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2001-04-29 His m-bike's clean Eating bagels by myself on Sunday. Wishing I was making them for someone else too, but he just got his motorcycle fixed and went on a ride this weekend. At least I think that's what he did and why I haven't heard from him this weekend. Fair's fair; he's got his M-bike, I've got mine. Still the overdeveloped disaster lobe of my brain can't help but come up with worst-case scenarios of accidents and tragedy, and overanalyzing anything I might have said that would precipitate the silent treatment. I'll say it again: I'm a fucking piece of work. I still haven't gone to get a TV. That involves driving to someplace like Circuit City and dealing with salespeople there. Both the salespeople and the driving are vaguely panic-inducing at the moment. Moving the car from the best parking space in the world (neighborhood-only parking with no street cleaning, off the street but within view of my house) is such a depressing concept. I'm thinking of launching back into Diablo. At least while I'm a Barbarian fighting for my existence, the rest of my brain goes quiet; I don't think about work, or other people, or what my fucking problem is, or why I feel such generalized fear and dread. It all goes away and I become Mongo, for a little while, mostly hoping that I'll find the Waypoint soon in this next level or that I'll need to switch to leap-attack to get these Zacarum Priests. Escapism, anyone? I did manage to get a fair amount of cleaning done, and even had The Roommate pitching in with my list. Our floors, if I may confess, were really gross. Any longer and I was going to pull my own private Howard Hughes -- The Roommate was going to come home to me with Kleenex? boxes on each foot, putting plates of crumbs back into the fridge. Ok, maybe not that different from what happens now, but you know what I mean. I'm quite looking forward to the potato salad I've made with the rapidly aging baking potatoes. I added something different: pickled garlic. We'll see how gross it tastes after sitting for a day or so. I know, my fascinating life, huh? This is why I normally go for several days between journal entries, to avoid posting recipes and to-do lists, the detritus of the daily routine. Ow. Burned the roof of my mouth on the hot potatoes on Friday. It's still sore there, so i'm trying to eat and drink carefully to not irritate the burnt parts, which isn't easy. Come to think of it, burnt is a good word for how I feel. I realize it's been four months since I had time off besides sick days. And those were "on-call" days over the holidays with the attendant stresses of Christmas/New Year's. More pointedly, I have five and half weeks of paid time off saved up. And another six days of "sick" time as well. But what would I do on my vacation that's different from my weekends or sick days? Sitting in front of my computer in flannel pajama bottoms for nine days in a row instead of just two? What do I like to do besides that? Who has time for hobbies? I have to keep selling out the Web. [Even more angst-ridden paragraph deleted here. I have some compassion for my audience.] So bread is not going to be made today; we don't really need another loaf, since I got groceries yesterday. It's getting a bit late to try to claim the washer on a Sunday (the busiest laundry day, and since I sit almost directly over the machines, I should know) for my sheets, so that may wait for laundry day. At least the sheets got changed. But I could still shower and make it over to some electronics store. Then I could say I really accomplished more than a diary entry today. Ok, which is it to be? Productivity or avoidance? It looks awfully bright out there.
2003-03-29 - Moving Notice |
