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Sep. 2nd, 2006 12:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickIt's raining like a bitch, which sort of kills horse activities for today. The house is about sixty degrees and I have watched all of Desperate Housewives (Season 2) and read the entire second Elf Porn book (twice). This is a fucking three day weekend and I have run out of fun things to do on Saturday, just slightly after twelve noon.
I can do (and fold!) laundry. I can clean the kitchen. I can clean the living room and do the floors. I can organize the book room. I can build a CD storage shelf and then prime, paint, and hang it. (Yes, without going to the store. I'm good like that.) I can knit on the felted bag for my mother. I can go through my closet and toss clothing I haven't worn in two years or more... including the jeans that I keep thinking I can eventually get thin enough to fit into again. (I am never going to be thin enough to fit into them again.) I can clean the bathroom. (As you may have noticed from the number of items on the list involving cleaning, housekeeping in my world is mostly a matter of lowered expectations.)
Yes. I have many things I can do. Living room -- I'd like to see the surface of my coffee table again. It's been months and I miss it. Dust bunnies. Muddy footprints. I could rotate the blades on the ceiling fan. I could put books I'm done with back into the book room. I could throw things away. I could open and stir the free paint from the ex-tenant and see if any of it is inoffensive enough to paint the CD storage unit that I haven't built yet from the spare lumber that is in the book room. Dining room table and sideboard need to be cleaned off. Vacuuming is a distant enough memory that my cat isn't even remotely afraid of the damn thing anymore.
*sigh* Right. I have things to do with my three-day weekend. Pity none of them are fun.
On the plus side, brother-the-younger has been happily and busily losing weight and now almost weighs less than I do. He's about six feet tall. I'm five foot seven. I see absolutely no way for him to weigh less than I do without me being annoyingly fat. Thanks a lot, brother-the-younger.
I can do (and fold!) laundry. I can clean the kitchen. I can clean the living room and do the floors. I can organize the book room. I can build a CD storage shelf and then prime, paint, and hang it. (Yes, without going to the store. I'm good like that.) I can knit on the felted bag for my mother. I can go through my closet and toss clothing I haven't worn in two years or more... including the jeans that I keep thinking I can eventually get thin enough to fit into again. (I am never going to be thin enough to fit into them again.) I can clean the bathroom. (As you may have noticed from the number of items on the list involving cleaning, housekeeping in my world is mostly a matter of lowered expectations.)
Yes. I have many things I can do. Living room -- I'd like to see the surface of my coffee table again. It's been months and I miss it. Dust bunnies. Muddy footprints. I could rotate the blades on the ceiling fan. I could put books I'm done with back into the book room. I could throw things away. I could open and stir the free paint from the ex-tenant and see if any of it is inoffensive enough to paint the CD storage unit that I haven't built yet from the spare lumber that is in the book room. Dining room table and sideboard need to be cleaned off. Vacuuming is a distant enough memory that my cat isn't even remotely afraid of the damn thing anymore.
*sigh* Right. I have things to do with my three-day weekend. Pity none of them are fun.
On the plus side, brother-the-younger has been happily and busily losing weight and now almost weighs less than I do. He's about six feet tall. I'm five foot seven. I see absolutely no way for him to weigh less than I do without me being annoyingly fat. Thanks a lot, brother-the-younger.
