Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Misery loves more misery

I am actually not miserable, because I got AWESOME NEWS on the job front. Hurray! Two jobs! Happiness loves more happiness!

But I am miserable because of the stupid heat and humidity. It was 88 yesterday and today with high humidity and a million biting bugs, so you can do the math. = BAD. Do not like!

When it gets super hot, I won't cook, so I don't eat, because I'm not allowed to eat bread or whatever, even though sometimes I totally forget and go eat a lot of pizza, and then I feel like I'm going to die for three days, so then I don't do it again for a long time. When there are no sandwiches, what easy fast cold food is there that takes no effort because I'm not doing anything because it's hot?

Well, today I made a massive salad out of irritation with that lying crook, the attorney general. Oh my goodness. He's a liar and a gaslighter and a racist and a misogynist. Half of those he would admit proudly, too. YUCK. I hate his little pink goblin face.

I was languishing in front of a fan and doing absolutely nothing but watch that testimony when it irritated me beyond endurance and I got up and chopped up everything in sight and made it into a the aforementioned massive salad. Which I then ate up, every bit. Yum.

Salads aren't as good without apples. I really like an apple in a salad. Plus bell pepper, cucumber, chicken, and whatever else is around.

I don't know what I'm supposed to eat before going on the plane. I might make a mess of eggs with horseradish cheese in them, on the understanding that I won't be hungry again for a very long time. (It's true.)

Things I did today out of sheer irritation even though it was too bloody hot to move:

vacuumed the whole house
moved the tv so I could get into the yarn trunk
trawled the yarn trunk for travel yarn
picked out a pattern
took the dog for a walk through tick-infested woods and down the black fly infested road
changed the sheets

Irritation apparently motivates me quite effectively.

I'm having yogurt for a late dinner because I'm still not going to cook anything. Forget it. Though in retrospect, rice sounds nice.

Ever since I took those ridiculously huge doses of antibiotics FOR NOTHING on the word of a nurse who didn't know what she was doing, I've had to eat very plain food like rice or yogurt or fruit or my innards get very upset with me. I hope that things will calm down eventually. Maybe they'll even forgive me for the pizza!

Oh boy, it was good, though. At least the first two pieces that I had for dinner.

Anyway the dog loved our walk and the house looks very nice.

I'm on a mission toward increased fitness, though my mission has to battle extreme desire to do nothing at all physically. I mean I do tons of stuff, just I prefer to be sitting in the comfy chair with an iced beverage while I do those things.

Anyway, that's the plan. Egregious sigh of dismay. I'm hoping to use the pool at school, in my absurd bathing suit with the red and white striped cups and the navy blue dress part. It's not exactly low profile, but it's on MY terms.

So that's my day. Incredibly uncomfortable weather and annoying pests, not to mention the bugs (ha ha) resulted in a tremendous amount of work getting done. For which hurray!

I want a bath, but not a hot bath, and not a cold bath, and also not a warm bath because those are just cold baths waiting to happen. Maybe what I want is a shower, come to think of it.

Meanwhile I keep remembering about job thing and yippeeing to myself. I get these little jolts of excitement. Eep! Yay!

Maybe I can reintroduce my stealth fitness methods to my life, like the rule that I have to do jumping jacks while the kettle boils for tea, plus standing up at my desk. Ugh...I have no desire to do any of those things. Where is my get up and go? Did the antibiotics kill that too? I've been downing tons of probiotics every day, both the gummies (which survive best into the gut) and the yogurt. I suspect my meds need to be tweaked, by which I mean lowered, because I'm mellow to the point of zombification now that the severe pressure is off. MFA is over, training for Online Job is over, I'm hired officially, and now Traditional Job has hired me also.

It still won't be as much work as old Online Job plus MFA. Or like in the past when I worked full time in an office AND did a full four iterations of Online Job, back before they hired me on full time.

