The Zen of Doing My Nails

I had a long weekend. 

Lots of people, lots socialising, lots of family. I'm now sitting at home on my couch, watching reruns of The Mentalist (and loving Simon Baker...hmmm I have a thing for blondes *sigh*). I've unpacked my nail-care stuff. Nail-polish remover, various files and buffers, little cuticle scissors, cuticle care balm, extra-rich lemon scented hand cream, clear strengthening base polish, a selection of colours and my favourite extra-shine top coat. 

This friday, I had a dinner meeting with my cousin, who's getting married end of may. I'm one of his witnesses, as we call it these parts - that means I stand up for him in church, sort of like a maid of honour but for the groom. The groom's brother is a witness, too, as are two of the bride's best friends. 

We had all planned on meeting up that evening to go over the schedule for the wedding. Various spouses and siblings came along, too. Bride and groom presided over the meeting, although the bride definitely had things well in hand. She handed out five-page printouts of her List of Stuff To Remember so we could all make notes on our own copies. 

Those lists covered everything from how many chairs we'd have to put up in church (yes, we would have to do that) to who would hoover the carpets and check the lightbulbs. 

I've taken out some cotton wool thingies and removed my current nail polish. It's Noir de Chine, or rather it was. Once I've rubbed away the most stubborn bits of black, I go wash my hands, scrubbing my fingers with a soft-ish little nailbrush I bought last week. I dry them off and go back to the couch. 

The Mentalist is over now. I channel surf until I hit Transformers. It'll do. 

I was rather surprised (and somewhat amused) to learn that my main job for the wedding (it had to be my main job, it was mentioned no less than three times on that list) was to supply a large amount of our family-made plum schnaps (lethal stuff) for the banquet on the evening after the wedding. Right. 

A new week...

It's Monday again.

Now, I've never been much of a Monday-fan - perhaps conditioned to dislike it from bygone days of having to go to school? - but Mondays do have some positive connotations, too (believe it or not).

They are the start of something new, a beginning, almost like a new chance.

In my case, a new chance to get sorted. Weekends have this weird effect on me. I'm not the most organised person to begin with, but on weekends, things go haywire. Daily routine is abandoned, to-do lists are ignored, chores put off till later (or Monday, as it were). Particularly if the weather's nice outside.

Now, you might shake your head and give me a disappointed sigh on that, but there it is. Weekends are a toxic wonderful mixture of too much time and too little planning.

I love it, I really do. Social life happens, the weather's great for sports, nobody from the office calls with new problems/tasks/catastrophes, I get to sleep in (and as anyone who knows me can tell you, I am so not a morning person)....