I hate it when my own damn hubris comes back to smack me in the face. I'm doing great! Just this wee little lawnmower problem, which is easily solved! Whoo hoo!
Yeah, not so much. The problem is that I relied on other people for help: people of the male persuasion, to be specific. I should have known better than to assume Daniel could help me with one chore. The kid has few practical skills and is too busy gallivanting around the country to use the ones he does have. I had to make a series of increasingly threatening and pitiful phone calls just to get him over here to cut the grass. When the mower wouldn't cooperate, I tried to make arrangements to have Kevin come over and show him how to work it, but Daniel's jetting off to a friend's family farm this entire week and is completely unconcerned about what I'm going to do.
I asked Kevin whether he could come over this morning and show me how to get this %^$^%! piece of machinery to run. He said he would ask Sam whether he could use his car and get back to me yesterday afternoon. Naturally, he didn't, and he didn't call this morning. I called him around 12:30, and he said, without a tinge of apology, that he didn't have the gas money to come down here. I said, "You're kidding me, right?" No, he wasn't. I snapped, "I supported your man-child ass for 12 years, and this is the best you can do when I ask for ONE SMALL FAVOR?" What was I thinking? He has no "best."
I should have known better than to rely on a man for anything, and I was an idiot for leaving the task of cutting grass up to Kevin all these years and never learning how to run that stupid lawnmower. Now I'm going to have to pay someone--and probably a GUY--to cut my grass, and that's money I can't really afford this week. No, I don't know any neighbors or friends up here well enough to ask for help, and I'm certainly not going to ask any friends from Mayberry to drive 40 minutes one way to cut my grass. I loathe asking anyone for help, and the one time I'm forced to, I'm disappointed. Gah. My sunny optimism has been felled by goddamn VEGETATION.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Monday, Monday
Remember Kevin claimed I wouldn't be able to survive without him? He even insisted that he did "so much" around here, and I wouldn't be able to handle doing it all on my own. Well, so far, the house is cleaner than it's ever been--and it's staying that way. I even manage to haul those big ol' trash cans out to the curb with my puny girl arms. The only problem I've had is with the damn lawnmower. I couldn't pull the starter cord hard enough, but Daniel could. However, the first time Daniel tried to cut the grass, it ran for a few minutes and stopped. Turns out it was out of oil. Stupid me, I assumed Kevin kept an eye on the oil level. I went out later that day and bought oil, and Daniel came back Saturday to try again. We put some oil in, but again, the lawnmower ran for a few minutes and then stopped. Daniel's out of town all week, so I'm going to have to call a lawn service until I can figure out what's going on or ask Kevin to come over and see what the hell he did to my lawnmower the last time he used it. :-|
Other than that, I'm surviving quite nicely, thank you. I'm even healthier! I went to the doctor Friday for a checkup, and he was delighted with my weight loss. He was even happier with the reduction in my blood pressure (now an impressive 115/60) and pulse rate. I was tickled that he looks exactly like Paul Winfield with glasses. (Paul Winfield played Captain Terrell in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, who, along with Chekov, had an ear worm inserted that drove him insane. I hear he's doing fine now.) It's much easier when I'm doing casting for the movie about my life when people already look like existing actors. I still can't think who should play me, however. Any suggestions?
I meant to write about this earlier, but a few weeks ago, the reunion coordinator for my high school class e-mailed and asked whether I could verify that I graduated with the class of 1977. He acted as though he didn't remember me, and he was in the play I assistant-directed my junior year (The Bad Seed). Hmmmph! I wrote back and said yes, I could verify I belonged with that class because I remembered he wrote new lyrics for David Bowie's "Golden Years" to fit our cast and crew. (In his defense, he probably couldn't find a record of me graduating that year because I graduated a year early and took off for college without telling anyone in high school.)
That was enough to jog his memory, and he gave me updates on people we'd done theater with. I was a little upset to hear our drama teacher, Mr. K, died several years ago, but he was middle-aged when I knew him. I was more upset to hear that a good friend, who I even dated a few times after high school, died about 10 years ago, possibly of AIDS complications. I can't help wondering whether he knew he was gay back then. Well, I'm sure we all had things under the surface we were hiding.
Right now, I'm hiding from the thought of the week ahead, which I'm dreading. I have a lot of work to do, the weather is supposed to be brutally hot, and I won't have much contact with Ed. He's in training this week that involves being outside in full body armor--and in August in Georgia, that's not going to be fun. His week is going to be much worse than mine, poor guy.
