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dragonlady7Sometimes I rely on being super-boring to camoflage the fact that I'm a huge whiner.
I tripped up the stairs on my way into work this morning, so my knee is sore and the palm of my hand stings. I didn't break the skin, though. This knee had better not swell—I have practice tonight. I'm a bit smug that despite being fat and out of shape, I'm doing reasonably well at making myself stick with drills and am performing adequately as a skater. However, my form is awful, atrocious, ridiculous. Everything I've ever known about balance I seem to have forgotten, and I can't focus well enough to make myself do it.
I have a sneaking suspicion that I was never that good at it and am deluding myself.
I have a headache, as well. I slept funny last night, not in position but I just couldn't get comfortable. I don't know if I blogged it here yet—how funny—Z and I got a new king-sized bed, got the mattress last Saturday, and have been sleeping in it, with Chita, since. The first night I passed uncomfortably, but I was worried about the kitten's stitches and also I had crippling cramps and knew, additionally, that our only set of sheets is… white… and I have this pathological dread of bleeding on white sheets… etc. Anyhow. I've become more comfortable since then, and have no back problems, but the bed is just so large and wide and empty I just can't get cozy in it. I suppose it doesn't help that we don't have a comforter or duvet for it, and are getting by under a thin quilt because it's not been that cold. It was cold last night; Z and I snuggled a little, but are out of the habit, and rolled away, and then Chita stole the blankets, and Z took possession of them and I couldn't get them back.
I am bad at change, I guess. I need to find all my own pillows again and load up my half of the bed and make a proper nest. But I've never been comfortable in beds that aren't against the wall on one side, so this is a new thing for me too. Without the wall, I'm a bit lost.
It doesn't help that there's no other furniture in the room. We need to hit IKEA again. We've tried a couple of US places. Why do no American stores have any tastefully understated basic furniture that's well-made and looks halfway decent in a small room? Everything we've seen is either made of paper and chipboard, or is some Gothic monstrosity—and not even properly Gothic, but all baroque and crenellated and bulging in weird places with ostentatious glass detailing. I mean, what?
I don't mean to be negative today, but I am in a poor mood. Monday night Z solved my apathetic inability to know what to feed us by making battered fried fish fillets—brilliant—but, he battered them in a paste of flour and water and curry powder, and then simply put the bowl full of leftover batter into the sink. Later that night he had a bowl of cereal, and dropped the bowl into the bowl of batter. This means that the entire sink is coated in a layer of flour paste. Then it dried.
I also discovered last night that this past weekend, when I thought he was doing all the dishes, really he was just cramming any of them that would fit into the dishwasher, which he then left half-full of dirty dishes and forgot about, while the sink filled up with yet more dirty dishes. I thought the dishwasher had clean dishes in it and had been meaning to empty it; when I did so last night, I discovered they were dirty and had started to get moldy. Oh.
So I was in a foul mood this morning, trying to sort that out—I had planned on putting together split pea soup for tonight's dinner, but instead I spent my little scrap of spare time dealing with filthy dishes. I haven't touched the paste in the sink. I doubt Z will ever clean it. Eventually it may decay and be removed that way. I'm not fucking doing it, not this time—I'm the only one who has ever scrubbed any of our sinks, bathroom or kitchen or stationary tub, but I'm not doing this.
I've decided I'm going to set a timer, determine how long it takes me to do various household activities, and then set myself a certain amount of time each week. I'm trying to be serious about this damn novel, and now poor![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
forodwaith is waiting for the next bit and oh, I haven't finished it, how nice. I'm trying to attend every roller derby practice and I'd hoped to do other fitness-related activities but see that's futile now. And I can't quit my full-time job—I'm already taking time off next week just to catch up on errands, because I’m so burned-out and it's affecting my customer service and I don't want to be snippy with people that can't help being crazy. But I can't live in squalor. So, I get n hours each week to spend on housework. I'd better spend them all—but I will not be spending extra. And then we can stop this I-do-dishes-five-times-in-a-row, he-does-them-once-and-then-gets-furious-when-I-say-he-doesn't-do-his-share bullshit. Fine. The fact that I do dishes in the mornings while he's asleep doesn’t mean they don't get done. And my doing laundry while he's asleep doesn't mean it doesn't get done. And maybe he does do more than I realize—if he keeps track, then maybe it will give me something to calm me down when I have a morning like this one where I CAN NOT DEAL WITH THE SHIT IN THE SINK WHAT WAS HE THINKING???