A couple days ago I wrote a story about that whole thing blowing up, how that horrible lady made me change my name and manipulated everyone and bullied everyone and then turned vicious on me when I got sick and got the full time Online Job, and got me pushed out early. Boy was she a piece of work. And I mean, from the beginning. All the signals were there. I just pushed past because I needed the job.

I do that a lot! I'll put up with badness for my own ends. It's kind of a form of not listening to yourself. I've been realizing I am super bad about that. I don't know when I'm hungry or thirsty because I learned from a very early age that what I wanted didn't matter. I'm not even aware of those signals. It takes feeling woozy to notice I haven't eaten all day, for instance.

Luckily I have tea! I want tea, boy oh boy. But I have to eat first, or it will make me throw up. So I do eat breakfast. And then I want another cup of tea so bad in the afternoon, so I have to eat again. Dinner, however, often goes forgotten.

I suppose being more active would make me hungrier, too. YAWN. It would be easier if I could go outside, but thirty seconds out there and I'm covered with black flies, whose bites leave insanely itchy welts the size of quarters. Now the mosquitoes are starting, too. GOOD TIMES. Frelling Maine, I tell you what.

Today I wondered why black flies don't live further south of here, like in Pennsylvania. They seem to be a northern thing. Do they not like the heat? If so, maybe we'll be rid of them, because it's hotter here every year.

Though it's lovely and cool right now. 70!

One of the fun things about Maine is talking to cashiers about our perfect temperature. We all agree on 65, in my limited survey. I think that's awesome. 65 is cool enough to wear long pants, while 70 isn't. For me. And other cold-adapted life forms.

It's supposed to get down to 52 tonight. Yes, please! And 45 tomorrow night. Oh boy!

Maybe I actually can have a bath. Glory!

This yarn I'm taking with is fine and soft, sage green. I'm going to knit some pretty lace for a scarf. Ooh, must remember stitch markers, thanks for reminding me! I was afraid my knitting days would be on pause because I crushed my right middle finger's last segment (what are finger segments called?) pretty good today putting the lawn mower into the shed. The mower has an end section that tilts up 90 degrees to self-propel. Well, you can lock it, or you can forget it's not locked and use the handle to push the mower up a steep ramp, upon which it will slam down that 90 degrees and crush whatever digit happens to be in the way. It's not broken or anything, and didn't damage the joint, but it sure hurt a lot. I thought it would stop my knitting but that seems to be okay after all. And writing with a pen. Both useful activities!

Stay safe, little bunnies! Eat your salads and drink your water and do your jumping jacks while the kettle is on to boil. I'll certainly try--cue exhausted eye roll--but presumably it'll get easier each time. Oh YAWN!

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Oh hi

I weed whacked so much over the past two days (not counting today, a DAY OFF) with my new weed whacker that I can barely lift a leg high enough to step over the edge of the tub. Why does weed whacking use those hip muscles? That seems so weird. But you have to lean over in a particular way to avoid whacking all your toes right off, I guess.

It's terrible out there. It's a very bad year for the black flies, which swarm and bite and get in your mouth and ears and eyes and nose and hair. So even covered down to my wrists, with a hood over my head and a head net over that, in rubber boots up to my knees, I STILL get bitten. Ridiculous.

The lawn is not so very much cut right now. I've been catching up on the super tall areas, but the regular flat part is growing fast. Today landlord came over with extra tomato plants (nooooo!) and I showed him the wiring/switch problem in the front hall, where my new weed whacker also was, which led to a lawn conversation, and anyway I'm going to go borrow my old mower that I gave him and mow the grass properly tomorrow.

Except not the steep parts. I'm sticking with the weed whacker for that. The mower is heavy and wrenches my arms out of their sockets when I have to yank it around on that steep slope.

Good times, eh?

In other news, I have an awesome interview coming up, and I got a rejection notice for a short story today. I instantly (five hours later) went and submitted all the stories I could to all the places I could. Including that one. Bounce them right back on out!

