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A post, a very palpable post...
Aug. 23rd, 2007 12:37 amHeya.
When I have something to say, there's no time. When I have the time, there's nothing I particularly want to say.
I will put down here that I've been feeling bitey for the last couple of days... well, it's been coming on for about two weeks, actually.
Bitey. Like snoopy says, "I'm going to bite something today." Of course, then Snoopy encounters Lucy VanPelt and discovers that he can resist the bitey urge after all.
Who the fuck bites Lucy VanPelt, after all?
I was told today by someone who sees me somewhat infrequently that I "look tired."
I am tired. I need a couple of days during which nothing is scheduled, no work needs doing, and no one expects me to be anywhere at a certain time.
I'm being ground down by several things. Work, which isn't going to slow down. My family, filled with health crises and their own issues. My fall schedule thrown completely out of whack, and becoming busier by the second. Projects to finish, and a house that badly needs to be tidied.
My work on the house from earlier this year has eroded, the entropy is back and kicking my ass. Fucking entropy. I do little bits of nibbling on it, but I feel like it's winning again. Once again, I am reminded that I have too many things and not enough places for them to go. Yes, I know that means I should get rid of some of the things, but that's even harded to manage.
I'm decended from two different types of magpie, you see.
Mom's a Shiny Object magpie. She likes to acquire pretty things, particularly when they're on sale or when doing so helps others. (She's a monster in a Goodwill.) She keeps acquiring... not only new shiny things in the categories she likes... but she acquires NEW CATEGORIES all the time.
Dad, on the other hand, doesn't care about shiny objects. He's the stockpiler, the ultimate recycler, the one who won't throw anything away. He re-uses underwear elastic for his goggles. He turns jeans into shorts, shorts into short shorts, and when the short shorts show too much of his mended underwear... he turns the remains of the denim into bags or bucket-aprons. He takes the packaging of things like milk and cuts them into little boxes to sort and store his massive collection of nails, brads, screws, nuts, and bolts. HE's a monster in a Dumpster. If it is broken, but could be fixed it is not trash. If it is broken, cannot be fixed, but has potentially useable parts... well, you get the picture.
So here I have a spectacular collection of... well... collections. Plus, lots of things that have been repaired, or will be repaired, or will be used to repair other things.
I'm fucking doomed.
I'm going to be one of those crazy cat ladies, and when I die my family/friends will throw their hands in the air and drop a match on my house.
Grar.
So now I go off to accomplish a small task before I go to bed. Hopefully it will lead to other small tasks being accomplished.
Sorry for the lack of spell-checking on this. I must go before I lose my spark of enthusiasm.
When I have something to say, there's no time. When I have the time, there's nothing I particularly want to say.
I will put down here that I've been feeling bitey for the last couple of days... well, it's been coming on for about two weeks, actually.
Bitey. Like snoopy says, "I'm going to bite something today." Of course, then Snoopy encounters Lucy VanPelt and discovers that he can resist the bitey urge after all.
Who the fuck bites Lucy VanPelt, after all?
I was told today by someone who sees me somewhat infrequently that I "look tired."
I am tired. I need a couple of days during which nothing is scheduled, no work needs doing, and no one expects me to be anywhere at a certain time.
I'm being ground down by several things. Work, which isn't going to slow down. My family, filled with health crises and their own issues. My fall schedule thrown completely out of whack, and becoming busier by the second. Projects to finish, and a house that badly needs to be tidied.
My work on the house from earlier this year has eroded, the entropy is back and kicking my ass. Fucking entropy. I do little bits of nibbling on it, but I feel like it's winning again. Once again, I am reminded that I have too many things and not enough places for them to go. Yes, I know that means I should get rid of some of the things, but that's even harded to manage.
I'm decended from two different types of magpie, you see.
Mom's a Shiny Object magpie. She likes to acquire pretty things, particularly when they're on sale or when doing so helps others. (She's a monster in a Goodwill.) She keeps acquiring... not only new shiny things in the categories she likes... but she acquires NEW CATEGORIES all the time.
Dad, on the other hand, doesn't care about shiny objects. He's the stockpiler, the ultimate recycler, the one who won't throw anything away. He re-uses underwear elastic for his goggles. He turns jeans into shorts, shorts into short shorts, and when the short shorts show too much of his mended underwear... he turns the remains of the denim into bags or bucket-aprons. He takes the packaging of things like milk and cuts them into little boxes to sort and store his massive collection of nails, brads, screws, nuts, and bolts. HE's a monster in a Dumpster. If it is broken, but could be fixed it is not trash. If it is broken, cannot be fixed, but has potentially useable parts... well, you get the picture.
So here I have a spectacular collection of... well... collections. Plus, lots of things that have been repaired, or will be repaired, or will be used to repair other things.
I'm fucking doomed.
I'm going to be one of those crazy cat ladies, and when I die my family/friends will throw their hands in the air and drop a match on my house.
Grar.
So now I go off to accomplish a small task before I go to bed. Hopefully it will lead to other small tasks being accomplished.
Sorry for the lack of spell-checking on this. I must go before I lose my spark of enthusiasm.