Other than that, I'm surviving quite nicely, thank you. I'm even healthier! I went to the doctor Friday for a checkup, and he was delighted with my weight loss. He was even happier with the reduction in my blood pressure (now an impressive 115/60) and pulse rate. I was tickled that he looks exactly like Paul Winfield with glasses. (Paul Winfield played Captain Terrell in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, who, along with Chekov, had an ear worm inserted that drove him insane. I hear he's doing fine now.) It's much easier when I'm doing casting for the movie about my life when people already look like existing actors. I still can't think who should play me, however. Any suggestions?
I meant to write about this earlier, but a few weeks ago, the reunion coordinator for my high school class e-mailed and asked whether I could verify that I graduated with the class of 1977. He acted as though he didn't remember me, and he was in the play I assistant-directed my junior year (The Bad Seed). Hmmmph! I wrote back and said yes, I could verify I belonged with that class because I remembered he wrote new lyrics for David Bowie's "Golden Years" to fit our cast and crew. (In his defense, he probably couldn't find a record of me graduating that year because I graduated a year early and took off for college without telling anyone in high school.)
That was enough to jog his memory, and he gave me updates on people we'd done theater with. I was a little upset to hear our drama teacher, Mr. K, died several years ago, but he was middle-aged when I knew him. I was more upset to hear that a good friend, who I even dated a few times after high school, died about 10 years ago, possibly of AIDS complications. I can't help wondering whether he knew he was gay back then. Well, I'm sure we all had things under the surface we were hiding.
Right now, I'm hiding from the thought of the week ahead, which I'm dreading. I have a lot of work to do, the weather is supposed to be brutally hot, and I won't have much contact with Ed. He's in training this week that involves being outside in full body armor--and in August in Georgia, that's not going to be fun. His week is going to be much worse than mine, poor guy.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Follow-up
Greg just reminded me that I failed to supply a conclusion to Saturday's entry--that is, what happened when Kevin stopped by. If I were writing serial stories for magazines, I'd be fired tout suite, wouldn't I? I can imagine me ending an installment with "The murderer crept ever closer, with a mad gleam in his eye, while Detective Jones sat unaware, reading peacefully by the fire...." and then picking up the next installment with Detective Jones shopping for peaches at the grocery. Outrage would ensue!
Unfortunately, Saturday's story has no such suspense. Kevin stopped by as arranged, and I had his DJ outfit and two bags of laundry ready to go. (Yes, I'd done the laundry for him last week because did I mention? I wanted him out of here.) He played with the dogs for a bit while I gritted my teeth. "Yep, they miss you! Don't you have to go pick up your equipment SOON?" Finally, he grabbed the laundry, and then, to my shock, tried to kiss me good-bye. I managed to turn my head so fast that I think I pulled something, and he wound up getting just my cheek and part of my ear.
He left, and I called Ed back. About five minutes later, I saw Kevin pulling up in the driveway again. Just as I was swearing a blue streak, Kevin came up to my office window and said, "I left my DJ outfit here." Christ, I jumped a mile. I went into the living room, and sure enough, there it was. I unlocked the front door and handed it to Kevin, and he said something smarmy about kissing me making him forget to take his outfit. I faked a laugh and said, "Oh, everyone says that to me," and shut the door. Gah.
Oh, and I avoided the call to Thurston and Lovey Howell by looking up their e-mail address in the church directory. I just wasn't up to a phone call, and with my luck, if I tried to call at a time when I'd normally get their voicemail, one of them would have decided to stay home that day. They replied with a nice e-mail and said that whatever the reason for the breakup, they're sure it was very hard. That's almost exactly the same thing the woman running RE classes said. It must be the politically correct response du jour.
I'm feeling flu-ish today. No fever--just achy and tired, and my throat's sore. I think everything that's happened in the past few weeks is finally hitting me. I've decided to take the rest of the day off, and I'm getting into bed with a logic puzzle book, a novel, and a big glass of iced tea.
Unfortunately, Saturday's story has no such suspense. Kevin stopped by as arranged, and I had his DJ outfit and two bags of laundry ready to go. (Yes, I'd done the laundry for him last week because did I mention? I wanted him out of here.) He played with the dogs for a bit while I gritted my teeth. "Yep, they miss you! Don't you have to go pick up your equipment SOON?" Finally, he grabbed the laundry, and then, to my shock, tried to kiss me good-bye. I managed to turn my head so fast that I think I pulled something, and he wound up getting just my cheek and part of my ear.
