It's been so long since I've written a substantive post here that if we've only been keeping in touch via this blog, there's no way to really catch up. The list of people this applies to is woefully long: friends, relatives, there are many folks whom I've been negligent in keeping in touch. Of course, those folks also know that this is nothing new, that I've a pattern of falling off the map with tide-like regularity.
Also, I have a half-hour, well 25 minutes now actually, before the Dark Mistress comes home and we go out to eat. We're celebrating the passing of my winter break. In the next, uh, 23 minutes, I hope to sum up what I've been up to lately.
As my previous post alluded to, I sent in all the needed materials for my MFA applications on December 8th, the deadline I'd set for myself. Ahh! I just spilled corn husker's lotion all over myself! 21 minutes!
On the beginning of my last day of work December 18th actually, I decided to pop into the English building, having seen my Professor's car in the lot. He happened to be in, and I learned that he and his wife suffered a horrible personal loss, which is why he was so hard to get a hold of this semester.
Over the course of the nest few weeks I'd get various notices from schools that they hadn't received the letters of recommendation from my professors. As of last week, I've sent 5 or 6 emails out to them (the professors), and I'm done. They're adults, they're professionals, and if emailing them doesn't work, what else can I do? It's break, so it's not like I can track them down in their offices.
After work ended, I hung up my hat for some serious and long needed decompression. It actually began with a bit of depression. Applying to MFA programs had been my sole purpose since the summer. It was incredibly stressful, but it also shut up that little voice in the back of my head that always says things like "what you're doing isn't important", "how is this bettering yourself in any way?", "you're going to end up a boring nobody that no-one cares about unless you get off the couch". (Those voices, by the way, are counter-productive)
Shit! 11 Minutes.
Well, anyway, I got through the slump by working on a craft project and ended up coming to a sense of calm and accomplishment. One of my biggest sources of anxiety in my post-college life was how hard it is to find the time to do the things that are important to me, the things that make me feel like I am doing something important. Well, for one, applying to MFA programs involved a lot of research, reading, and writing. I had to do it while also helping the Dark Mistress move in, cooking, and cleaning (though not as much as I suppose I should), and working. My life wasn't in a good balance necessarily, but I managed to find the time to do it. And it was much, much harder than doing those things I like to do, like writing.
Second, I came to appreciate how much I really do love writing and why. I won't go into it here, but it feels like the past several years of my life have I slowly worked towards realizing that I'm happiest with life, and myself, when I'm being creative. When I'm trying to make something beautiful or striking or at least fun. It's something that seems pretty obvious to my friends, I don't know why it took me so long to figure out.
Lets see, 6 minutes. Other highlights from break:
The house is driving the Mistress and I nuts. It's so cluttered. We've simply run out of room to put things, and that means there's a lot still unpacked. We've made some great progress though. The living room is slowly becoming a nice place to be, and just today I cleaned up the Middle bedroom, which was a re-god-dammed-diculous disaster, rivaled only by those people with mental illnesses who can't manage to throw anything away.
The Mistress and I watched The Ballad of Jack and Rose, Into the Wild, and finished the series Six Feet Under, the finale of which had us both sobbing for what felt like a half hour. Assholes. I cut up my first whole chicken to make a crock pot recipe that was basically chicken, spices, zucchini, and broth. (It was delicious).
AHH! I'm out of time! We had an awesome new years, I played many video games, drank a fair amount of liquor, saw old friends, and ate out perhaps a little too much, but hey, it was winter break, man.
Maybe there'll be a part II tomorrow, maybe not.
Showing posts with label The Templetons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Templetons. Show all posts
Monday, January 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Is There Even Such a Thing Broccoli and Bean Cassarole? I've never had.
At this rate my blog will soon be a sorry scattering of sporadic mea culpas. I'm busy. Very busy. Too busy to fix my broken computer. Too busy to organize my sock drawer. Too busy to read lengthy books, and too busy to think about writing for this.
In about a month I want to be done applying to MFA programs. My professor's fallen through, so I am relying solely on my own skill, wit, and taste to prepare my portfolio. This has meant long hours in dim lighting, sipping tea, blowing through my fingers to keep warm, and listening to music. I'm convinced its the most pleasure a person can experience alone without the aid of explosives and/or liquor.
(Note to anyone from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives: Just kidding! The most explosive thing I've ever messed with is broccoli and bean casserole, and I'd never dream of handling it while under the influence of alcohol! Like Nancy said, just say no!)
