Lavish tastes? Would that include taking an Ativan two days in a row and knocking yourself out for 48 hours after a week of nonstop home improvement or would that come under Jupiter square Venus, for most of which I've been unconscious?
Forget about the lavish tastes - how about money in your mailbox and the moolah for selling the Polo boots on eBay becoming available? I like that one much more better.
So now I am conscious - vaguely - and am looking at the list of things to do and wondering if I should go on with clearing out the pantry, writing Anonymous and Me (hah!), finishing the Story for Sirjana about Salami deciding to hop all day with the side to-do of learning Pages, cancel my Slate account because I finally paid it off, make a list of personal property I want to bequeath to the four people I still know when I die, sticking photos of various and assorted clematis I don't know the names of in the garden book, get a load of stuff ready for Restore, ditto for the dump and the recycling center I've just discovered exists in town, add more steps to the pathway I'm making that leads to the airbnb entrance, ironing, making a summer dress from all the marimekko fabric I've been buying on eBay, redoing the three by five cards currently covered in crossing outs and scribble that constitute my list of website passwords, calling the plumber for the third time, looking at the Dripworks website for the Nth time but this time actually ordering something or slightly more prosaically and likely to happen, making the bed - not as simple as even it might seem as Good Girl is sound asleep in it.
O fortunate and lucky me, is all I can say.
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