A whole bunch of mostly-unconnected stuff all at once
Which is, in fact, not at all unlike the state of my brain these days.
My hair is getting long enough again that I need to braid it at night or else spend 10 minutes in the shower with a comb and a bottle of conditioner to work the knots out. Normally this would mean it's almost time for my yearly shearing. (I tend to, in spring or early summer, chop my hair off to my chin or a bit above after letting it grow all year.) I think this year I'll just get the dead ends trimmed a bit and let it continue to grow. I'm craving change in my life right now, but chopping off my hair isn't quite what I'm looking for. It might be time to turn it blue again though.
It shouldn't be 90 degrees in April. Just shouldn't. Especially when it's supposed to be 30 degrees cooler on Friday.
I'm having my birthday-related existential crisis a few days early. It's not a lot of fun. ("Happy birthday to me; what the fuck is it that I want to do with my life?") I should just decide to chuck the navelgazing and go ahead get a little red sportscar and a 22 year old girlfriend. Except I don't really want either. Except for the car, because I am right now desperately wanting a Mini Cooper convertible (but not in red). I'm going to do the reasonably responsible thing and wait until I have a several-thousand dollar downpayment in addition to a trade-in before even attempting such a thing. Doesn't that defeat the whole idea of having a mid-life crisis though, to go about it in a responsible sort of way?
I hate the jackasses who tried to charge me $720 to replace my alternator last year and want a plague of tool-eating locusts to descend upon their shop, because I already have to replace the alternator. Again. This in number four in six years, and number two in less than a year. No, any warranty there might've been is expired. Other than the alternator, it's been a good, reliable little car.
I need to pay off my credit cards, or at least one of them, and then plot my weekend trip to LA to meet nifty folks. Colorado, while the mountains hold great appeal, is off the plate. There are good reasons for that, mostly involving lack of desire to beat myself about the head and shoulders with a big stick, which is exactly what I know I'll end up doing unless I wait for a while. And nminusone and I ought to take a nice vacation together someplace where we don't know anyone and just relax, which I suppose I ought to get planning if I want it to happen. Too bad London's so freakin' expensive, as I'd like to go back and see it sometime other than in the winter. Or maybe Paris or Rome, on a whim.
I have a suspicion that my Wellbutrin dose needs to be upped to 450mg from 300.
I've started randomly losing weight again; I gained back four pounds I'd previously lost, and now I've lost those plus a few more to be almost ten pounds down from where I started originally. Oddly, I haven't been putting any effort into it; wonder if it's related to going back on the pill, as those two things seem to have started at roughly the same time.
shesingsnow posted one of my favorite Yeats poems this morning ("The Lake Isle of Innisfree"). Which made me think of another of my favorites:
WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Memo to self: while "A Rush of Blood to the Head" may be one of your favorite albums and it works well with the hazy summer-ish day outside your office window, it is perhaps not the best choice to actually listen to at the moment. You doofus. Click "next song" a few times before I smack you around. Ah, that's better.
Okay, time to turn off the shuffle on my brain, get some lunch, and get back to writing code.
My hair is getting long enough again that I need to braid it at night or else spend 10 minutes in the shower with a comb and a bottle of conditioner to work the knots out. Normally this would mean it's almost time for my yearly shearing. (I tend to, in spring or early summer, chop my hair off to my chin or a bit above after letting it grow all year.) I think this year I'll just get the dead ends trimmed a bit and let it continue to grow. I'm craving change in my life right now, but chopping off my hair isn't quite what I'm looking for. It might be time to turn it blue again though.
It shouldn't be 90 degrees in April. Just shouldn't. Especially when it's supposed to be 30 degrees cooler on Friday.
I'm having my birthday-related existential crisis a few days early. It's not a lot of fun. ("Happy birthday to me; what the fuck is it that I want to do with my life?") I should just decide to chuck the navelgazing and go ahead get a little red sportscar and a 22 year old girlfriend. Except I don't really want either. Except for the car, because I am right now desperately wanting a Mini Cooper convertible (but not in red). I'm going to do the reasonably responsible thing and wait until I have a several-thousand dollar downpayment in addition to a trade-in before even attempting such a thing. Doesn't that defeat the whole idea of having a mid-life crisis though, to go about it in a responsible sort of way?
I hate the jackasses who tried to charge me $720 to replace my alternator last year and want a plague of tool-eating locusts to descend upon their shop, because I already have to replace the alternator. Again. This in number four in six years, and number two in less than a year. No, any warranty there might've been is expired. Other than the alternator, it's been a good, reliable little car.
I need to pay off my credit cards, or at least one of them, and then plot my weekend trip to LA to meet nifty folks. Colorado, while the mountains hold great appeal, is off the plate. There are good reasons for that, mostly involving lack of desire to beat myself about the head and shoulders with a big stick, which is exactly what I know I'll end up doing unless I wait for a while. And nminusone and I ought to take a nice vacation together someplace where we don't know anyone and just relax, which I suppose I ought to get planning if I want it to happen. Too bad London's so freakin' expensive, as I'd like to go back and see it sometime other than in the winter. Or maybe Paris or Rome, on a whim.
I have a suspicion that my Wellbutrin dose needs to be upped to 450mg from 300.
I've started randomly losing weight again; I gained back four pounds I'd previously lost, and now I've lost those plus a few more to be almost ten pounds down from where I started originally. Oddly, I haven't been putting any effort into it; wonder if it's related to going back on the pill, as those two things seem to have started at roughly the same time.
shesingsnow posted one of my favorite Yeats poems this morning ("The Lake Isle of Innisfree"). Which made me think of another of my favorites:
WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Memo to self: while "A Rush of Blood to the Head" may be one of your favorite albums and it works well with the hazy summer-ish day outside your office window, it is perhaps not the best choice to actually listen to at the moment. You doofus. Click "next song" a few times before I smack you around. Ah, that's better.
Okay, time to turn off the shuffle on my brain, get some lunch, and get back to writing code.