Then it became clear to me that I need to write more stories. Like, every day. I should write a story a day. I wonder how long I could do that? If I made it a huge priority I might be able to pull it off. They can be short, after all. Flash fiction is bananas short.

I wrote my presentation and it's 1776 words. That feels like INDEPENDENCE so I'm unwilling to edit it even one tiny bit. I have a little bit of weird number OCD.

Oh and today I suddenly regained the ability to play fast sudoku. Nothing exciting happened to bring this about. I have no idea.

I keep doing all the weird packing things, like counting out enough vitamin gummies and probiotic gummies to last me while I'm away. And picking out earrings. And hand washing scarves, then neatly folding them up.

It'll be a relief when it's late enough for me to pack clothes. Even though I know I only need like seven days' clothes, I want to take absolutely everything. I pulled a million things out of the closet as part of my psychological pre-packing process. It's enough stuff for a month. Come on, now. It's almost like I don't want to leave anyone behind, though. Nooooo!

And I got the upstairs finally cleaned up and everything (almost) put away. Jeez. After I switched the day bed into the writing room, there was massive chaos. In part that's because I had a lot of clothes in the drawers of the day bed that suddenly needed to go elsewhere. I dealt with all of that last evening. It was kind of hellish, to be honest. It meant moving absolutely every garment in every drawer, reorganizing, refolding everything, storing a bunch of stuff in a Rubbermaid tote in the closet.

Okay, so that's a pretty mild version of hell, I admit it. But my knees and hips were already in agony from the weed whacker extravaganza and it was all kneeling and bending. Oooooof. Ouch.

I hope all these people publish all my stories and then I'm all story-published and thrilled and delighted. I want to be a story publisher person. Write the stories, send them out! That should be me. I can do that. Boy do I love writing stories. Whoop!

Especially since now I don't have to write about dreadful autobiographical material, which was admittedly cathartic, but some of those are definitely not publishable, alas. I cannot send them anywhere. I don't think. Can I? Maybe. I have to think more about it. Right now I don't feel like I can.

So get this: if I wear capri leggings from Walmart ($4!) and a giant oversized t-shirt that I usually sleep in (KMart, men's 2XL tall) then I feel like a million bucks. I feel like I can run and jump and ride bikes and do absolutely anything. If I wear my fancy expensive J. Jill linen trousers, all baggy, which okay I paid $8 for, but they were $80-120 new, then I feel ugly and awkward and terrible and like I can't do anything at all.

What is that all about? Is it just about sporty garb versus frumpy garb? I practically want to put my hair up in a scrunchie in this getup. It's awesome.

I figure I'll stick with the speedy garments. I'm not even packing any of my giant linen trousers. I will dress like an aerobics instructor circa 1985 and be happy instead.

Not really. I'm taking all my nice silky blouses, plus the silky tank dresses that are actually tops on me, which I wear as undershirts to cover my retreat.

I have clothing issues, apparently. I just reread a story I wrote about that. Yep. I have 'em. The part that is weird to me about today's navy blue leggings with red and white stars all over them, worn in honor of the Comey hearings and the defense of democracy against that utter jackass T***p and his abuse of power and all his various crimes, plus the giant navy blue t-shirt, is that clothes have such a powerful effect on how I feel when I never ever actually look in a mirror. Right? Like the received wisdom is that how you LOOK affects how you feel. But nobody sees me. So that's irrelevant. How I dress is entirely about how I feel instead.

These leggings are hilarious. But not as funny as the royal blue ones with the red and white hearts and curlicues all over them.

A lot of my clothes have turned out to be red and black, which mystifies me. That deep glowing crimson, though, I can't resist it.

I even reglued my Adidas Sambas for the trip. One sole was flapping in the front. I should wear them to see whether the glue stays stuck. I have superglue that I can use if necessary.

All those submissions tonight, that was pretty awesome. It was like work, in the sense that it had clear cut parameters and clear beginning and ending points and I could just work through it methodically and then be done.