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
In Which I (Maybe) Get to the Point
In reading back over my posts, this month I have twice now compared favorably myself against Cylons, indicating that I have a plan. This makes me sad in two ways. One in that I have not yet finished what I started, which is explaining that plan, and two in that, c'mon, am I really that big of a nerd?
It's safe to say that, for the most part, the past two weeks were miserable. I'd been volunteered to work on someone's project at work and, being a perfectionist, I think I worked too hard on it. I took it to Atlanta with me, working on it every night in the hotel room. I've been stressing about it since mid March, but crunch time was these past two weeks. Between this project, an event I was working on, and my regular duties, I regularly came in early and left very, very late. Staying three and a half hours late after work is one thing. It's another when you usually get out at 11pm.
This weekend, even though I had to go in twice Sunday to take care of some events, felt like a vacation. No homework, no workwork to bring home. Saturday the Mistress and I went out to dinner in high fashion, treating ourselves to pricey Italian. Then we met up with some friends at another restaurant where we had dessert. For the first time in a long time I was able to indulge myself for a day, driving up to visit Stankfoot on Monday. We played video games, we hit Taco Bell, I held the ladder while he took down his Christmas lights. It was fantastic.
The following will only be funny to those following Galactica:
On our drive to Taco Bell, he turned to me and said in a mock school teacher tone: "So, what did you learn from this week's episode?"
"Um," I searched, "don't piss off Tory."
And then, with his hands cupped closed, he said "Very good. I want you to remember that as you take command..." He moved his hands toward me, opening them to reveal this:
For those not familiar with the show, he was mimicking a very touching scene from the series where father promoted son. He couldn't have done it better. Now that I think about it, that'd be a good way for two B*G nerds to propose to each other. It would have to be a private and serious moment:
"So, what do you think makes us work so well together?" A conversation of any length, as long as it's serious, introspective, and dramatically lit, should follow. Finally, the one who started should stand up, pull a jewelry box from a nearby dresser, desk, or table, and move to kneel, saying with as much throaty gravel as they can add to their voice, "good. I want you to remember that as you take command... of my heart."
Back on topic, though I'm sure reality will set in once I'm back behind my desk, it's fitting that I feel a reprieve from work at about this time when I'm thinking of how I would like to move on from it.
Class, though it's been frustrating, has done wonders for my poetry writing. In 2004, Mr. Templeton opened my eyes to the potential of verse. By 2005 I was writing like crazy, but by the end of spring I'd burnt out. I lost confidence in my ability, and distractions like "I'm unemployed and living at home all the sudden" didn't help me gain any perspective. Three years later, I'm feeling confident again. My writing has improved, though I was not notably active. I think it's because of a gain in perspective. My problem in 2005 was, looking back, I felt I'd run out of things to say. As prolific as I was in that short period of time, I'm not surprised. Though it doesn't feel like it some times, I've learned quite a bit these three years. Somehow, I've found a thing or two to right about.
It is clear to me that, though I don't know of any dream job, any path through life free of struggle, I would like to at least struggle for something that I enjoy, something that resonates with me. I've also learned that regardless of the method or the medium, I need to be creating to be happy. It's like a pressure valve. No, it's more than that. When I struggle for hours only to, in a flash, find the right word, the perfect turn of phrase, I'm filled with immense satisfaction. I am rarely more proud of myself, more accepting and forgiving of myself, then after I have made, and made well.
So, instead of crossing my fingers and hoping that through some convoluted series of miraculous and absurd events that I end up the as the new bassist for R.E.M., (sorry Mike, I'd have to), I decided I'm going to apply for creative writing programs with a focus on Poetry. This, of course, means a lot of work. I have to:
There you have it. My plan. I have about a year to make it happen.
It's safe to say that, for the most part, the past two weeks were miserable. I'd been volunteered to work on someone's project at work and, being a perfectionist, I think I worked too hard on it. I took it to Atlanta with me, working on it every night in the hotel room. I've been stressing about it since mid March, but crunch time was these past two weeks. Between this project, an event I was working on, and my regular duties, I regularly came in early and left very, very late. Staying three and a half hours late after work is one thing. It's another when you usually get out at 11pm.
This weekend, even though I had to go in twice Sunday to take care of some events, felt like a vacation. No homework, no workwork to bring home. Saturday the Mistress and I went out to dinner in high fashion, treating ourselves to pricey Italian. Then we met up with some friends at another restaurant where we had dessert. For the first time in a long time I was able to indulge myself for a day, driving up to visit Stankfoot on Monday. We played video games, we hit Taco Bell, I held the ladder while he took down his Christmas lights. It was fantastic.
