Insofar as it actually took place, my Sunday eggs-cursion worked out. With the help of a friendly and talented hand, I sharpie-decorated and filled some brightly colored plastic eggs with candy and weird notes (i.e., “You are a wonderful friend. Even Oprah knows it.”) I then left them around DC willy-nilly…though it would be accurate to say I only covered a 3-block perimeter. I’m not sure if anyone actually picked up and opened any of these eggs. But that is my earnest hope. And the entire egg-cercise was worthwhile in the creative regard. No, unfortunately, I didn’t take any photos of the proceedings. It takes two hands to randomly hide eggs in plants and around statues while evading tourists’ lollygagging and cops’ eyes alike.
Easter Basketcase Bunny
Also, I can’t stop taking personality tests (INFJ) and reading self-help articles (Martha Beck-ommendations mostly). Someone tell me something I don’t know already! I’ve got mindfulness downpat. Well, I mean now I know what it is. Now I have to figure out how to master it. I’ll call you when I’ve beaten my highest Zen score, which is, in itself, a paradox.
I don’t need any guff about Oprah.com neither because desperate times call for desperate, teary Google searches. Anyway, I probably blasphemed enough just by expressing an O-pinion about her highness. That’s what Oprah calls them, O-pinions.
Meanwhile in the relationships arena, this is comforting non-news.