Contacts, contact, cat, and coat

I can’t decide whether this is a good thing or a bad thing; you wear glasses every single day, and it’s fine. Then one day (for very little reason), you wear contacts…and nobody notices. What I can’t decide is, does that mean your glasses are particularly good, that they allow your face to be focused upon and don’t distract others, or is it bad, that your frames do nothing for you? Would it be better to keep wearing them, since the added hassle of contacts seems to hardly be worth it, if wearing the contacts makes so little difference?
I can’t decide whether to feel pleased or put out.

That was yesterday. Yesterday was also the day that Mom and I had the brother over for dinner (breakfast for dinner; ham and eggs and hashbrowns and beans…mmm…). I should mention (so that this makes sense), that for the lazy everyday, Mom and I eat at the coffee table in the living room, in front of the tv (yeah, we’re unmannered plebes- bite me). And three around that table is a lot more crowded than two. Result? My plate sliding off the beveled edge and flipping over before hitting the floor. Do you have any idea how much mess that makes? Or how disappointing that is? It started out so tasty…
And then my snobby-assed cat stuck his nose up at it. We tried six times, he was disinterested. He stole the leftover ham off Mom’s plate and attacked that, he licked the brother’s plate clean. He wouldn’t touch mine. Jerk.

And we spent the night talking about what was new, including the plans Mom has to go back out west at the end of the summer. She keeps being so conflicted; she so excited about going, but at the same time she keeps stopping herself and saying ‘but this can’t continue this way…’ I get her conflictedness, cause she’s right, but she’s happy too. So boo to confusion, do what feels good (my everlasting philosophy).

Speaking of doing what is good and not always ideal, I bought (another) coat. Long ago (read: highschool), I had an addiction to buying coats that was less than good. I think I had five. Or six. For one season.
Anyway, I broke myself of that habit, mainly by refusing to buy a coat, any coat, for, like, a couple of years. And by then none of the old ones fit, but I was averse to buying a new one, and then it was a chore…
I’ve wandered off track here. My story is, I needed (desperately) a coat for spring, and couldn’t find anything nice or well-fitting. I didn’t think my demands were that bad- I didn’t want black, I didn’t want a trench, I didn’t want a belt, and I didn’t want to pay more than a certain amount (a big certain amount; I was frustrated, and that drives up what I’m willing to pay) for it. (This was weeks ago, btw). What did I end up getting? A short, black, trench with a belt. That I like ok. It did the job.
And now the weather is gorgeous, with tons of sun, and every afternoon is so hot that you can’t wear a coat. A coat is definitely no longer what I need.
So, of course, I found a beautiful, perfect, everything-I-wanted coat, and (unwisely, pointlessly, foolishly, indulgently) bought it. I love it. It’s green and white and long…it looks a little more like a Lauren coat than a me coat, and I want her to try it on, but she can’t have it.
It’s mine, as impractical as it is. And it will stay in that closet as long as it bloody-well has to, until I get to wear it. Even if I am forty by then.