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Jan. 21st, 2007 07:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickHow do things actually get done around here? Well, they take longer than you think.
I've needed new flannel sheets for a while, reason being that the *old* flannel sheets are about ten years old. One day some months ago, the top sheet ripped in my hands as I was tugging it up to my chin. Oops. (Stuff like this happens to me rather frequently. I also put my fingers through the tops of my socks more than two or three times a year. Apparently I tug with way more vigor than these products were designed to handle.) Anyway, I've been living with unreplaced-tattered-flannel sheets for a while, now, despite repeated efforts to actually BUY sheets. And it's cold. I'd like flannel sheets.
How long has the sheet situation sucked? Since before mid-December, apparently. Inertia is a way of life in these parts. I've honestly kind of wanted nice, new sheets since the hysterectomy. (I figured that there was no point in buying nice, new sheets until I wasn't going to be bleeding all over the fucking things.) While I am perfectly willing to spend upwards of two hundred dollars on threadcounts and flannel weights that are, honestly, embarrassingly lush, I am not going to do it if there is any chance at all that said threadcounts and flannel weights will be immediately fucked up.
Also, the bedframe is falling apart and will not withstand vigorous fucking or even reasonably enthusiastic wanking. It wobbles. I've got the box spring propped up on stacks of books (that I could otherwise be reading and perhaps that is where some of the better porn has gotten to...) and this is just an unlovely state of affairs. I'm too old for the up-on-blocks furniture lifestyle. *sigh* I've got a charged power screwdriver in the truck and I rather think that perhaps this would be a fine evening for disassembling the bed and fix0ring it. With power tools. Of course, this is just in case I wind up with the sort of life where I might be engaging in vigorous fucking in my own bed. (It could happen. Really. *sigh* Look. I'd like to pretend that it could happen, please, so will you just quit with the snickering and let me accomplish my home repairs?) I could also work on the bookcase-revamping project from, hell, months ago when it was nice out. Those have been (just so that you know) leaning against the wall in the living room since the linked post. Progress made? Half of the chipboard is off the backs of 'em. I've been using it to light fires with, a job to which it is eminently suited.
It isn't that I never get anything done. I get lots of things done. They just aren't always the things that I've been meaning to do. :)
I've needed new flannel sheets for a while, reason being that the *old* flannel sheets are about ten years old. One day some months ago, the top sheet ripped in my hands as I was tugging it up to my chin. Oops. (Stuff like this happens to me rather frequently. I also put my fingers through the tops of my socks more than two or three times a year. Apparently I tug with way more vigor than these products were designed to handle.) Anyway, I've been living with unreplaced-tattered-flannel sheets for a while, now, despite repeated efforts to actually BUY sheets. And it's cold. I'd like flannel sheets.
How long has the sheet situation sucked? Since before mid-December, apparently. Inertia is a way of life in these parts. I've honestly kind of wanted nice, new sheets since the hysterectomy. (I figured that there was no point in buying nice, new sheets until I wasn't going to be bleeding all over the fucking things.) While I am perfectly willing to spend upwards of two hundred dollars on threadcounts and flannel weights that are, honestly, embarrassingly lush, I am not going to do it if there is any chance at all that said threadcounts and flannel weights will be immediately fucked up.
Also, the bedframe is falling apart and will not withstand vigorous fucking or even reasonably enthusiastic wanking. It wobbles. I've got the box spring propped up on stacks of books (that I could otherwise be reading and perhaps that is where some of the better porn has gotten to...) and this is just an unlovely state of affairs. I'm too old for the up-on-blocks furniture lifestyle. *sigh* I've got a charged power screwdriver in the truck and I rather think that perhaps this would be a fine evening for disassembling the bed and fix0ring it. With power tools. Of course, this is just in case I wind up with the sort of life where I might be engaging in vigorous fucking in my own bed. (It could happen. Really. *sigh* Look. I'd like to pretend that it could happen, please, so will you just quit with the snickering and let me accomplish my home repairs?) I could also work on the bookcase-revamping project from, hell, months ago when it was nice out. Those have been (just so that you know) leaning against the wall in the living room since the linked post. Progress made? Half of the chipboard is off the backs of 'em. I've been using it to light fires with, a job to which it is eminently suited.
It isn't that I never get anything done. I get lots of things done. They just aren't always the things that I've been meaning to do. :)