He left, and I called Ed back. About five minutes later, I saw Kevin pulling up in the driveway again. Just as I was swearing a blue streak, Kevin came up to my office window and said, "I left my DJ outfit here." Christ, I jumped a mile. I went into the living room, and sure enough, there it was. I unlocked the front door and handed it to Kevin, and he said something smarmy about kissing me making him forget to take his outfit. I faked a laugh and said, "Oh, everyone says that to me," and shut the door. Gah.
Oh, and I avoided the call to Thurston and Lovey Howell by looking up their e-mail address in the church directory. I just wasn't up to a phone call, and with my luck, if I tried to call at a time when I'd normally get their voicemail, one of them would have decided to stay home that day. They replied with a nice e-mail and said that whatever the reason for the breakup, they're sure it was very hard. That's almost exactly the same thing the woman running RE classes said. It must be the politically correct response du jour.
I'm feeling flu-ish today. No fever--just achy and tired, and my throat's sore. I think everything that's happened in the past few weeks is finally hitting me. I've decided to take the rest of the day off, and I'm getting into bed with a logic puzzle book, a novel, and a big glass of iced tea.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Breaking Breakup News
It's been so long since I broke up with anyone that I forgot about the "breaking the news" task. I've told all the important folks: my family and you people. However, several local friends and acquaintances still don't know. I got one announcement out of the way this morning. A woman at church e-mailed Kevin and me, asking us to teach a religious education (RE) class for high school students. For Unitarians, RE classes don't involve Bible study; the high school curriculum for this fall is a series of classes comparing the major Western religions, discussing beliefs about the afterlife and religious prejudice, examining dogma and creeds, and so forth. Interesting stuff, but I'm not going to be around the entire year, and Kevin, obviously, can't do it because he moved to another town. So I had to e-mail this woman and explain we broke up. Aaaaawk-ward! No reply yet. Heh.
Next, I have to call a couple we'd met at church, who have been urging us to get together for dinner. They sent us an invitation for a pool party at their house, which is almost an hour away. Kind of a cute idea for the theme--Gilligan's Island--but I'm not showing up in a coconut bra in front of people I barely know. Also, they live out in the country, and I can't drive back home that far at night. My night vision isn't what it used to be; I do fine on main, well-lit roads, but dark, gravel-paved roads in Corn Country? No, thank you. I'm not looking forward to making this call and listening to expressions of condolences about the breakup. If they say "Oh, I'm sorry," I'm a little afraid I might blurt out, "Well, I'm not!"
I haven't decided how (or how much) to tell theater friends from Mayberry. Is a group e-mail in poor taste? Etiquette manuals don't address this issue, or they'd probably suggest separate handwritten letters on monogrammed stationery. *snort* What should I do?
A new season of Project Runway started last week. I do adore watching stressed-out people make bad decisions in the face of ridiculous challenges, and every now and then, there's a moment of impresive creativity. What I love most about this show, however, is reading the hilariously bitchy commentary at Project Rungay. Snarky gay humor never fails to cheer me up, and it cracks me up that these two guys invariably refer to Heidi Klum as "Frau Seal." You know she'd hate that!
Oh, I just got a reply from the woman supervising the RE classes at church. She's sorry to hear about the breakup. Should I tell her "Don't be!" :)
Next, I have to call a couple we'd met at church, who have been urging us to get together for dinner. They sent us an invitation for a pool party at their house, which is almost an hour away. Kind of a cute idea for the theme--Gilligan's Island--but I'm not showing up in a coconut bra in front of people I barely know. Also, they live out in the country, and I can't drive back home that far at night. My night vision isn't what it used to be; I do fine on main, well-lit roads, but dark, gravel-paved roads in Corn Country? No, thank you. I'm not looking forward to making this call and listening to expressions of condolences about the breakup. If they say "Oh, I'm sorry," I'm a little afraid I might blurt out, "Well, I'm not!"
I haven't decided how (or how much) to tell theater friends from Mayberry. Is a group e-mail in poor taste? Etiquette manuals don't address this issue, or they'd probably suggest separate handwritten letters on monogrammed stationery. *snort* What should I do?
A new season of Project Runway started last week. I do adore watching stressed-out people make bad decisions in the face of ridiculous challenges, and every now and then, there's a moment of impresive creativity. What I love most about this show, however, is reading the hilariously bitchy commentary at Project Rungay. Snarky gay humor never fails to cheer me up, and it cracks me up that these two guys invariably refer to Heidi Klum as "Frau Seal." You know she'd hate that!
