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real life

A 3905-post collection

To the dumps!

Fret not, dear readers, I am emotionally fine. What's happening today is that I am hauling a veritable mountain of accumulated detritus out to the local dump.

I will be counting car-loads. My nifty little TARDIS car does have a carrying capacity, despite all my insistence that its volume is infinite. AND I will be doing this after my writing is done.

I'm still in the process of evicting extraneous plates and cups. I've yet to get around to evicting extraneous glass, extraneous pots or pans, or extraneous kitchen gadgets.

It's all going to the shed and relatives do not need me to buy any more. Thank you.

I am minimising my clutter. Giving me more clutter is going to be greeted with, "I'm sorry, but there is literally no room for this and I will have to give it away."

Personally, I would much rather have colourful iTunes cards. Or buy me a Drobo drive. Or chip in towards my "iPad Pro/Cintiq" fund. (Though we all know I'd rather have an iPad Pro) What I really adore is irresponsibility money. Cash (or credit) on hand to have FUN with. Get myself a little luxury.

Or bath bombs. I really love bath bombs. No more bar soap, I have enough to last me a lifetime. Bubble bath - yes. Bath crystals - yes. Bar soap... allow me to show you my complete collection.

Signing me up with a literary agent is gold star material and possibly out of your reach. I know where the limits lie.

The good news is that the shower wall tiles are now mildew-free. The grout has minimal grey-ish staining, which might wear off with further applications of shower paste. And the bottom course of tiles is darker from extended algae, but I'm betting another dose will do the trick.

Meanwhile - I have to get on with things!

Embuggerances

I can't do half of the stuff I need to do, at least before noon-ish, because this harness necessitates staying away from large amounts of water, transmitting equipment, microwaves, or my induction cooktop.

Further bad news - even though my Scooba floor-mopping robot has been restored to the point where it can take a charge, it won't go anywhere or clean any floors because it keeps thinking that it's clean water tank is empty. Also, it doesn't seem to be able to

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Here I actually go...

Friendo had an emergency to get back to, so now I'm unfucking on my own. And sending my friendo documentary pix of the progress that I'm (very) slowly making.

It's raining, so all the laundry has to go through the dryer, and Beloved doesn't want to work or go walking because gutsache because meds. But I am doing good! I am making progress.

I put another load of dishwashing in and, whilst I was at it, unfucked the crockery cupboard by evicting

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Ow, and more ow to come

Yesterday was a marathon. It involved cleaning the kids' morass of mess up so that their rooms would once again be live-able.

My back hurt so bad that it was hard to get to sleep. Or stay asleep

And now I have more of the same with an embuggerance in the middle. Because the nice ppl at QML managed to double-book my harness appointment and it's either travel to Tullagawoopwoop for one they have elsewhere, or get another appointment to see IF

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Commence the Unfuckening!

I'm in for some Interesting Times, this week. Friendo is coming to unriddle the ungodly mess that my home has become and maybe come up with some solutions for a more permanent state of unfucked.

I suspect a majority of the floor debris will be dealt with in one day. Making a useful system will take longer.

And in the middle of all this, I also have to budget time to do my Instant and my book contribution. Because I can't make

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Once again...

The little darlings are safely in scenic Coominya whilst my friendo comes up to unfuck the entire house for three days.

Not the week I was hoping for, but an improvement on the base state of zero friends and zero days.

Sure, I would have got back to achievable cleanliness eventually, but eventually is a slow boat to frustration and woe.

And speaking of frustration and woe... Beloved and I are off to MeMum's to unfuck her compy and make sure it's

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Hello, Inertia. Can I kick your arse?

Yesterday, my Beloved begged off of the daily walk because of a light rain. I could understand because they have cloth-sided walking shoes. Even the best of athletic shoes are water permeable and not proof against the slings and arrows of early morning dew.

Or a good, soaking rain.

It's why I wear my boots when the ground is moist.

Today, however, Beloved's diabetes pills are kicking their arse and they're not feeling so very well at all, this morning.

At first,

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Is Baby Boomer Business Practice Killing Millennials?

I've had my fill of panic-fuelled articles accusing Millennials of "killing" insert-industry-here and laying the collapse of the economy at their rather young feet.

Especially even when an uneducated layperson like myself can take one look at the way the economy's been going and realise it's the Baby Boomers scrabbling for every last cent that got us to this point.

As one of the last of the Baby Boomers, I would like to apologise for the behaviour of my peers. Like Millennials,

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Herp de Derp

As usual, I got my wires crossed and the day when I'm getting that heart monitor is NEXT Wednesday. I found out when I looked up my calendar and realised that I was a week ahead of myself.

Everything else is in sync, just this one thing has got mis-assigned. Go figure.

I'm getting ahead on the new regime. For limited definitions of 'ahead'. Instead of doing everything with my inertia-bound Beloved, I use the time when they are making me spin

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Yoiks and Awaaaaaaayyy!

I got my first rejection, yesterday. The agent I sent a sample to, sent me a "thanks but no thanks" letter. I can't let that get to me, but at least I'm not set up to fail on my birthday.

And today, sometime between getting a heart-monitoring harness fitted, fetching a new battery (or more) for my sleep monitor, fetching the kids, arranging dinner, writing my book, etc.... I will fling another sample towards another agency and set my timer for potential

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Re-arrangements

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. I have kids to deliver to grandparents on Saturday. Tech support and guests coming up on Sunday. The house is entirely skew-wiff. And I only have so many spoons with which to make improvements.

Beloved is seeing a dietician today, which will likely mean that 1000000000% of the food they love and the food we have is instantly unsuitable and must be taken far, far away and burned for the good of humanity.

And it will also mean that

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New regime

Beloved's been undergoing a run of tests, lately, to discover the root behind an accelerated heart rate. And the answer, dear readers, is diabetes plus cholesterol.

Since I'm still undergoing my own battery of tests, in regards to that same vital muscle, we both figured it'd be great if we got into some healthier habits. Which means breakfast for both of us, morning walks together, and mutual self-maintenance schedules.

The tricky things to do are way less tricky when there's company. It's

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Can they see me?

Neil Gaiman said something interesting on his Tumblr, today. The whole post is here but the meat of it is this:

Your job isn’t to convince your teachers that they are wrong, just as it’s not your job to accept their prejudices. Your job is to learn enough from them that when you become a famous writer, whether of fantasy or of something else, they’ll have to be proud of you anyway.

And it's a lovely, inspiring message. There's

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New and interesting ways of fucking up

I usually try to never make the same mistake twice. That often leads to the title of this blog entry.

I just got over a major depressive bout (I'm still in the fragile stages FYI) and discovered that my breathing problems might just be because I'm actually having lung trouble rather than emotional issues.

It's a process of elimination, folks.

Experiencing breathing difficulty:

  • Is it a rhinovirus? Nope. Got over that.
  • Is it depression? Nope. Got over that (mostly).
  • Is it my
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What a wonderful day for my messed-up mind

Yesterday, I was having a sort-of ok day. As in, I didn't feel completely atrocious and that was a step forward. One... giant leap, if you will.

BUT I also noticed that my asthma meds were playing me up and I really should talk to the Quack because I should not be oscillating so frequently between tremula and lack of air.

According to my nails, I'm getting plenty of oxygen. According to my sensation of breathing, I'm struggling to get air.

That's

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