The following will only be funny to those following Galactica:
On our drive to Taco Bell, he turned to me and said in a mock school teacher tone: "So, what did you learn from this week's episode?"
"Um," I searched, "don't piss off Tory."
And then, with his hands cupped closed, he said "Very good. I want you to remember that as you take command..." He moved his hands toward me, opening them to reveal this:
For those not familiar with the show, he was mimicking a very touching scene from the series where father promoted son. He couldn't have done it better. Now that I think about it, that'd be a good way for two B*G nerds to propose to each other. It would have to be a private and serious moment:
"So, what do you think makes us work so well together?" A conversation of any length, as long as it's serious, introspective, and dramatically lit, should follow. Finally, the one who started should stand up, pull a jewelry box from a nearby dresser, desk, or table, and move to kneel, saying with as much throaty gravel as they can add to their voice, "good. I want you to remember that as you take command... of my heart."
Back on topic, though I'm sure reality will set in once I'm back behind my desk, it's fitting that I feel a reprieve from work at about this time when I'm thinking of how I would like to move on from it.
Class, though it's been frustrating, has done wonders for my poetry writing. In 2004, Mr. Templeton opened my eyes to the potential of verse. By 2005 I was writing like crazy, but by the end of spring I'd burnt out. I lost confidence in my ability, and distractions like "I'm unemployed and living at home all the sudden" didn't help me gain any perspective. Three years later, I'm feeling confident again. My writing has improved, though I was not notably active. I think it's because of a gain in perspective. My problem in 2005 was, looking back, I felt I'd run out of things to say. As prolific as I was in that short period of time, I'm not surprised. Though it doesn't feel like it some times, I've learned quite a bit these three years. Somehow, I've found a thing or two to right about.
It is clear to me that, though I don't know of any dream job, any path through life free of struggle, I would like to at least struggle for something that I enjoy, something that resonates with me. I've also learned that regardless of the method or the medium, I need to be creating to be happy. It's like a pressure valve. No, it's more than that. When I struggle for hours only to, in a flash, find the right word, the perfect turn of phrase, I'm filled with immense satisfaction. I am rarely more proud of myself, more accepting and forgiving of myself, then after I have made, and made well.
So, instead of crossing my fingers and hoping that through some convoluted series of miraculous and absurd events that I end up the as the new bassist for R.E.M., (sorry Mike, I'd have to), I decided I'm going to apply for creative writing programs with a focus on Poetry. This, of course, means a lot of work. I have to:
- Study for and take the GREs
- Read more poetry, become familiar with poets I'd like to study under
- Find programs that I like with poets I like who teach
- Weigh the benefits of an MA vs. an MFA,
- Consider where and if I'd pursue a PHD
- If applying for an MA, creating a sample of Critical Writing, something which I do not have strong experience in
- Revise my best poems for a portfolio
- Find journals I'd like to seek publication in
- Submit my best poems for publication in various journals
There you have it. My plan. I have about a year to make it happen.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Ducky Fuzz
I just had class and it was actually a bit of fun. My favorite moment was when someone asked Mr. Templeton, who you should know is a man in his mid thirties to mid forties, who grew up in the south, if he had ever "heard of Hank Williams."
The five seconds of silence that followed whas what I live for.
We worked in groups today, and my classmates are actually decent, smart, and nice people, which worked to break my cynical, defensive view of them, and served to make me feel like a bit of an asshole.
Yesterday, at work, I witnessed a group warmup activity where all the participants form a circle. The activity starts when one person says "Fuzzy Ducks". The person to their left then has to say "Fuzzy Ducks", and so on, until someone elects to say "Does He?" instead. This causes the circle to reverse, and people now switch to saying "Ducky Fuzz". That is, until someone says "Does He?" again and the word and direction yet again switch. If someone mispeaks or takes too long, they are elimenated from the circle.
Try this, out loud. Your instinct isn't to go from "Fuzzy Ducks" to "Ducky Fuzz", but rather to simply swap the first letters, resulting in some foul language. I was waiting for it, eagerly, and perhaps immaturely. The highlight was a flustered young man, uttering "Duzzy, Fluzz, Fuzzy... shit."
The five seconds of silence that followed whas what I live for.
We worked in groups today, and my classmates are actually decent, smart, and nice people, which worked to break my cynical, defensive view of them, and served to make me feel like a bit of an asshole.
