Yesterday afternoon I drank Fortnum & Mason English Breakfast tea out of my Shakespeare mug, and yesterday evening I headed out to Chapters to pick up my newly arrived copy of a book written by the last child to grow up at Cawdor Castle because, as it turned out, yesterday was very much a British sort of day.

Today, however, I am having an existential crisis.  I feel like I’ve spent the morning wandering around the house, wailing plaintively and wondering about who the heck I am and what the heck I’m supposed to be doing.  Where do I want to go in life?  Am I on the right path?  Is it really true what they say about never wearing blue and green together?

To make matters even more confusing, there has been an upset of sorts in the order of my office.  The black cat has been curled up all day in the chair that the orange cat has claimed as his own and in which he generally passes 8-10 hours every day sound asleep with his paws covering his face, while the black cat slumbers nearby in a shoebox that is much too small to contain his furry little body.  The aforementioned orange cat (who has always hated the dog very much) is, at time of writing, curled up next to her on our bed, and all of this in spite of the fact that there are about half a dozen birds in the window outside my office, chirping exuberantly that they are willing and available to be Watched With Intensity.

As if that wasn’t enough, I made a smoothie this morning that had spinach in it.  And it tasted good.  A little too good, in fact.

I’m all discombobulated.  Up is down, black is white, and so on and so forth.  The only thing I know for sure is that some days it feels like I don’t know anything at all.