I think of it as Miss Havisham's wedding cake.

Then we stopped by Union Square to buy some flowering cherry branches and sunchokes and little cipollini onions.  And finished the day watching backed-up Top Chef episodes and sucking down slurpy Thai noodles. 

Bliss. 

Not a bad way to return back to the world.  I missed it. 

April Fool's!

I love me a good prank. So I clearly have a soft spot for April Fool's day, and am delighted to say I got my big sister this year.

M is a little more reserved than I am.  She is not with the splash up your feelings on the internet and routinely finds my humor a touch on the irreverent side, if not downright strange.  She thinks I use oddball phrasing (guilty) and old-timey words (true).  She cannot understand my dorky fascination with things like "nautical phraseology!" or "almanacs - whee!" or whatever random thing has caught my fancy.  To make her point, last night I called her a tippler.  And, when queried, defined it as a sot.  (So sue me, I read too much Wodehouse when young and impressionable).  In short, she thinks I'm weird -- occasionally sweet, can make her laugh, but nonetheless, decidedly weird. 

But M is nothing if not a good sport -- deep under the Junior League reserve and her Miss Manners instinct lurks an excellent sense of humor and appreciation for the absurd.  Which is why she won't mind that I hacked into her Facebook account and "updated" her personal data.  The below may not be funny to anyone who doesn't know M personally, but suffice to say, my younger sister howled upon imagining our elegant, cool blonde of a sister even knowing what any of the things below are.  Tron?  Hee.  Best of all?  Everyone on her "friend list" got alerted that she had updated her personal info.

About Me:                    Nobody knows I'm punk rock.

Activities:                      Working my way through all XI Star Trek movies. Beam me up, Scotty!

Interests:                       Studying the Japanese tea ceremony; pruning; tatting lace doilies; juice fasts, general preening, TRON

Favorite Music:             Death Metal, 80's Hair Bands, early Notorious B.I.G., Enya

Favorite TV Shows:      Punk'd!

Favorite Movies:            Clueless

Favorite Books:             The Unbearable Lightness of Being; His Dark Materials; Elmo's Potty Time

Favorite Quotes:            I may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I'm somebody's glass of champagne!

Edited to add:  She took is rather well.  Wine helped.  What about you?  Any good pranks this year?  I understand that I am one of the few puerile adults running around dorkily cackling to themselves about "a really great gag, ho ho ho," but would like to think I'm not alone. 

Edited to also add:  I love the dentist.  They flatter me silly about my shapely teeth (how do I know they don't try that old line on everyone) and healthy gums.  And because I am a shameless praise whore who rarely gets told I have a shapely anything, I have already signed up for my next 6 mo. check-up, floss at the ready.

Last Edited to add: Speaking of random old-timey phrases that pop, seemingly unbidden, from my mouth -- "Slow as itch."  I've used it three times in the last week and was grossly accused this afternoon of making it up.  Google has not aided me in finding out its origin, but come on, people, you've heard of "slow as itch," right?  My older sister thinks my grandmother is haunting her (more on that later); I just think she's just whispering colorful phrases into my ear at night.