Yesterday, at work, I witnessed a group warmup activity where all the participants form a circle. The activity starts when one person says "Fuzzy Ducks". The person to their left then has to say "Fuzzy Ducks", and so on, until someone elects to say "Does He?" instead. This causes the circle to reverse, and people now switch to saying "Ducky Fuzz". That is, until someone says "Does He?" again and the word and direction yet again switch. If someone mispeaks or takes too long, they are elimenated from the circle.
Try this, out loud. Your instinct isn't to go from "Fuzzy Ducks" to "Ducky Fuzz", but rather to simply swap the first letters, resulting in some foul language. I was waiting for it, eagerly, and perhaps immaturely. The highlight was a flustered young man, uttering "Duzzy, Fluzz, Fuzzy... shit."
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Like Sand Through My Fingers
I've not posted in two weeks because it's been a crazy two weeks. Not overly crazy mind you, but it was the holidays and all. Here's a bullet point style of what I've been up to.
PRE HOLIDAYS
I think it was Monday before Thanksgiving I decided to finally make cookies. I say finally because a year ago at least mom bought me chocolate chips, Reese's Pieces... chips, and Heath Bar chips. Though chocolate chip will always be my favorite, I went with Heath out of curiosity. The recipe was mostly peanut butter and lard, and I don't have an electric mixer. Just this little hand job. Wait. That doesn't sound right.
I figured I'd suck it up and do it like in the old days and all. How did people make cookies before electricity, right? It was so freaking hard to turn that handle that the mixer actually skipped a gear. This caused me to test it out of the bowl, which of course sent peanut butter batter everywhichwhere, evoking one or two childhood memories at least.
In the end though, I came out with a batch of cookies that were delicious. Out of the oven, at least. At room temperature, they were mediocre at best. I took some to the Dark Mistress's house for her and her roomie, and I took some home for my folks. I visited my folks yesterday and there was still one cookie left. I of course must face truth: if folk do not eat your cookies in two weeks time, they simply do not inspire.
HOLIFRICKANDAYS
I decided at mom's suggestion to take Starbuck to Thanksgiving with me. I was worried how she'd get along with Big Orange/Bad Puddy/Bad Boy/Hobbes/my parents' cat. His big and mellow (except around children) and was nothing but curious about Starbuck. Starbuck, whether it was because she was still in the cone or just being in new territory, did nothing but hiss. All in all there were no problems though.
I got into town early to see the old high school rivalry football game with some high school friends. I'm not huge into football but it was an exciting game. Plus I ran into a kid I used to be close friends with back in grade school, and it turns out he lives twenty minutes from me. We exchanged numbers, and I can't wait to catch up with him.
THE LONG WEEKEND
The day after Thanksgiving I took Starbuck in to get her stitches out, but unfortunately they said she wasn't as "closed up inside" as they'd like, so it was back home with a couple of staples, some antibiotics, and another week of the cone.
She got good at managing with the cone, so I let her have reign of the house. They gave me treats to wrap her pills in, but that only worked once, so I had to learn how to pill her the good old fashion "this is for your own good" way. (For those wondering, that is to say I cradle her in my lap, hold her jaw open with one hand, and drop the pill at the back of her throat with the other.) For being such a spitfire, she's also a real good sport.
I generally avoid anything Black Friday, but I saw one deal I couldn't pass up: 5'x7.5' area carpets for $24. Granted, there were only three patterns to choose from, but they were all better than monotone.
Saturday my old friends Bennington and Funk stopped by. (Bennington and I have known each other since we were wee, and Funk is her husband.) It was a surprise visit, and we ended up going out to dinner. Also, they were the first to sign my guest book/type writer, which I suppose makes it official.
Sunday I celebrated my birthday, though it wasn't my birthday, with the Mistress, my folks, and my folks' folks. For the most part, it was good times. I came into some money, which I decided I will hide so I won't use it to pay the bills. It will instead go towards the "I want an electric guitar" fund. Because I want an electric guitar.
Monday it was to Spanky and Zanzibar's house to meet up with Stankfoot and play some hockey and Warhammer. It was fantastic.
BACK TO WORK
Going back to work was harsh. I had early meetings all week and had to stay late a lot. Not much free time. That's all there is to say.