Oh, I just got a reply from the woman supervising the RE classes at church. She's sorry to hear about the breakup. Should I tell her "Don't be!" :)
Saturday, July 31, 2010
My dogs admire my conversational skills
Kevin's coming over in about an hour because I made a booty call. Kidding! No, he's DJing a wedding tonight and left his outfit here. I wonder whether he'll notice how much better the art room and garage look? I've spent a lot of time this week cleaning both, and when I finish, I'm smudging the hell out of both rooms with sage. If nothing else, it will get rid of the cigar smell.
Daniel came over for lunch today. He was going to cut my grass, but of course it rained this morning. He decided he still wanted his "reward" lunch of a grilled PB&J sandwich, and we watched a Deep Space Nine episode ("Little Green Men," for you other geeks out there). It reminded me of when he was little and we watched Star Trek: Next Generation together, in the Pre-Kevin Days. He had such odd taste in TV shows back then. One of his favorite shows was Murphy Brown. I don't know what a kid his age would have seen in that show, but Murphy getting grumpy and snapping at people cracked him up.
We were both much more relaxed without Kevin around. Before, when Daniel came over for a meal, he'd eat and then make some excuse about why he had to leave immediately. I loved having him hang out for a while today. We had a good talk about his plans for the coming school year, and then we went through some stuff he has stored here to cull items for a garage sale I'm planning to have in a few weeks.
I'm feeling a little antsy about tonight. I've spent a lot of Saturday nights alone the past few years, with Kevin away at DJ jobs or art fairs, so I don't know why it's bothering me. I've been alone all week, and I haven't fallen apart yet. The dogs are wondering why I've gotten so chatty with them, but I haven't been all that weirded out. It started creeping up on me last night, however, and to be honest, I'm kind of dreading tonight. I could go to a movie, but going alone on Saturday night? I might as well just wear a sign saying "Look at me! I'm by myself on Saturday night!" Also, I tend to become a weirdo magnet when I go out by myself at night. Any conspiracy theorists or students at clown schools in the vicinity? They're compelled to strike up a conversation with me.
A bubble bath and a book are sounding much better by comparison--and probably a lot safer.
Daniel came over for lunch today. He was going to cut my grass, but of course it rained this morning. He decided he still wanted his "reward" lunch of a grilled PB&J sandwich, and we watched a Deep Space Nine episode ("Little Green Men," for you other geeks out there). It reminded me of when he was little and we watched Star Trek: Next Generation together, in the Pre-Kevin Days. He had such odd taste in TV shows back then. One of his favorite shows was Murphy Brown. I don't know what a kid his age would have seen in that show, but Murphy getting grumpy and snapping at people cracked him up.
We were both much more relaxed without Kevin around. Before, when Daniel came over for a meal, he'd eat and then make some excuse about why he had to leave immediately. I loved having him hang out for a while today. We had a good talk about his plans for the coming school year, and then we went through some stuff he has stored here to cull items for a garage sale I'm planning to have in a few weeks.
I'm feeling a little antsy about tonight. I've spent a lot of Saturday nights alone the past few years, with Kevin away at DJ jobs or art fairs, so I don't know why it's bothering me. I've been alone all week, and I haven't fallen apart yet. The dogs are wondering why I've gotten so chatty with them, but I haven't been all that weirded out. It started creeping up on me last night, however, and to be honest, I'm kind of dreading tonight. I could go to a movie, but going alone on Saturday night? I might as well just wear a sign saying "Look at me! I'm by myself on Saturday night!" Also, I tend to become a weirdo magnet when I go out by myself at night. Any conspiracy theorists or students at clown schools in the vicinity? They're compelled to strike up a conversation with me.
A bubble bath and a book are sounding much better by comparison--and probably a lot safer.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Insert Title Here
I'm getting the hang of cooking for one. (Making coffee for one? Still a work in progress.) As Greg pointed out, leftovers are the answer. Last night I made the usual two servings of rice and combined one serving with the leftover stir-fry. Ta-da! Dinner for tonight or tomorrow is done. Sasha, I like your idea of roasting a chicken--or for me, chicken breasts, as I don't care for drumsticks and other dark meat--because I can dice up the leftovers into a salad (Celeste's idea). To be honest, I'm not a big fan of all-vegetable salad as a main course; it leaves me feeling dissatisfied. Greg, your "Salad is what food eats" cracked me up. Even considering the Leftovers Plan, if I make too much of a dish, I do know a young man who adores my cooking and lives only 5 minutes away. After intense negotiations, Daniel agreed to cut my grass in exchange for a home-cooked meal.