If I didn't have a full-time job, I'd have a lot more time to spend cleaning the house. But I do, so I can't keep a house. I'm sorry, I've just got other things to do. What do I give up, my goal to be physically active, stave off osteoporosis, and participate in a sport I enjoy? Or my dream of being a writer and at least finishing a novel, even if I can't find a conventional publisher for it? Or the job I have to do to pay my share of the bills? Or do I let the tub get kinda scummy, not vacuum the floor much, rinse instead of scrub the sink, and do dishes once a week when we run out of something? I don't even keep up on the laundry—for years I was fanatical about the laundry, but I just don't have it in me anymore. (Z had black t-shirts that were three years old that he wore every week and those fuckers looked new. I was a champ. Keep the blacks black, the whites white, never tumble-dry anything that didn't need it to cut down on my carbon footprint, pre-soak delicates, the whole works. Yeah, it's been a while since I could do that.)
Progress on the remodeling has stalled—the bedroom needs one more coat on the trim, and needs the edges gone over at least once more. Then we have to choose between the kitchen and the bedroom and the hallway for the next project—we tentatively chose the bedroom, though Z yelled at me that we had to clean the living room first—a task that will take approximately 30 seconds now that there is a bedroom to put clothes away in, but it means we can't decide what room to paint next until we've done it. The other bedroom is an absolute fucking sty—there are parts of it I have not stepped in for literally years because Z's crap is piled up there—but I dread telling him he's got to hoe it out. I cleaned out my room on my own… but I don't know if he'll do his willingly. But someone has to. Please, don't make me hoe through all that shit too. I don't have time.
I don't have time.
Yeah, I know, cry me a river. Everyone else in the world just has acres of spare time, so much so in fact that they relish tedious and even painful household tasks, just to relieve the boredom. And then when they go in the bathroom they shit rainbows and flowers because they're so happy to be alive. I'm the only one in the world who ever has a badday week.
I tripped up the stairs on my way into work this morning, so my knee is sore and the palm of my hand stings. I didn't break the skin, though. This knee had better not swell—I have practice tonight. I'm a bit smug that despite being fat and out of shape, I'm doing reasonably well at making myself stick with drills and am performing adequately as a skater. However, my form is awful, atrocious, ridiculous. Everything I've ever known about balance I seem to have forgotten, and I can't focus well enough to make myself do it.
I have a sneaking suspicion that I was never that good at it and am deluding myself.
I have a headache, as well. I slept funny last night, not in position but I just couldn't get comfortable. I don't know if I blogged it here yet—how funny—Z and I got a new king-sized bed, got the mattress last Saturday, and have been sleeping in it, with Chita, since. The first night I passed uncomfortably, but I was worried about the kitten's stitches and also I had crippling cramps and knew, additionally, that our only set of sheets is… white… and I have this pathological dread of bleeding on white sheets… etc. Anyhow. I've become more comfortable since then, and have no back problems, but the bed is just so large and wide and empty I just can't get cozy in it. I suppose it doesn't help that we don't have a comforter or duvet for it, and are getting by under a thin quilt because it's not been that cold. It was cold last night; Z and I snuggled a little, but are out of the habit, and rolled away, and then Chita stole the blankets, and Z took possession of them and I couldn't get them back.
I am bad at change, I guess. I need to find all my own pillows again and load up my half of the bed and make a proper nest. But I've never been comfortable in beds that aren't against the wall on one side, so this is a new thing for me too. Without the wall, I'm a bit lost.
It doesn't help that there's no other furniture in the room. We need to hit IKEA again. We've tried a couple of US places. Why do no American stores have any tastefully understated basic furniture that's well-made and looks halfway decent in a small room? Everything we've seen is either made of paper and chipboard, or is some Gothic monstrosity—and not even properly Gothic, but all baroque and crenellated and bulging in weird places with ostentatious glass detailing. I mean, what?
I don't mean to be negative today, but I am in a poor mood. Monday night Z solved my apathetic inability to know what to feed us by making battered fried fish fillets—brilliant—but, he battered them in a paste of flour and water and curry powder, and then simply put the bowl full of leftover batter into the sink. Later that night he had a bowl of cereal, and dropped the bowl into the bowl of batter. This means that the entire sink is coated in a layer of flour paste. Then it dried.
I also discovered last night that this past weekend, when I thought he was doing all the dishes, really he was just cramming any of them that would fit into the dishwasher, which he then left half-full of dirty dishes and forgot about, while the sink filled up with yet more dirty dishes. I thought the dishwasher had clean dishes in it and had been meaning to empty it; when I did so last night, I discovered they were dirty and had started to get moldy. Oh.
