It would appear that I'm overjoyed of late, since my most recent blog entries have all been titled "Happy..." While this may be misconstrued as proof that I lack a robust vocabulary of adjectives signifying this sometimes elusive emotion, I feel it is more or less a good indicator that I'm genuinely happy these days. As Dawn always says, "North Carolina is a Magical Place."
(In case you are pondering this sudden change of tone in my writing, now that I am, ahem, published, I wish to take my writing more serious and skillfully entertain the masses with my riveting content...spoken with a proper English accent. One can never quite know who is trolling the Interwebs and lurking about, judging my sloppily crafted accounts of failed garden mishaps and yarny disasters. One errant semi-colon and my burgeoning career may leap gracelessly off a cliff. Preferably on Shetland, if there's a choice to be had. Visiting is on my bucket list.)
The events that transpired today which have caused me to harbor such glee are two in number. I've selected a capsule wardrobe after months of deliberation, and I received a positive response to my article pitch for one of my favorite magazines. I shall divulge further details of the two endeavors in subsequent entries.
Firstly, the capsule wardrobe is a concept that I have been researching (a.k.a. Pinning) for quite some time. An idea so horrific, yet so beguiling. I am mesmerized by the tales of these brave denizens of fashion who abandon the riches of their cavernous closets in order to pursue a more defined and simplistic style. Would I be able to accomplish such a feat? Someone who is known to frequently change her costume multiple times each day to suit her ever-changing moods? A woman who is no less likely to wear a pleather minidress than a paisley maxidress? One who serial pins Mori style and Mod style on the same board? For shame! Well, some mysterious phenomenon happened at 7:00 this morning which had the effect of motivating me to sort through the mountains of clothes in my possession, choose a precious few, fling out the mismatched hangers and line my closet with the remaining soldiers of fortune. For this go-round, I chose a set based on browns and army green, with a dash of teal and burgundy.
In any case, the miniscule washing receptacle is a beacon of mastery when compared to its penchant for drying. Clothing may tumble on high for an hour and still be as damp as a baby bunny in a bog. With winter encroaching, I am reluctant to witness a clothesline full of icy stiff jeans, sweaters and undergarments. A smaller wardrobe will ensure there is enough drying area in my house without erroneously portraying me as a professional laundress. It was successful today. Let's see how it plays out tomorrow.