I made another discovery about the depths of Kevin's laziness. Monday I asked him whether recycling goes out this week, as it's picked up every other week. He all but whistled and looked at the ceiling and muttered, "Oh, I just check whether the neighbors have put their recycling bins out." I didn't have to rely on my status as a part-time PI to know something was up and finally extracted the story from him. The recycling bins blew away in a storm SIX MONTHS ago. Did he get replacements? Why, no! That would involve all the effort of picking up the phone and making a call. So for the past six months, I've been dutifully putting recyclable items in the basket I keep in the pantry for that purpose, and he's been pretending to carry them out to the recycling bin in the garage, and then putting them in the trash. I don't go in the garage much, so I didn't notice, but I assumed he was keeping the bins in an odd place, such as the shed. Yesterday I called the city's recycling department, and new bins are being delivered today. The entire "effort," from start to finish, took approximately 1.45 minutes. Oy.
My mom keeps moaning that "both [her] girls are single now." Did I mention my sister got divorced? Long story that I'm too lazy to type now, but her husband committed one minor indiscretion, and she cut him (and his balls) off at dizzying speed. I haven't figured out yet how to tell my parents about Ed. Of course, they'd be delighted with anyone who's not Kevin, but from their perspective, the news is going to come out of the blue. When Ed and I first started e-mailing, I told my mom because I was so excited to hear from him. As usual, she listened with only half an ear. She's really not interested in what's going on with me; she calls me frequently so that she can complain about her illnesses, gossip about people I don't remember or barely know, and tell me how wonderful my sister is. I've mentioned Ed a few times since then, but again: half an ear. In addition, her memory has gotten much worse the past couple of years, so I suspect she remembers maybe a third of what I tell her--that is, a third of what she actually hears. Therefore, if she's shocked when I finally break the news, too bad. If she'd been paying attention, it wouldn't be a complete surprise. Also? I'm 50 damn years old, and I don't need her approval or permission. As for my dad, I think he'll be satisfied knowing I'm happy. Maybe the conversation will be easier than I'm anticipating. My dad will be happy for me, and my mom will be over the moon to hear further proof that my sister is far more sensible and perfect in every way than I am.
I made another discovery about the depths of Kevin's laziness. Monday I asked him whether recycling goes out this week, as it's picked up every other week. He all but whistled and looked at the ceiling and muttered, "Oh, I just check whether the neighbors have put their recycling bins out." I didn't have to rely on my status as a part-time PI to know something was up and finally extracted the story from him. The recycling bins blew away in a storm SIX MONTHS ago. Did he get replacements? Why, no! That would involve all the effort of picking up the phone and making a call. So for the past six months, I've been dutifully putting recyclable items in the basket I keep in the pantry for that purpose, and he's been pretending to carry them out to the recycling bin in the garage, and then putting them in the trash. I don't go in the garage much, so I didn't notice, but I assumed he was keeping the bins in an odd place, such as the shed. Yesterday I called the city's recycling department, and new bins are being delivered today. The entire "effort," from start to finish, took approximately 1.45 minutes. Oy.
My mom keeps moaning that "both [her] girls are single now." Did I mention my sister got divorced? Long story that I'm too lazy to type now, but her husband committed one minor indiscretion, and she cut him (and his balls) off at dizzying speed. I haven't figured out yet how to tell my parents about Ed. Of course, they'd be delighted with anyone who's not Kevin, but from their perspective, the news is going to come out of the blue. When Ed and I first started e-mailing, I told my mom because I was so excited to hear from him. As usual, she listened with only half an ear. She's really not interested in what's going on with me; she calls me frequently so that she can complain about her illnesses, gossip about people I don't remember or barely know, and tell me how wonderful my sister is. I've mentioned Ed a few times since then, but again: half an ear. In addition, her memory has gotten much worse the past couple of years, so I suspect she remembers maybe a third of what I tell her--that is, a third of what she actually hears. Therefore, if she's shocked when I finally break the news, too bad. If she'd been paying attention, it wouldn't be a complete surprise. Also? I'm 50 damn years old, and I don't need her approval or permission. As for my dad, I think he'll be satisfied knowing I'm happy. Maybe the conversation will be easier than I'm anticipating. My dad will be happy for me, and my mom will be over the moon to hear further proof that my sister is far more sensible and perfect in every way than I am.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Coffee talk with Lisa
A very old, skinny man, pushing a baby in a stroller, just walked by my house. He was trudging along so slowly that I suspect the baby could have gotten out and walked faster.
