Being domestic
I don't think I want to start working again in the near future. I mean, I know I have to, and I also know it won't be too horrible, probably, but this not-working thing is very, very nice.
Not that my somewhat grandiloquent statement re. nothing being able to shake me once the cats are safely in Vienna isn't being subjected to a thorough road test, mind you.
The more-than-two-hour asthma attack last night comes to mind, for example -- mostly my own fault, because I forgot to take the allergy and anti-asthma pills as well as the steroid spray. Two hours of wheezing and coughing would be shitty enough in and of themselves, but the lack of sleep ensures that the following day isn't so great either.
I did, however, have enough common sense to cancel the repair men's visit (the upper part of one of the kitchen windows doesn't close properly), because it would've involved both dust and varnish, and the mere thought was enough to make me panic. So I used the suddenly-free morning for cleaning -- domestic, just as I said -- and then Klaus came for a lengthy visit, and after that I did some grocery shopping, made myself a very veggie-heavy omelette and had a nap.
Rambo joined me on the couch; after three hours of concentrated horrible-ness in the morning he was a very tired kitten. Ze boyz were (and still are) sleeping in my bed, and so Lola claimed a spot on the couch as well. It's not overly big, so she was lying very close to Rambo. At first she started growling, but I kept scratching and talking to her until she calmed down, and in the end the three of us had a very refreshing siesta together.
Funnily enough, now both Rambo and Lola are back on the couch, and while I'm not sure Rambo knows he has company, I know Lola noticed him nestling in a blanket. Not expecting any miracles here, but maybe she'll find her way towards polite indifference eventually, which is all we need.
Tomorrow the movers will deliver my stuff. I suppose it'll be the sort of day one dreads, but which passes quickly enough and isn't all that bad in the end. I'd intended to go to the gym today -- tomorrow won't be an inactive day by any standards, but hardly a healthy one -- but had to give up on my plans, because being as tired as I am it would just be plain stupid. This is not the kind of fatigue you exorcise by exercising, but the kind that makes you accident-prone, and besides sports so shortly after an asthma attack isn't the best thing for the heart. So Thursday will be the next gym day. As tragedies go, it's not a big one.
Also, I already looked up possibilities to learn fencing and came up with two that don't carry a whiff of righteist student unions. And I found out that there are quite a lot of covered tennis courts in Vienna.
Irene is coming at 7; she seems to have had a rather awful weekend, and so I suggested dinner, wine and whining at my place. How lucky that, again, we live in the same building.
Not that my somewhat grandiloquent statement re. nothing being able to shake me once the cats are safely in Vienna isn't being subjected to a thorough road test, mind you.
The more-than-two-hour asthma attack last night comes to mind, for example -- mostly my own fault, because I forgot to take the allergy and anti-asthma pills as well as the steroid spray. Two hours of wheezing and coughing would be shitty enough in and of themselves, but the lack of sleep ensures that the following day isn't so great either.
I did, however, have enough common sense to cancel the repair men's visit (the upper part of one of the kitchen windows doesn't close properly), because it would've involved both dust and varnish, and the mere thought was enough to make me panic. So I used the suddenly-free morning for cleaning -- domestic, just as I said -- and then Klaus came for a lengthy visit, and after that I did some grocery shopping, made myself a very veggie-heavy omelette and had a nap.
Rambo joined me on the couch; after three hours of concentrated horrible-ness in the morning he was a very tired kitten. Ze boyz were (and still are) sleeping in my bed, and so Lola claimed a spot on the couch as well. It's not overly big, so she was lying very close to Rambo. At first she started growling, but I kept scratching and talking to her until she calmed down, and in the end the three of us had a very refreshing siesta together.
Funnily enough, now both Rambo and Lola are back on the couch, and while I'm not sure Rambo knows he has company, I know Lola noticed him nestling in a blanket. Not expecting any miracles here, but maybe she'll find her way towards polite indifference eventually, which is all we need.
Tomorrow the movers will deliver my stuff. I suppose it'll be the sort of day one dreads, but which passes quickly enough and isn't all that bad in the end. I'd intended to go to the gym today -- tomorrow won't be an inactive day by any standards, but hardly a healthy one -- but had to give up on my plans, because being as tired as I am it would just be plain stupid. This is not the kind of fatigue you exorcise by exercising, but the kind that makes you accident-prone, and besides sports so shortly after an asthma attack isn't the best thing for the heart. So Thursday will be the next gym day. As tragedies go, it's not a big one.
Also, I already looked up possibilities to learn fencing and came up with two that don't carry a whiff of righteist student unions. And I found out that there are quite a lot of covered tennis courts in Vienna.
Irene is coming at 7; she seems to have had a rather awful weekend, and so I suggested dinner, wine and whining at my place. How lucky that, again, we live in the same building.