Oh, Monday. Why are you so persistent? It's like every seven days, or something. What is that about? You're there and you will not be ignored. It's not even like my Monday was a bad one. We had sunshine and a reasonable workload and reduced-fat banana dulce de leche coffee cake at Starbucks. All good things, right? It's just that I had such a good weekend. Monday is not the weekend. It's a bit disorienting.
On Saturday, the (super-fantastic!) Internet friend Glenna came to visit all the way from Canada (via a conference in San Francisco), and we whisked ourselves off to Napa for a rainy afternoon of wine-tasting and yarn-ogling, which in my opinion is a fairly excellent way to spend a spring day. We stopped through V. Sattui, which is one of my favorite wineries, but I'm now realizing that I mostly love them for their hardcore deli and their pretty picnic grounds. Maybe it's because they skipped out on the Chardonnay/Sauvignon Blanc region of the wine spectrum? I was less impressed than usual by their crowded tasting room and their "herbal" Semillon. After, we headed to Rombauer, which is a ways off the beaten path and makes my friend Erin's favorite Chardonnay. It was a completely different crowd, a testament to what happens when you move off Highway 29 and raise the price per bottle by $30--far fewer Reeboks, we'll say. And some darn tasty Chardonnay, truth be told.
We spent our evening in a vortex of homebody fangirl bliss, surrounded by pasta, Hershey kisses, something to drink, knitting, and a mini-marathon of Bones, which is not a bastion of excellent twenty-first-century television, but it's sort of engaging anyway. We were productive. We watched and knitted and discussed, and then promptly passed out in our beds after a day well spent.
And I can barely even talk about Sunday. My mother will think I had some kind of temporary illness, really. After Glenna left, I did the dishes. Doing the dishes turned into cleaning out my ridiculously full shirt drawer. Cleaning out the shirt drawer turned into weeding through the bedroom closet. Weeding through the bedroom closet became a full-fledged assault on the coat closet, which--I kid you not--was mostly taken up by a box I hadn't unpacked after moving into my apartment nearly two years ago. I filled three garbage bags and an ancient suitcase with my (former) stuff, packed them all into my car, and drove them to the Goodwill on International Blvd. I'm telling you, it's a miracle. I can see the floors of both of my closets. There are shelves I didn't know I had, people! Book space! Brilliant, this cleaning-out thing. Who knew?
Anyway. Tomorrow is Tuesday, which will probably be less of a shock than Monday. Right? Right.