Holly the Boneheaded Beagle pulled quite a stunt. Well, it was partly my fault. When I take her out at night for her last pee, often I have to put her leash on and pull a little while coaxing her. Her arthritis has gotten so bad that she's reluctant to get up and make the walk outside. Until she can figure out how to sit on the toilet, however, out she goes. Last night, while I was standing in the yard admiring the full moon and waiting for Holly to finish, I heard her leash hit against something metallic. A second later, CRASH! Instead of turning around and walking directly back to the patio, she had walked in a circle, wrapped her leash around a wrought-iron plant stand holding four clay and ceramic pots, and brought the whole caboodle down. Charlie jumped straight up in the air when he heard the crash and did a rather impressive leap over the debris. Miraculously, only two pots broke, but I had one hell of a mess to clean up this morning. I still need to sweep up a pile of dirt. Mental note: Save the moon-gazing for when I'm outside BY MYSELF, with no spazzing dogs.
I finished my purple variegated socks. Here's a blurry, crappy photo that will give you only a vague idea of what the socks look like, but feel free to humor me and exclaim over their beauteousness:
The Room Formerly Known as Kevin's Man Cave is looking better. I finished vacuuming and sweeping away cobwebs, stacked all my art supplies on an empty bookcase he left, and hung a few pictures I'd stored because I had no wall space left to hang them. I have a folding table in the garage that I'm going to set up for a temporary workspace, and I'm going to try to set aside some time to do a little collaging and rubberstamping. With all Kevin's stuff scattered around, I never had room to get my art supplies out and do anything with them.
Weird, this burst of energy I'm having, but I guess it's caused by a major source of stress being removed. I don't know how long it will last, but I'm enjoying it while it does. I'm even going to cook a nice dinner for myself. Last night, I was too exhausted to make more than a bowl of cereal, but tonight, I'm stir-frying chicken, broccoli, and almonds. I think I'll skip the rice because I don't know how to make just one serving in my rice cooker. I've almost forgotten how to cook for one (AND make coffee for one, so I had too much this morning). Any tips?
Holly the Boneheaded Beagle pulled quite a stunt. Well, it was partly my fault. When I take her out at night for her last pee, often I have to put her leash on and pull a little while coaxing her. Her arthritis has gotten so bad that she's reluctant to get up and make the walk outside. Until she can figure out how to sit on the toilet, however, out she goes. Last night, while I was standing in the yard admiring the full moon and waiting for Holly to finish, I heard her leash hit against something metallic. A second later, CRASH! Instead of turning around and walking directly back to the patio, she had walked in a circle, wrapped her leash around a wrought-iron plant stand holding four clay and ceramic pots, and brought the whole caboodle down. Charlie jumped straight up in the air when he heard the crash and did a rather impressive leap over the debris. Miraculously, only two pots broke, but I had one hell of a mess to clean up this morning. I still need to sweep up a pile of dirt. Mental note: Save the moon-gazing for when I'm outside BY MYSELF, with no spazzing dogs.
I finished my purple variegated socks. Here's a blurry, crappy photo that will give you only a vague idea of what the socks look like, but feel free to humor me and exclaim over their beauteousness:
The Room Formerly Known as Kevin's Man Cave is looking better. I finished vacuuming and sweeping away cobwebs, stacked all my art supplies on an empty bookcase he left, and hung a few pictures I'd stored because I had no wall space left to hang them. I have a folding table in the garage that I'm going to set up for a temporary workspace, and I'm going to try to set aside some time to do a little collaging and rubberstamping. With all Kevin's stuff scattered around, I never had room to get my art supplies out and do anything with them.
Weird, this burst of energy I'm having, but I guess it's caused by a major source of stress being removed. I don't know how long it will last, but I'm enjoying it while it does. I'm even going to cook a nice dinner for myself. Last night, I was too exhausted to make more than a bowl of cereal, but tonight, I'm stir-frying chicken, broccoli, and almonds. I think I'll skip the rice because I don't know how to make just one serving in my rice cooker. I've almost forgotten how to cook for one (AND make coffee for one, so I had too much this morning). Any tips?
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