We interrupt this program of staring out the window, thinking cluttered and sleep-deprived thoughts to take care of some business that should have been taken long ago. Thanks must go to Cara, the brilliant and singular artist whose work can be seen on January One. It was through Cara’s site that I first learned about Heifer International. Last month, Cara organized a raffle/fundraiser to benefit Heifer under the auspices of Spin-Out, spinning/knitting event that was supposed to take place in Central Park, but due to inclement weather—and the quick thinking of Cara and a friend at the Parks Department who did not want to see Spin-Out canceled—we went to the East 54th Street Rec Center instead. Cara’s aim was to raise $3,700; she raised close to $19,000. My goals were considerably more low-key, but if there is one thing I’ve learned from Heifer, it’s that a little money can go a long way, and the $679.00 I have raised will indeed go a long way. (When I discovered that $20 would buy a flock of chicks, which are an excellent investment for any community, I wrote Cara an email asking if she would consider adding them to her gift registry. I may have been a little, erm, enthusiastic; in Cara’s words, “There were, like, footnotes!” She does not exaggerate. It is a testament to her general coolness that she overlooked my obvious geekiness and put them on the registry. ) Thanks, Cara. 
I doubt that I’ll have much of any real significance to say between now and 9—not that I really had much significant to say before that, of course—but right now it is enough to know that I can get there. It’s light out now; the sky is cloudy but not particularly threatening, and I can hear planes flying overhead, approaching LaGuardia. I’m not entirely sure why, but for some reason the sound of a plane flying overhead makes me think of “This is the Day” by the The, a song that sounds optimistic when you hear certain lines, but in the context of the whole song, they’re actually a bit sad. Nevertheless, it fills me with hope, and with a sense of forward motion. It may not be entirely justified hope, but I think I’ll keep it anyway.
Well, let’s be honest, dear friends. When I get home, I’m going to sleep all day.
Except, of course, I’m not. If last year’s Blogathon is any indication, and I have no reason to believe it isn’t, I will go to bed as soon as I get home, say, 10-ish, wake up at noon feeling like I’ve slept the day away even though I’ve only been asleep for two hours, stay awake, and then feel like reconstituted death by the time The Simpsons comes on.
,
So let’s try this...at 9 a.m. I’m going to do my victory lap, thank Julie and G for letting me take up their spare room and eat their foodstuffs and drink their coffee all night long, walk over to the subway, ride down to Bunni’s apartment, feed her cat, and then try to make up my mind: do I go straight home, or do I go out for breakfast? Sweet breakfast or savory? Eggs or cinnamon rolls? Biscuits, maybe? Or do I want to go the minimalist route, with yogurt and apricots? Pierogies, maybe, or blintzes? Naaah. Those will put me in a coma, but not in a good way, and I’ll regret it when I finally do wake up. Toast soldiers and a boiled egg? Amaranth cooked in water and milk, with a little peanut butter stirred in to highlight the flavor of the grain? Is it time for breakfast yet?
The sky is getting light. The sun isn’t quite up yet, but it won’t be long now.
Oh, dear friends. I fell asleep. One moment I was perusing cookbooks, and the next thing I know, my eyes had snapped open, 1/2 hour later.
Okay, *that* will keep me awake. Nothing motivates a girl like fear.