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Today was a crazy day at work, full of personnel problems and technology problems and technology problems exacerbated by personnel problems, and basically, I shouldn't have spent so much time listening to Force Over Distance because when I zoned in on iPad syncing station repair, my internal monologue gently slid into Scottish.
When I got home, I was abruptly thrown into frost warning preparation, which, this early in the season, means covering the garden, taking in potted plants, putting the chickens to bed early and coaxing the fluffy chicks into a cardboard box for transport to the warm-for-not-fully-feathered-friends basement. I absently ate something turkey-soup-like for dinner, drank a glass of cheap red wine favored by my father, and then tried not to cry while said father explained to me all of the various construction THINGS that needed to happen to my house. Short version: he can do most of them, which saves me time and money, and he can tell me exactly what to tell the various vendors I'll need to call on my own once he heads home. Home repair that's not for aesthetics generally makes me feel helpless, overwhelmed, and impatient, and even if my extremely handy father is here fixing most of it, it still makes me kind of want to rend my lovely pink polka dot garments.
Here's what the garden looked like just before dark:
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go figure out how the hell Young gets Rush out of the control interface room while he's excessively unconscious.
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When I got home, I was abruptly thrown into frost warning preparation, which, this early in the season, means covering the garden, taking in potted plants, putting the chickens to bed early and coaxing the fluffy chicks into a cardboard box for transport to the warm-for-not-fully-feathered-friends basement. I absently ate something turkey-soup-like for dinner, drank a glass of cheap red wine favored by my father, and then tried not to cry while said father explained to me all of the various construction THINGS that needed to happen to my house. Short version: he can do most of them, which saves me time and money, and he can tell me exactly what to tell the various vendors I'll need to call on my own once he heads home. Home repair that's not for aesthetics generally makes me feel helpless, overwhelmed, and impatient, and even if my extremely handy father is here fixing most of it, it still makes me kind of want to rend my lovely pink polka dot garments.
Here's what the garden looked like just before dark:
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go figure out how the hell Young gets Rush out of the control interface room while he's excessively unconscious.
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth (
comments)