Last weekend. Easter. ANZAC. A time to get religious if that's your bag and remember what your elders sacrificed to enable you to live with the freedoms you have.
That's what it SHOULD'VE been.
But it's strange [blasphemous?] how a 4 day weekend that supposedly frees you from the shackles of work to be with family and friends just turns into 4 days of procrastination, magazine reading and general doing-nothing-worthy-or-remotely-commemorative-laziness. I'm projecting the blame by referring to this "you", I mean me. Shame on me.
I mall ratted on the Monday and had my first, "Oh my god, you're fashion westie, ay!?" Awkward. Flattering, but awkward. Just thankful I did not look like total shit. That would have been REALLY awkward. [Will post that outfit once I find that bloody memory stick...] But that's about as far as I got. Four days to do cool shit. Did something relatively lame for 3 hours. So three days and 24 hours of inactivity. Just mooching.
I snapped out of it by yesterday, got my A[ss] into G[ear] [or Ass into Plaid] and did something productive: op shopping, picking up parcels and pattern drafting. Yay.
[wearing: thrifted navy wool jacket, mens loafers and akubra, alexander wang shirt and cue plaid trouser]
Dodging rain bursts, going to postal depots at 7.30am and not having a piece work out quite right, not so fun. Boo.