When the gales of November blow early
I have the brainjumble. I can edit an entry here, but not my thoughts, which have for days been tumbling over each other like multiple litters of puppies in a too-small cardboard box; muzzle of this thought, tail of of another, random belly . . .
Dualities of modern life:
On the one hand, Esmerelda, I am pleased that my hard work to quell my road rage seems to be taking root. I'm trying hard not to be late for anything, and quite frankly, if I am, too bad. I don't need to get there that fast. And those a**holes on the road? The ones that blow past me, and take my lane and theirs too, and go too fast, or can't get within 20 MPH of the speed limit in their laboring beater? They don't have anything to do with me! [I admit that people who cut me off often get the 'let me keel you!' reaction, highbeams and tailgating and all. I'ma workin on that.]
On the other, George, working out of the house just seems to foster a conviction that really, one doesn't need to leave the house. Absent court dates or client appointments, I find it very hard to bother to go elsewhere. Yes, they will find me buried in a pile of cat hair . . .
I don't seem to be very productive here in my home office. That's counterintuitive. I don't waste time on a commute most days, or have to go somewhere to buy lunch. There are multiple distractions here, not limited to LJ, and shelves of books I love. At least I don't watch (or haven't, so far) TV during the day.
I am on the Nanowagon, but two days into it fell off when I had my mother over to dinner. My newly discovered cooking skillz (cough, cough) haven't poisoned her yet. I might if she keeps inviting herself to stay for the evening after dinner. She hates being alone, which wouldn't be a problem if she could just not have to have constant input and/or be right on top of me. Is it sad that 2 hours of my mom one on one is about all I can stand?
Random observation of (inner ring sub)urban living:
Some woman outside screaming at the rapid transit driver, "Stop! Stop! I dropped my keys! Stop!" I didn't hear the rapid transit car even slow. Luckily for her, the end of the line is only two blocks away, but boy, that sucks. It's raining-trying-to-start-snowing; one of the most unpleasant precipitations, next to hail.
But speaking of water, I am adjusting, every so slowly, to the little, tiny water pitcher.
Aren't you glad I share with you?
Dualities of modern life:
On the one hand, Esmerelda, I am pleased that my hard work to quell my road rage seems to be taking root. I'm trying hard not to be late for anything, and quite frankly, if I am, too bad. I don't need to get there that fast. And those a**holes on the road? The ones that blow past me, and take my lane and theirs too, and go too fast, or can't get within 20 MPH of the speed limit in their laboring beater? They don't have anything to do with me! [I admit that people who cut me off often get the 'let me keel you!' reaction, highbeams and tailgating and all. I'ma workin on that.]
On the other, George, working out of the house just seems to foster a conviction that really, one doesn't need to leave the house. Absent court dates or client appointments, I find it very hard to bother to go elsewhere. Yes, they will find me buried in a pile of cat hair . . .
I don't seem to be very productive here in my home office. That's counterintuitive. I don't waste time on a commute most days, or have to go somewhere to buy lunch. There are multiple distractions here, not limited to LJ, and shelves of books I love. At least I don't watch (or haven't, so far) TV during the day.
I am on the Nanowagon, but two days into it fell off when I had my mother over to dinner. My newly discovered cooking skillz (cough, cough) haven't poisoned her yet. I might if she keeps inviting herself to stay for the evening after dinner. She hates being alone, which wouldn't be a problem if she could just not have to have constant input and/or be right on top of me. Is it sad that 2 hours of my mom one on one is about all I can stand?
Random observation of (inner ring sub)urban living:
Some woman outside screaming at the rapid transit driver, "Stop! Stop! I dropped my keys! Stop!" I didn't hear the rapid transit car even slow. Luckily for her, the end of the line is only two blocks away, but boy, that sucks. It's raining-trying-to-start-snowing; one of the most unpleasant precipitations, next to hail.
But speaking of water, I am adjusting, every so slowly, to the little, tiny water pitcher.
Aren't you glad I share with you?