Tuesday I had plans to get lunch with the, uh, Templetons. They're both former creative writing professors of mine, and without going into great detail, know that they've influenced me a great deal. I've decided that I don't want to keep working my job, but I don't want to cut without a plan. I'd like to go back to school, but I don't know for what. Every time I make up my mind, I find myself discouraged a few months later by tales of what comes after. I went to college from high school because that's what I was supposed to do. I studied philosophy because that's what engaged me. I want to go to school again because I want to be working on and towards something that's enriching and engaging, but I'm not going to just wing it. If I go, I want to know for what and why.
I want to get the Templetons' perspectives on creative writing, MAs and MFAs, teaching, and the like. Unfortunately, they stood me up, so ?.
Also, Tuesday I bought a toy:
I've always wanted one. I used to set up labs of these for the high school as a summer job. I don't have cable, and I don't have any televisions. But for $20 I have an old computer with a DVD player in it that sits nicely right in front of my couch.
All week I was obsessed with the notion of installing Linux or BSD on it. Why? I'm glad you asked. The iMac I bought comes with OS 9, which is kind of old. Browsing the internet with it sucks, because it doesn't run any modern browsers nicely. With Linux or BSD, I could install free, modern, and more secure applications. But, mostly, it's because I want to prove I can.
Sometime during the week I also tricked out the coffee table so there wouldn't be a mess'o'wire underneath. Eye hooks to the rescue!
Wednesday I was late for a very important meeting. Like, thirty minutes in front of everyone on our staff late. To a workshop. But I was late for the best of reasons, I reckon. Just as I was about to leave, my neighbor, Mrs. Fussnpuss knocked. Her toilet was running and she couldn't stop it. While my father pointed out that'll make it hard to go to the bathroom, the fact of the matter was it was wasting a lot of water and would have continued to do so had I not poked around in there. The culprit? A strange mineral build up that kept her flapper from sealing.
He he.
And Friday Starbuck returned to the vet to get her staples out. She's back to her old self again, minus some ovaries, plus a gross scar.
Tonight
Today was the first, legit "me" day I've had since... I dunno. Stankfoot and I hit the Bell early, and afterwards I began doing the things I do. To be honest, I don't remember what all I did and in what order, but here's a short list: washed sheets and blankets, did a load of dishes, took all the boxes and crap in the living room to other rooms to be organized and unpacked (finally), unrolled new carpet 2, re-arranged some of the living room, drained the hose and shut off the water leading to the outdoor faucet, vacuumed living room, decorated my tree (tree courtesy of a Grandma, lights courtesy of mom, bells courtesy of D. M. Hawthorne),...
... rescued a sweet Medusa lamp from the basement, hung mirrors in the hallway, and hung a couple posters. The living room looks, well, respectable.
Like someone actually lives here.
Oh, and the cherry on top:
Who kicks ass? I kick ass! Well, maybe just a little. I almost can't believe it works. How well, we shall yet see.
PRE HOLIDAYS
I think it was Monday before Thanksgiving I decided to finally make cookies. I say finally because a year ago at least mom bought me chocolate chips, Reese's Pieces... chips, and Heath Bar chips. Though chocolate chip will always be my favorite, I went with Heath out of curiosity. The recipe was mostly peanut butter and lard, and I don't have an electric mixer. Just this little hand job. Wait. That doesn't sound right.
I figured I'd suck it up and do it like in the old days and all. How did people make cookies before electricity, right? It was so freaking hard to turn that handle that the mixer actually skipped a gear. This caused me to test it out of the bowl, which of course sent peanut butter batter everywhichwhere, evoking one or two childhood memories at least.
In the end though, I came out with a batch of cookies that were delicious. Out of the oven, at least. At room temperature, they were mediocre at best. I took some to the Dark Mistress's house for her and her roomie, and I took some home for my folks. I visited my folks yesterday and there was still one cookie left. I of course must face truth: if folk do not eat your cookies in two weeks time, they simply do not inspire.
HOLIFRICKANDAYS
I decided at mom's suggestion to take Starbuck to Thanksgiving with me. I was worried how she'd get along with Big Orange/Bad Puddy/Bad Boy/Hobbes/my parents' cat. His big and mellow (except around children) and was nothing but curious about Starbuck. Starbuck, whether it was because she was still in the cone or just being in new territory, did nothing but hiss. All in all there were no problems though.
I got into town early to see the old high school rivalry football game with some high school friends. I'm not huge into football but it was an exciting game. Plus I ran into a kid I used to be close friends with back in grade school, and it turns out he lives twenty minutes from me. We exchanged numbers, and I can't wait to catch up with him.
