You know, I really do know better than to eat donuts.
Really.
I do.
then how do you explain the plain old-fashioned donut that I ate not ten minutes ago?
Oh, well, it was yummy. not sure if it was worth the mood swings I know will come in about a half hour, but it was good.
So I went though old notebooks this weekend. I didn't actually read much of anything, but skimmed a lot of it. The handwriting varies dramatically from book to book--but it tends to be pretty consistent within the notebook. There's one thing I've lost as I've moved to keeping everything on the computer; I don't have a real record of my handwriting any more.
I wonder if these things are important to anyone other than me. Is it really important to anyone else to know what your handwriting was like a year, ago five years ago, ten? A month ago? Yesterday?
I wrote a really scary amount of utter crap between the years of 1988 and 1992. Once I hit college, I got significantly better, but I recall filling all these notebooks with all the words that were crowding into my head and thinking that, maybe, I might be a good writer someday if I could just write enough. It's really rather painful to re-read. I was very, very young back then (I was in high school between 88 and 92) and I was in a state of emotional suspended animation. Between my dissociation, the chronic illness that caused severe suicidal depression, and my general discomfort with the fact that I'd turned out to be human and not a horse or a cat, I just retreated inside of myself like Peter Pan into Never-Never Land. I would never grow up, I declared. I was old enough already.
And my writings reflect my general reluctance to be alive, with the occasional flash of insight as to what was actually going on. I was playing the waiting game; waiting for time to catch up with me, waiting to be able to deal with the world on my own terms, waiting for something, anything to change. The thought of the adult world terrified me, but it was scarier to think about staying where I was.
The day is breaking now, it's time to go away. I'm so afraid to leave, but I'm more afraid to stay. (Ariel, October Project)
And as I started typing that quote, WinAmp started playing the song. I have achieved music mood oneness with my computer, it seems.
But, yes, this weekend was wonderful. I got to see some people who are pretty important in my life, I got fireplace matches, I baked bread and I was very well snuggled. Fall is definitely closing in fast, and the smells of the city are downshifting to cool-weather scents--apples, fires in fireplaces, drizzle-washed pavement, damp leaves.
I've started riding my bike to work again, which has been all sorts of exciting. I used to ride to work when I lived up in Wedgwood, but stopped when I moved to Ballard and then to Eastlake. I'd forgotten how amusing it is to dodge certain death by fast-moving vehicle.
My ride takes me 25 minutes from going down the stairs at my house to get my bike out to walking into my office--about 18 of which are actually spent riding. I go out into the backyard with my bike, catch whichever cat escapes and put him or her inside, and carry my bike around the side of the house to the street. I ride about halfway up the Hill of Death and get off and walk the rest. (I get a little farther up each time. Eventually, I'll ride all the way up the stupid thing. It's not that steep, I keep telling myself. But the picture I have doesn't quite accurately capture the angle of this hill. They close this street when we get more than a quarter inch of snow.)
Once on Eastlake, I swing into my lane and ride for about six or seven minutes along the arterial. this is easily the most exciting part of the ride; the speed limit is 40 and everyone does about that speed. It's a two-lane road each way...but in the direction I ride in the morning, the right lane is a parking lane. (They clear out one side for the morning commute and the other side for the afternoon commute.) so I'm riding along the street about a foot and a half from all of these parked cars, and having cars and the occasional bus pass me on the left. There are a couple of stretches that I generally hop on the sidewalk for; it's a wussy move, but I'm not yet quite used to riding this route, and the pavement on Eastlake sucks.
So I ride across the University drawbridge (which has a bike lane, glory hallelujah!) and up the hill to my offramp, which curves around and takes me under the bridge and onto the Burke-Gilman trail. From here it's cake, and a scenic ride to boot. The trail ambles along the lakeside, with little swooping hills and valleys, going by Gasworks Park. Then the trail goes through the parking lot of my building, and I wheel into the parking garage and lock up my bike.
And I noticed today that my butt doesn't hurt from the bike seat, and the ride itself seemed a lot easier than it was last week. I'm adjusting. this is pretty damned cool.
do i stress you out? My sweater's on backwards and inside out, and you say, how appropriate.
I have to start being better about writing stuff down when I schedule it. My day planner is already my auxiliary brain; but I'm better about writing down work stuff than I am about personal stuff. I need to start reserving days for stuff and people; Sunday evening is gaming already, and Sunday during the day is generally reserved for cleaning and doing other house chores. (Though I'll sometimes have people over to talk to me while I clean, and, well, I'm flexible about the chores, to say the least.) Looks like Friday nights are going to be me and Chris, at least for the near future; I'd like to get Wednesday nights with him for dinner nights, too, but we'll see how that goes. Monday nights are for me; I need one night a week that's reserved for reading and doing whatever else I need to do. It's basically a date night with myself, and it's very nice to have that luxury. Which leaves Tuesday, Wednesday at least for the immediate future, Thursday, and Saturday as my free days. And, of course, all is negotiable and it varies from week to week.Mmmm. Timeslicing. Good thing I'm good at coordinating stuff. And it's a very good thing that I'm able to work out during the day now. that frees up my schedule more than just about anything else.
Best reason to ask for forgiveness online:
Because sometimes, other people can give you good suggestions for apologies.
how goes the war?
Small scouting forays are being sent out to the border today. We have to gather more intelligence before we finish our strategy.
