Far too many early meetings in the last few weeks. Three meetings in the last seven days before 10 am. No goodness. I'm far too damn tired all the damn time.
Proper sentences hard.
Just because I acknowledge and bow to the reality that skimming thirty minutes off of a day at the end rather than the beginning is a vastly better idea for me doesn't mean I'm happy about it. I was looking forward to Micah at my feet when I woke up, my own shower, and coffee. But no.
I should just start auto-declining meetings before 10 am. Send a message.
I figured it was about time for a rollover, and an update to tht.rss to point to the proper server, and an exposure of tht.rss on the site home... and a couple other muckety muckety things. Lazy Sundays are well spent on mucking about with one's poor neglected site.
JoCo tonight, at the Triple Door again! Excited. I am it.
Thursday night I was so out of it that I got distracted at an ellipsis and was ten blocks away from my home before I realized I hadn't even remotely completed my thought. Rather unimportant given that the server is all down and shit, but frustrating nonetheless. It's rather as if I've had my brain sucked out my ears.
To continue the story from Thursday: I didn't bother to turn on the light in my bathroom as I rummaged for a Q-tip, so when I turned around and cast eyes on the floor, it was difficult to parse what I was seeing. My floor, after all, is not usually polka-dotted. I stood still a moment, blinking, trying to figure it out, before taking a deep breath and flipping the light. Sure enough, my bathroom had been ground zero for a feather explosion, a pretty violent one from the look of the rumpled bathmats. I took stock, trying to figure out where, oh where, the bird carcass might be. Perhaps underneath the crumpled mat in front of the shower? Perhaps stashed behind the door? Gingerly, I stepped across the room, failing utterly to prevent little poofs of bird down from whirling into the air. There, in the bathtub: a seemingly untouched, albeit decidedly dead, bird. Apparently it used up all its spare feathers all over my floor.
My cats never used to hunt much; Aggie would occasionally bring home a bird and lay it on the stoop, but we're talking perhaps one every six months or so. This bird was the second in less than a month, the last one laid in my office, and we doubt Kain is bringing them all the way up from his downstairs domain. I guess my children are growing up. Or at least Aggie is.
In other news, I'm depressed and frustrated and upset, and there's nothing to be done about it except for lament numbers and inevitablities and try to get over it.
I'm not very hopeful that I'll be very cheery for a long time. I'm stuck between a rock and a very hard place.
I got home today tired, defeated, frustrated, and generally pretty out of sorts. I walked upstairs and into my bathroom to grab a Q-tip... as you do...
BLEARGH. I'm just trying to remind myself that the last time I was sucker punched this way at work, it really did turn out for the best. But damn. BLEARGH.
A night of full on insomnia, tossing and turning and all, was, let us have no doubts, distinctly unawesome. And then of course I finally hit my awake stride around 9 pm, meaning that it's just after 2 and I'm only just beginning to feel slightly tired. Stupid, stupid sleep schedules. And stupid, stupid work. And stupid, stupid hormones. And stupid, stupid... everything.
I take that back. Not everything can be stupid when Aggie is sacked out next to me on the couch, and when I pet her she stretches out, arms above her head as far as they can go, before curling back into a little ball.
The great migration has begun... should have redirections up later this week to the new site home (those of you who use the RSS will need to update then, but happily, there should never again be a change). I've been mooching off Chris so long it's kind of a shock to do anything different, but change must come, and how nice to have found a different friend to mooch off of, hah! Some day I'll have to actually set up real hosting for myself, and my brain might just have to go about exploding.
Oof. It turns out that nearly twelve hours of ongoing housewarming party is far more than I can take. Parents and family were in at 2 until (with one exception, grrr) around 5:30, and then the friend hordes (mostly Fool's) began descending around 8. I've showed my house off up and down more times than I can count, and my feet hurt to prove it. There's still quite a party going on downstairs, and it's relatively early (not even 1!), but I'm beat. And so I retire to my parlor, to read and decompress and prepare for the cleanup tomorrow (groan).
(And apparently I'm all about the parenthetical statements tonight.)