THE LONG WEEKEND
The day after Thanksgiving I took Starbuck in to get her stitches out, but unfortunately they said she wasn't as "closed up inside" as they'd like, so it was back home with a couple of staples, some antibiotics, and another week of the cone.
She got good at managing with the cone, so I let her have reign of the house. They gave me treats to wrap her pills in, but that only worked once, so I had to learn how to pill her the good old fashion "this is for your own good" way. (For those wondering, that is to say I cradle her in my lap, hold her jaw open with one hand, and drop the pill at the back of her throat with the other.) For being such a spitfire, she's also a real good sport.
I generally avoid anything Black Friday, but I saw one deal I couldn't pass up: 5'x7.5' area carpets for $24. Granted, there were only three patterns to choose from, but they were all better than monotone.
Saturday my old friends Bennington and Funk stopped by. (Bennington and I have known each other since we were wee, and Funk is her husband.) It was a surprise visit, and we ended up going out to dinner. Also, they were the first to sign my guest book/type writer, which I suppose makes it official.
Sunday I celebrated my birthday, though it wasn't my birthday, with the Mistress, my folks, and my folks' folks. For the most part, it was good times. I came into some money, which I decided I will hide so I won't use it to pay the bills. It will instead go towards the "I want an electric guitar" fund. Because I want an electric guitar.
Monday it was to Spanky and Zanzibar's house to meet up with Stankfoot and play some hockey and Warhammer. It was fantastic.
BACK TO WORK
Going back to work was harsh. I had early meetings all week and had to stay late a lot. Not much free time. That's all there is to say.
Tuesday I had plans to get lunch with the, uh, Templetons. They're both former creative writing professors of mine, and without going into great detail, know that they've influenced me a great deal. I've decided that I don't want to keep working my job, but I don't want to cut without a plan. I'd like to go back to school, but I don't know for what. Every time I make up my mind, I find myself discouraged a few months later by tales of what comes after. I went to college from high school because that's what I was supposed to do. I studied philosophy because that's what engaged me. I want to go to school again because I want to be working on and towards something that's enriching and engaging, but I'm not going to just wing it. If I go, I want to know for what and why.
I want to get the Templetons' perspectives on creative writing, MAs and MFAs, teaching, and the like. Unfortunately, they stood me up, so ?.
Also, Tuesday I bought a toy:
I've always wanted one. I used to set up labs of these for the high school as a summer job. I don't have cable, and I don't have any televisions. But for $20 I have an old computer with a DVD player in it that sits nicely right in front of my couch.
All week I was obsessed with the notion of installing Linux or BSD on it. Why? I'm glad you asked. The iMac I bought comes with OS 9, which is kind of old. Browsing the internet with it sucks, because it doesn't run any modern browsers nicely. With Linux or BSD, I could install free, modern, and more secure applications. But, mostly, it's because I want to prove I can.
Sometime during the week I also tricked out the coffee table so there wouldn't be a mess'o'wire underneath. Eye hooks to the rescue!
Wednesday I was late for a very important meeting. Like, thirty minutes in front of everyone on our staff late. To a workshop. But I was late for the best of reasons, I reckon. Just as I was about to leave, my neighbor, Mrs. Fussnpuss knocked. Her toilet was running and she couldn't stop it. While my father pointed out that'll make it hard to go to the bathroom, the fact of the matter was it was wasting a lot of water and would have continued to do so had I not poked around in there. The culprit? A strange mineral build up that kept her flapper from sealing.
He he.
And Friday Starbuck returned to the vet to get her staples out. She's back to her old self again, minus some ovaries, plus a gross scar.
Tonight
Today was the first, legit "me" day I've had since... I dunno. Stankfoot and I hit the Bell early, and afterwards I began doing the things I do. To be honest, I don't remember what all I did and in what order, but here's a short list: washed sheets and blankets, did a load of dishes, took all the boxes and crap in the living room to other rooms to be organized and unpacked (finally), unrolled new carpet 2, re-arranged some of the living room, drained the hose and shut off the water leading to the outdoor faucet, vacuumed living room, decorated my tree (tree courtesy of a Grandma, lights courtesy of mom, bells courtesy of D. M. Hawthorne),...
... rescued a sweet Medusa lamp from the basement, hung mirrors in the hallway, and hung a couple posters. The living room looks, well, respectable.
Like someone actually lives here.
Oh, and the cherry on top:
Who kicks ass? I kick ass! Well, maybe just a little. I almost can't believe it works. How well, we shall yet see.
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