2009-02-18 - 6:56 p.m.
February 18th, 2009
Last week I ground my thumb up in the coffee grinder. For a fleeting milli- millisecond I held my thumb against the grinder because I was so surprised that it didnít feel like a slicing sort of grind like I would have expected but more like a weighty thack-thack of a grind. (I should mention that the grinding of my thumb was purely accidental) This anecdote seems rather telling of my current life situations. I feel like I am just kind of keeping myself in the (insert situation) because I just canít believe that the pain (or discomfort or whatever) I am feeling is exactly right. I find myself muddling about in disbelief a lot, like gee, this canít possibly be happening, right? Hopefully I remove myself before I become a bloody pulp like my thumb did. Oof.
Anyway. Wednesdays are a pasta gorge day. I donít like Wednesdays at my new job (I do, however, like all other days). The woman who runs the show on Wednesdays is a maniac, an impossible to please maniac at that. She runs around all day being impossible and making every last thing into a huge ordeal. Which drives me crazy. I cannot work with her. Itís just that simple. She makes the day extremely difficult for me because I turn into a fucking moron when sheís making all these demands and making big things out of nothing (once I wrote an R in lower case and she freaked out on me (even though there isnít a rule that we have to write in capitals) and said I needed to write more clearly because the cooks could have misread the rye and thought it was dry and I said, ďbut dry isnít spelled like rye?Ē because I was honestly a little confused about what the big deal was, I have the best handwriting in the restaurant on most days, and that just made her even more mad) andÖ.and so everything just kind of goes to hell on Wednesdays. No matter how strong and ready I am for the day when I walk in, it usually takes about five minutes before I am a fool again. Anyway. On Wednesday afternoons, right before I get off work, I start thinking about pasta and I canít stop thinking about pasta. The minute I get home I boil water and make a box of noodles and eat as many as my stomach can hold with big dollaps of butter, salted more than liberally and filled with parmesan. I almost make myself sick with pasta but for some reason I need it, I crave it and I have to have it on Wednesdays. Today was an especially good pasta therapy day because I had a magazine waiting for me in the mailbox and it was raining outside so I just sat at the table reading the magazine, watching the quiet rain and stuffing my face with simple carbs.
In other news. My cat is pretty sick. Or, at least it looks that way. I have to take him for an echocardiogram on Monday and then he has to have a complete thyroid panel done. I am kind of freaking out. Iíve been doing too much internet reading about both hyperthyroidism and heart conditions. Life expectancy isnít the ten more years I was hoping for with him. All I can say is that I will be spending a lot of time at home this spring and summer making sure he has a good warm season. He loves to be outside. I foresee a summer of dragging strings around the yard constantly for him to chase.
All other issues in my life are still present. There are familial things that I still havenít dealt with. There are things, things, things and more things that should be dealt with but Iíve been in my typical cope mode of sleeping through it all. If I didnít live with someone this would be a time in my life when I would get up to go to work and would come home and immediately go to bed until I had to wake up again. I am good at this type of cope mode. But because I live with someone I cannot act like such a mental patient. Sigh. I try to stay awake until at least 9 these days.
So that is all. I have big plans for my garden this year. It is super exciting and if we DO stay in this house for ten years or so, WOW KABANG!, my garden will be phenomenal. Think Versailles-like with lots of lettuce and tomatoes worked in.
A couple weeks ago (or was it last week?) one of the possums was showing up for food in the middle of the day. Sheíd eat and then hang out in the possum box for a couple hours, eat some more, go back in the box and so on and so forth. She was around for a couple days. My mother suggested that the possum was having babies and I think that was exactly the case. !!! Since they are marsupials and their babies are born into their pouches there is no way for me to know whether she had babies or not but it seems very likely. She picked a warm spot (fleece blankets inside the box!) with reliable shelter (the possum box is on my front porch under a roof) and ample food (I feed them Brie even!). Next year I am hoping we have built some wooden possum boxes so Eric doesnít have to be embarrassed by my blanket covered cardboard boxes in front of our front door. I am having so much fun with the creatures around here. At any given time you can look out our front door window and see an animal eating. Possums, raccoons, the naughty dog from next door, the stray skittish cat (who was rolling in a pile of cat nip when I looked out the window last night)Ö.someday I expect that the herd of deer who live in our yard will also be out there eating.
So thatís it. Since Eric wonít be getting home until late tonight I can go to bed RIGHT NOW.
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