Heck, maybe I can send out those others. I'm all torn about it. I mean, don't pre-reject something, right? Let them do it. There we go!

I'm craving pizza so badly that I'm in serious danger of going out and getting one tomorrow. I've been in pre-trip no desire to eat mode. Basically it's just been rice and yogurt, though today I made eggs with horseradish cheese and it was utterly delicious. I might make that again tomorrow, to be honest. If I don't get hot food and protein, I get all frazzledy and quietly frantic and then can't focus or do anything.

That is actually the sign of NOT TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF that I'm learning to watch for. I was not raised to take care of myself, or to think that I needed to be taken care of in any way. I'm only gradually starting to figure out that I have the right to want and need things and then get them. No duh, you might say, but it's a side effect of neglect and abuse, so whatever, I'm working on it. You treat yourself the way you have been treated, until you train yourself otherwise. It takes work.

Speaking of taking care of myself, I'm heading to bed. At a reasonable time. New mattress is freaking amazing that way. I can go to bed and just go to sleep. Outrageous! Glorious! Wonderful!

I spent the whole Comey hearing running around the house, cleaning everything up, sweeping, tidying, putting absolutely everything away. That hearing agitated me, even though I think it was the giant push we need to get that orange knuckledragger out of office and gone from our lives. I'm still amazed we haven't seen some kind of idiotic backlash from him. I imagine a team of lawyers actually sitting on him to prevent him from making things even worse for himself. What a jackass.

Comey was impressive, though. I feel like we might be seeing a lot more of him coming up. But that may be because I mistake anything I see on my iPad for fiction.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Embedded

The project isn't complete, because I want to build and then carve a headboard and footboard for the bed. And probably sideboards too, let's be honest. Once I get carving I'm not going to want to stop. But I got a new mattress yesterday after a sudden dawning awareness that all this major body joint pain and a ten year old mattress were causally related. Except then the mattress wouldn't fit on my ad hoc bed that I've been using for a year, the boxy white daybed. So I had to disassemble the daybed and move it into the other upstairs room, the tiny writing room, and build the metal feet/frame thing, which I bought specially because it has bolt brackets on each end instead of just one, and then I had to cut twelve long boards to support the mattress on the bunkie board, which is like a super thin box spring, and THEN I had to put all those pieces together, find the sheets, and finally go to bed.

I know!

I was in SO MUCH PAIN by the end of all that. I'm sick of pain. Get rid of it!

And I'm not even done. It's up too high, so I have to adjust nine screw feet adjusters to lower it down. And there's stuff everywhere in the writing room that needs to be rearranged and get put away. There are bookcases all askew. Also I might need to bank the far side of the bed with bookcases because it feels very precarious not having that extra buffer zone of pillows like on the daybed.

The daybed is a very happy place to sit and write in the writing room now, though. That mattress is fine on the edges.

One odd effect is that now I have three beds in three rooms. The third one is my office. I could have guests! Multiple guests! What is that about? Actually there's a fourth old thin twin mattress in the closet up there, too. And the downstairs daybed has a pull out trundle bed where that could go. So four, four beds! What is that about!

Nobody comes to my house, so I don't know what I think I'm preparing for. Last visitors were...Christmas, when my brother and nephew came over with presents for me. Has my sister even been here since? I don't think so. I think she visited before Christmas.

I also got a proper desk chair, a comfortable one, instead of using those hard flat dining room table chairs as I have been doing. I know! I was just figuring, everything hurts so much all the time, and where am I all the time? In bed or in my desk chair. So those things are fixed now.

First night on the new bed was blissful. I did take ibuprofen because I was in screaming agony after carrying all those heavy things up the stairs and rebuilding the daybed and so on. (The furniture boys brought the mattress up. There is NO WAY I could get that massive thing up those stairs.)

