There is a little speculative fiction magazine called Fortean Bureau that has published "grocery lists of the stars" from writers they admire, but who are out of their financial league. If I was a speculative fiction star and had been asked to provide such a list and was in a non-literal mood (an occurrence the rarity of which rivals a blue moon in a leap year) I might have come up with the following (it's a short list because even make-believe grocery shopping isn't a lot of fun):

bark (birch)
green
lightning (late summer, medium)
silk taffeta (12 yards, iridescent blue-purple)
holes from cotton stockings
Nick Bantock collage, This Side of Ever
75.5 degrees F

Today was supposed to be a vacation day, but did not feel like either vacation or work, but some swirled combination of the two. I was home for all but a couple of hours, when I made an appearance at work for a weekly meeting at which we met our new CFO (who impressed me by making eye contact, observing, and jotting a few notes, saying very little).

The painters were here again today (they are fast becoming a permanent fixture), causing me to grab a few toiletries and scurry into Caitlin's bathroom for a shower.

The green is too yellowy, the yellow is too green, and the blue is too blah, thus requiring the repainting of the guest room, the sewing/computer room and the laundry room, respectively. Even though they are paid for all the repainting, the painters still seem to have some level of impatience with my color choice changes. I can't imagine why.