twisted
i am: procrastinating
listening to: my ears ringing
drinking: british blend tea
i have to go to rite aid one day this week - and should do it soon, since this week is quickly running into next week - to get my prescription for labyrinthitis refilled. it's that time of year that my world is in a spin, and not in a good way. add bringing a tree into the house in a week or so, and i best make sure to have drugs on hand. (or up my nose, which is actually where they go. tmi, i know.) so, since i have to go to rite aid, which qualifies as an event in my hermit-like life, i thought i'd go through the sale sheet that came in the sunday paper to see if there's anything i need on sale: shampoo, toothpaste, etc. the sale insert was, of course, full of holiday items: ornaments, candy canes, cards. and then there were the gifts - pre-wrapped, even: the leg lamp from "a christmas story" (in three different sizes,) an electronic key-finder, which consists of a special keyring and then a palm-sized device with a button on it. i assume the keyring beeps when you push the button. the thing is, if you lose the keys, who's to say you're not going to lose the key-finder too? and then there's the talking flyswatter. i shit you not. i have no idea what it says, but i'm tempted to find out when i'm in the store.
my plumbing bill from a couple of months ago has been hanging over my head, dragging me down, making me think that having a toilet that flushes and sinks that drain may be over-rated if paying to have them fixed does this to my spirits. with christmas looming, i've been sinking deeper and deeper into despair. i finally decided yesterday to hit up my paltry little emergency fund and bail myself out. i'm still trying to convince myself that's what it was for; the plumbing problem was an emergency (thus the emergency weekend rate,) and anyway, up until very recently i thought that emergency fund had been tapped out (when zz totalled his car last thanksgiving; never underestimate the powerful combination of a nor'easter and morning rush hour traffic.) so, it's almost like "found money." (i'm trying to convince myself of that too.) what's left is enough to pay off the plumber's charge on my credit card and take care of christmas shopping, tree, and all the other little (and not so little) expenses that go along with that. it's a relief knowing it will be taken care of, but at the same time i feel like i just pulled the crucial thread out of a safety net. all i have to say is, nothin' else better happen. geez. it's a rough old life. but it could be worse. it could always be worse.
haven't accomplished much the past few days; i feel like i haven't been warm in weeks and just want to curl up under a blanket and read. i haven't been doing that, though; i've been mindlessly flitting from one project to another, making a mess of my desk and the floor surrounding it, thinking maybe i should call an official "time out" from working on the manuscript until the new year. i can't do that; i'm so close to (finally) finishing giovanni da vigo's "most excellent worckes." even if i just do a few pages every day i should be able to finish it and move on to the next in january.
which reminds me (the manuscript reminds me, that is.) i finished the nature of monsters by clare clark the other day, and loved it so much that i ordered a copy from b&n with my b'day gift card. (thanks, son.) from the publisher's website:
1718: Sixteen-year-old Eliza Tally sees the gleaming dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral rising above a rebuilt city. She arrives as an apothecary’s maid, a position hastily arranged to shield the father of her unborn child - a wealthy merchant’s son - from scandal. But why is the apothecary so eager to welcome her when he already has a maid, a half-wit named Mary? Why is she never allowed to look her veiled master in the face or go into the study where he pursues his experiments? And why is she having vivid dreams of ferocious dogs?
this book would make an excellent film; it's dark, it's brooding, it's gritty, it's twisted.
well. "The xiii. Chapter, Of corrosive, and putrefactyve medicines, and that breake hole fleshe" awaits me; i guess i'll go get back to not getting much done.
today's reading: since last updating i finished the aforementioned the nature of monsters by clare clark, and am well into in the woods by tana french.
listening to: my ears ringing
drinking: british blend tea
i have to go to rite aid one day this week - and should do it soon, since this week is quickly running into next week - to get my prescription for labyrinthitis refilled. it's that time of year that my world is in a spin, and not in a good way. add bringing a tree into the house in a week or so, and i best make sure to have drugs on hand. (or up my nose, which is actually where they go. tmi, i know.) so, since i have to go to rite aid, which qualifies as an event in my hermit-like life, i thought i'd go through the sale sheet that came in the sunday paper to see if there's anything i need on sale: shampoo, toothpaste, etc. the sale insert was, of course, full of holiday items: ornaments, candy canes, cards. and then there were the gifts - pre-wrapped, even: the leg lamp from "a christmas story" (in three different sizes,) an electronic key-finder, which consists of a special keyring and then a palm-sized device with a button on it. i assume the keyring beeps when you push the button. the thing is, if you lose the keys, who's to say you're not going to lose the key-finder too? and then there's the talking flyswatter. i shit you not. i have no idea what it says, but i'm tempted to find out when i'm in the store.
my plumbing bill from a couple of months ago has been hanging over my head, dragging me down, making me think that having a toilet that flushes and sinks that drain may be over-rated if paying to have them fixed does this to my spirits. with christmas looming, i've been sinking deeper and deeper into despair. i finally decided yesterday to hit up my paltry little emergency fund and bail myself out. i'm still trying to convince myself that's what it was for; the plumbing problem was an emergency (thus the emergency weekend rate,) and anyway, up until very recently i thought that emergency fund had been tapped out (when zz totalled his car last thanksgiving; never underestimate the powerful combination of a nor'easter and morning rush hour traffic.) so, it's almost like "found money." (i'm trying to convince myself of that too.) what's left is enough to pay off the plumber's charge on my credit card and take care of christmas shopping, tree, and all the other little (and not so little) expenses that go along with that. it's a relief knowing it will be taken care of, but at the same time i feel like i just pulled the crucial thread out of a safety net. all i have to say is, nothin' else better happen. geez. it's a rough old life. but it could be worse. it could always be worse.
haven't accomplished much the past few days; i feel like i haven't been warm in weeks and just want to curl up under a blanket and read. i haven't been doing that, though; i've been mindlessly flitting from one project to another, making a mess of my desk and the floor surrounding it, thinking maybe i should call an official "time out" from working on the manuscript until the new year. i can't do that; i'm so close to (finally) finishing giovanni da vigo's "most excellent worckes." even if i just do a few pages every day i should be able to finish it and move on to the next in january.
which reminds me (the manuscript reminds me, that is.) i finished the nature of monsters by clare clark the other day, and loved it so much that i ordered a copy from b&n with my b'day gift card. (thanks, son.) from the publisher's website:
1718: Sixteen-year-old Eliza Tally sees the gleaming dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral rising above a rebuilt city. She arrives as an apothecary’s maid, a position hastily arranged to shield the father of her unborn child - a wealthy merchant’s son - from scandal. But why is the apothecary so eager to welcome her when he already has a maid, a half-wit named Mary? Why is she never allowed to look her veiled master in the face or go into the study where he pursues his experiments? And why is she having vivid dreams of ferocious dogs?
this book would make an excellent film; it's dark, it's brooding, it's gritty, it's twisted.
well. "The xiii. Chapter, Of corrosive, and putrefactyve medicines, and that breake hole fleshe" awaits me; i guess i'll go get back to not getting much done.
today's reading: since last updating i finished the aforementioned the nature of monsters by clare clark, and am well into in the woods by tana french.