Anyway now I get to think about my headboard and footboard and consider what to carve and how. I had originally planned to make it like the Franks casket. I could do that! I'm not sure whether I want to use one solid board or what. Also it's kind of a long process, carving things like that. But so fun! But hard on the hands, with the hammers and chisels. Last time I had this setup where the board I was carving was blocked in place on my quilting table. I could clamp a longer board down there. Or use the trestles. I probably won't start this until fall, though, because I have to finish the cedar chest first. There's massive sanding to do, which I hate, so I've been putting it off.

Must stop putting it off!

Sanding kills my hands. Anything where I have to hold tight to something like that is excruciating. Good times!

I got my printed and bound copies of my thesis this week and positively squealed with delight. I hope I get to keep one. I think I will. I think both get signed and then I get one. Oh boy!

Actually I have to go mail the box of those right flipping now so they get there in time. It might cost a fortune. But they'll charge me $25 for a bag that's over weight anyway and this way I won't have to carry them.

Yes, travel prep--horrendous. I hate it. I hate leaving my house anyway, but traveling is the worst. But after this residency I won't have to do this again. No more dorms, no more cafeteria, no more planes. I mean, we'll see about the planes, but I managed to avoid flying extremely well for many years. It's just so unpleasant in every conceivable way.

Having to leave the house and be around people means of course that I suddenly notice that I have no sandals (remedied) and no summer shorts except those cut-offs (have acquired capri leggings) and no sleeveless versions of the giant long silky undershirts I've been wearing all winter (have acquired slinky rayon tank dresses that are like tops on me, and camisoles) and so after that visit to Walmart (yes) I'm all comfortably outfitted. Plus linen capri pants at Marden's.

Those clothes are alarmingly cheap. Like the silky camisoles are $3. I almost got a bunch of the white linen pants to wear while painting because they were $8. I never want to get paint on any of my actual clothes, no matter how old or funky, because that's a line that can't be uncrossed. Once there's oil paint on something, it's there forever.

It's funny. Why not just designate one of the existing pairs of linen pants as painting pants? But that would cross that line. They'd be gone from the rest of the world forever! I don't know where this comes from because I'm not exactly a snappy dresser, and it's paint, not baby vomit or something--I mean, it's not gross. But still.

I have the same problem with shirts. Though probably I can allow paint on my ancient black t-shirts at this point. I don't wear them out of the house.

I really, really want to paint, so something has to give here. Every day I'm like: okay, but not in these clothes. And then I never do.

Mostly I'm busy writing BOOK. New comfy chair of lack of pain makes an enormous difference in how long I can sit still, at least physically. It doesn't do much for my psychological need to get up and run around. Physically not being uncomfortable is a game-changer, though. Same with the bed.

So now I expect great things! Sleep! Writing! Great things!

And finishing of lingering projects: the cedar chest, the flannel quilt. I will get them done.

I should be starting New Job soon, which is very exciting and will set my mind at ease. I'll have to buy a monitor for that since my laptop screen is so small and the site is fixed width, but that's okay. I want to make massive progress on all three things, cedar chest, quilt, and BOOK, before that starts. So we shall see. I also have to put pockets into my shorts and such things. This morning I ripped out the seams in the fake pockets. That was the hardest part. I'll use some muslin or whatever to make new pockets and sew them in and voila! (In which "voila!" means "several hours of careful work.")

One of these weeks I'll get my mower back from the shop and then I can cut down the jungle growing all around the house. I've only been keeping this one patch in front clear and now the rest is too tall for the push mower. I could try to figure out and gas up the weedwhacker and cut it all down, but I would not hold my breath on that one. Who knows, maybe I'll do it! I *should* do it. But so far I never *have* done it.

Anyway. To the post office! Except not the one in town because I mailed a box to my mom priority mail and it took ten days to get there. I don't know what happened, but that's not going to work for this situation. I guess the next town up is my best option. They seem to be more on the ball.

Happy summer, and happy comfortable places to sleep and write!