My brain’s been like mush lately, uninspired and drained from the commencement of Hell Week. I have about ten or so drafted posts, of which all are half finished; somehow, I can’t finish them. Lovely. Instead, I’ve invested all my efforts into rehearsal for the production of Grease (opening night is this Friday!), dance crew practices (woohoo!), and senior-related privileges/events. I suppose it’s nice to occasionally take a break from the trivial blogosphere; sometimes too much of an overflow of information and inspiration becomes antithetical. Like they – the ever so mysterious they – say, too much of anything is not a good thing. Except chocolate. And bags. And shoes. And cocktail rings. I digress. My point was, and still is, that on the rare occasion I have absolutely nothing to do, and am concurrently uninspired/irrevocably bored, I go to Target. I love it so. I could browse each section for hours: the beauty aisles, the clothing racks, the shoe section, the magazines, the technology aisles… The place is God’s gift to suburbia. And so, on some weekday (Tuesday, I think?), when I was near insanity from boredom, I drove off in my little orange box (a.k.a., my car) to Target. And did un peu de shopping…