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small packages
11/23/2005 = 10:24 AM

It was snowing when I got up. Snowing, for fuck's sake.

I blame the neighbors, who switched out the tacky holiday inflatables (the turkey was bad enough, but it's already been replaced by an inflatable lighted Santa. Lighted. And did I mention, it's lighted?) on their rooftop yesterday.

Mother Nature is confused, poor dear.

Anyway.

I was kind of depressed yesterday.

Back story:

I have a real-life friend with whom I have lost touch — not completely, but we're not as hooked up as once we were.

No fault of either of ours, we're just too damned busy to keep up with each other.

Plus, she's got kids, so her life is far more hectic than mine. For every fire I've got to put out, she's got ten; for every drama in my life, she's got a hundred; for every task that sucks me under, she's got a thousand.

I miss the hell out of her, so I try to keep the line open between us. Yesterday, I saw her email address in my inbox, and I was so stoked.

Till I opened it and found that what I had received from her was bulk holiday glurge.

She hadn't even tried to camouflage the fact that what she'd sent had been sent to a bunch of people all at once and was, essentially, a group greeting.

The highs are never as high as the lows are low.

I tried to look on the bright side, but, at the time, I couldn't think of one.

Plus, as those of you who get my notify emails know (I put extra tidbits in the notifies to make it worth people's time to sign up for them) I had been sent a UPS notification on Friday, about which I was excited for pickup Monday, only to find out that it was for an item I'd already received, that they at UPS forgot to scan in.

This Moment of Disappointment has been made possible by Brown.

So yeah. Depressed.

Not, you know, rooftop-and-semi-automatic-weapon depressed, but a little sad and tired. Being surrounded by people, none of whom are the friend you've got on your mind, is not as lonely as being utterly devoid of human contact, but it feels like it is.

Sigh. Get home.

Pee, 'cos even if I go before I leave work, I will have to go again when I get home. (You cannot buy coffee; you can only rent it.)

Preheat the oven for dinner.

Check the mail.

A wee package. (Trust me. I know adjectives, and "wee" is the one that best suits the size of this package.)

Hrm.

Containing a cute little cheesecloth sack with "Coach, Est. 1941" printed on in red letters.

No way. No. Way.

Way.

Inside the sack, this:

And a note, referencing the unbearable cuteness of iPod.

From that ol' compromisin', enterprisin', anything but tranquilizin', right on, Mel.

I mean. Look at it. It's durable and well-crafted. Got a wrist-strap. Openings for the screen and controls, and access to the ports.

(Also, crucially, a teensy little heart charm. Thank goodness. Don't know how I made the damned thing work before without that.)

The best things really do come in small packages. This particular one contained enough friendship to chase away a whole day's worth of blues.

And that helped me find the bright side to the mass holiday greeting — I'm still on my friend's mailing list. So I feel a lot better. We'll hook up after the craziness in our lives dies down a bit and it'll be okay.

It just hit me — I've got a Coach iPod case. I'm turning into Trendy McTrenderson. I hope I don't lose my Sesame Street-cred.

drinking: hype energy beverage fizzy-lifting drink
listening to: Willawoman, Crazy (Make Me Crazy remix)
don't know willawoman? go forth and hear. she trains service dogs too