Happy geckos + an angry cat
In another fit of cleaning I've been meaning to do I changed the sand/wood chips out of the gecko's cages. This gets them terribly excited. I think Big Boy (we've always called our fat tailed gecko that) is the happiest as he has a habitable "humidity hut" again. He loves a place he can go that's nice and moist all the time. He ran in the moment I put it in and he hasn't left since. Veruca and Quagmire (our leopard geckos) just seemed overwhelmed by the newness of everything, exploring every nook of their freshly cleaned homes.
Ming Ming (our Siamese) is very upset with me for continuing to block her little passageway behind the dish washer. It's the only place she can hide that no one can get to her. She doesn't realize she's laying on insulation which I'm sure is horrible for her. She starting getting in there again (she broke through my previous defenses), and I had to upgrade it with more tape and cardboard. Now she's pissed, as I can tell from her pathetic complaints as I sit here. She's seriously bitching at me.
I sometimes deal with stress by cleaning. It's something that gives immediate satisfying results. Results that can be seen/measured. Even if I'm depressed, sitting in a clean home feels so much better than sitting in a dirty one. There are worse ways to deal with stress.
Crooked Fingers self titled album (really just a solo project) is so fucking amazing. Wonderful melodies, even better lyrics, and Eric Bachmann's voice has a nice weary, raspy, Tom Waits feel to it at moments. It's heart breaking yet inspirational. You've heard him if you'd ever run across Archers of Loaf. If you enjoy Folk Implosion and Lou Barlow I'm sure you'd enjoy this.
For the longest time I didn't understand what emo even meant. It seems like quite a few bands I listen to can somehow fall into that category. Such as Modest Mouse, who are simply amazing. Now it's to the point that emo is a dirty word, and any guitar driven "alternative" rock that's not annoyingly happy is emo and whiny. Do elitists ever get tired of finding new things to hate?
I'm going to clean a *bit* more and get to bed. Good mornin'
So never lend a broken man a broken hand
Or talk the kind of lip nobody understands
The truth is true and tried but so are all your lies
A lie can be the truth--the truth just in disguise
Wipe the sleep out of your eyes
No trick, half joke, or lie
No truth true and tried
Hours creeping thick and sure
How can you be so pure
So shiny and new
Ming Ming (our Siamese) is very upset with me for continuing to block her little passageway behind the dish washer. It's the only place she can hide that no one can get to her. She doesn't realize she's laying on insulation which I'm sure is horrible for her. She starting getting in there again (she broke through my previous defenses), and I had to upgrade it with more tape and cardboard. Now she's pissed, as I can tell from her pathetic complaints as I sit here. She's seriously bitching at me.
I sometimes deal with stress by cleaning. It's something that gives immediate satisfying results. Results that can be seen/measured. Even if I'm depressed, sitting in a clean home feels so much better than sitting in a dirty one. There are worse ways to deal with stress.
Crooked Fingers self titled album (really just a solo project) is so fucking amazing. Wonderful melodies, even better lyrics, and Eric Bachmann's voice has a nice weary, raspy, Tom Waits feel to it at moments. It's heart breaking yet inspirational. You've heard him if you'd ever run across Archers of Loaf. If you enjoy Folk Implosion and Lou Barlow I'm sure you'd enjoy this.
For the longest time I didn't understand what emo even meant. It seems like quite a few bands I listen to can somehow fall into that category. Such as Modest Mouse, who are simply amazing. Now it's to the point that emo is a dirty word, and any guitar driven "alternative" rock that's not annoyingly happy is emo and whiny. Do elitists ever get tired of finding new things to hate?
I'm going to clean a *bit* more and get to bed. Good mornin'
So never lend a broken man a broken hand
Or talk the kind of lip nobody understands
The truth is true and tried but so are all your lies
A lie can be the truth--the truth just in disguise
Wipe the sleep out of your eyes
No trick, half joke, or lie
No truth true and tried
Hours creeping thick and sure
How can you be so pure
So shiny and new