Well, way to go on not actually uploading the entry from the 11th. I presume that I can be off the hook for the days we were up in Canada; technically we had internet, but I spent a lot of time focused on drinking or playing board games, and my laptop's connection was wonky anyway. Good times were generally had, but I've decided I don't like Whistler much (similar reasons as for not liking Vegas particularly, so it's falling into the "I wouldn't choose to go there" category currently), and I think I need to stop telling people what I do on vacation, even when they ask; it seems to only ever result in me being teased for wasting location X on my preferred activity Y. Making up shit wouldn't be any better, as the base issue is that I just don't understand it when people are judgmental about my vacation choices, and it does nothing but hurt my feelings. Making up some other story would simply highlight that I'm lying because people don't respect my choices and seem to rampantly think it's cool to mock them. Apparently if I'm not a fan of things like hiking or skiing or clubbing or gambling or sightseeing, I'm not allowed to go anywhere. Apparently I'm the only person who enjoys reading in a pretty and new locale, or taking the opportunity of being in a place that's not my home to do the sort of intense indoors hangouts that never happens at home because there's always too many other "more important" things to do there. Sometimes it's nice to just goddamn not be in the city I've lived in since I was born, and I don't think I should have to suddenly make up DIFFERENT THINGS TO LIKE just because I'm not at home.
I'm extremely cranky.
Heading up into the frozen wastes, or at least the near and balmy side of the frozen wastes, tomorrow morning. Todd, Ken, Jeffie and I plan to spend the next several days drinking, reading, playing games, sleeping, cooking, eating, and snowboarding. There's a complicated Venn diagram of who's going what, I can't keep track of it all.
I'm looking forward to some serious downtime. And wasting time in the mountains... not enjoying the mountains. It seems to be a specialty of mine.
Well, the week seems to be working on getting better. Despite having a 9 am meeting this morning, work went pretty reasonably (I'm back to doing hands-on creative production work, a wild step up from none at all or only mind-numbingly boring automatable stuff). And what bad mood, what pall over one's week, could not be cured by The Briggs, who have gotten ridiculously better since 2004, and The Street Dogs, who blow my goddamn mind?
Three for three on shit, as I did my taxes today and discovered that despite the wrangling we tried to do to not repeat the owing of last year, I owe. Three times as much as I did last year. Fourteen hundred dollars that I don't have, as all my existing cash and upcoming paycheck are devoted to bills and mortgage and car repairs. Dad's bailing me out, meaning another two grand I owe him in the same month. I've been told several times tonight to remember that next year, I'll be doing some sort of happy dance around my house payments and deductions, but at the moment buying the house seems like the biggest fucking mistake of my life.
Not pleased doesn't even remotely cut it.
Not pleased again, but this time it's far more out of my control. My poor poor car, which has had brake and radiator issues looming on the horizon for quite a while, finally crested the hill into actual diagnosis. A good $1200 or so of diagnosis. Sigh. Todd is being a dear and helping with the brakes and talking to the mechanic, which should ease the pain, but damn. That was a kick direct to the guts today.
I am not pleased. Twice now in the last mont or so that I've been far, far drunker than acceptable, admittedly once not quite so much outwardly, but this time... damn. And both under similar circumstances. Uncool in myriad ways. The last time I was actually full-blown hungover was almost a year ago; the last time that I was actually sick or blacked out was over three years back. I would have liked to continue putting distance between me and that, thank you very much. But instead of making us leave when I was uncomfortable and freaked out last night, I started drinking, on not nearly enough food, apparently in some sort of attempt to substitute "trashed" for "having a good time;" after a drink or two it was completely reasonable to continue down that path.
As a normally smart and self-aware person, this behavior fucking boggles me (in retrospect at least; at the time, I apparently wasn't paying attention to the small voice screaming WTF in the corner of my brain).
Not pleased. Not one fucking whit. But excuse me, I'm going to go be ill.
Super crunchy baked and breaded pork chops, with a bit of lemon, and asparagus with balsamic vinegar for dinner for the fucking win. Jesus Christ do I love cooking with Jeff. Pretty much every single time, we turn out something fanfuckingtastic. I adore.
Yaaaaay. Proper Brandon hangouts were had today for the first time since winter set in fully and we no longer wanted to freeze our asses off going around the lake. It was dark by the time we completed our circuit, but how nice to settle into a walk around Greenlake and a chat over food and cider at the Ale House. Spring seems to be coming rather suspiciously well together.