So I was in a foul mood this morning, trying to sort that out—I had planned on putting together split pea soup for tonight's dinner, but instead I spent my little scrap of spare time dealing with filthy dishes. I haven't touched the paste in the sink. I doubt Z will ever clean it. Eventually it may decay and be removed that way. I'm not fucking doing it, not this time—I'm the only one who has ever scrubbed any of our sinks, bathroom or kitchen or stationary tub, but I'm not doing this.
I've decided I'm going to set a timer, determine how long it takes me to do various household activities, and then set myself a certain amount of time each week. I'm trying to be serious about this damn novel, and now poor
forodwaith is waiting for the next bit and oh, I haven't finished it, how nice. I'm trying to attend every roller derby practice and I'd hoped to do other fitness-related activities but see that's futile now. And I can't quit my full-time job—I'm already taking time off next week just to catch up on errands, because I’m so burned-out and it's affecting my customer service and I don't want to be snippy with people that can't help being crazy. But I can't live in squalor. So, I get n hours each week to spend on housework. I'd better spend them all—but I will not be spending extra. And then we can stop this I-do-dishes-five-times-in-a-row, he-does-them-once-and-then-gets-furious-when-I-say-he-doesn't-do-his-share bullshit. Fine. The fact that I do dishes in the mornings while he's asleep doesn’t mean they don't get done. And my doing laundry while he's asleep doesn't mean it doesn't get done. And maybe he does do more than I realize—if he keeps track, then maybe it will give me something to calm me down when I have a morning like this one where I CAN NOT DEAL WITH THE SHIT IN THE SINK WHAT WAS HE THINKING???If I didn't have a full-time job, I'd have a lot more time to spend cleaning the house. But I do, so I can't keep a house. I'm sorry, I've just got other things to do. What do I give up, my goal to be physically active, stave off osteoporosis, and participate in a sport I enjoy? Or my dream of being a writer and at least finishing a novel, even if I can't find a conventional publisher for it? Or the job I have to do to pay my share of the bills? Or do I let the tub get kinda scummy, not vacuum the floor much, rinse instead of scrub the sink, and do dishes once a week when we run out of something? I don't even keep up on the laundry—for years I was fanatical about the laundry, but I just don't have it in me anymore. (Z had black t-shirts that were three years old that he wore every week and those fuckers looked new. I was a champ. Keep the blacks black, the whites white, never tumble-dry anything that didn't need it to cut down on my carbon footprint, pre-soak delicates, the whole works. Yeah, it's been a while since I could do that.)
Progress on the remodeling has stalled—the bedroom needs one more coat on the trim, and needs the edges gone over at least once more. Then we have to choose between the kitchen and the bedroom and the hallway for the next project—we tentatively chose the bedroom, though Z yelled at me that we had to clean the living room first—a task that will take approximately 30 seconds now that there is a bedroom to put clothes away in, but it means we can't decide what room to paint next until we've done it. The other bedroom is an absolute fucking sty—there are parts of it I have not stepped in for literally years because Z's crap is piled up there—but I dread telling him he's got to hoe it out. I cleaned out my room on my own… but I don't know if he'll do his willingly. But someone has to. Please, don't make me hoe through all that shit too. I don't have time.
I don't have time.
Yeah, I know, cry me a river. Everyone else in the world just has acres of spare time, so much so in fact that they relish tedious and even painful household tasks, just to relieve the boredom. And then when they go in the bathroom they shit rainbows and flowers because they're so happy to be alive. I'm the only one in the world who ever has a bad
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 02:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 02:38 pm (UTC)Saturday is the last possible day I can go to IKEA to return the cushion that was the wrong color.
At the moment I'm on hold with the health insurance company asking them why, if they cashed the check I sent them, I've just found out, now that my knee hurts real bad from falling up the stairs, that my policy was terminated before it started, and I'm now out $358 for absolutely nothing?
no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 02:57 pm (UTC)I said, "Then can I be reimbursed for the fact that I have not had health insurance for three months?"
"Submit your claims," she said.
"No," I said, "I have suffered needlessly at home instead of seeing a doctor, because I did not have health insurance that you're now charging me for."
"Sorry," she said, and that's all I get.
THAT is ALL I fucking GET.
I am going to go and be sick now.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:22 pm (UTC)Meh.
They won't listen, and nobody is ever going to give me my money back, but I'll write letters to amuse myself. Maybe Artvoice will publish a letter to the editor. I'll write a stern letter to the mayor.
It doesn't matter. No one making the laws has ever been in a spot like this. Or if they have, they don't remember it. They don't care. It comes down from the top-- does our president care? He just said no. Having the government subsidize a super-low bulk rate of insurance is, I guess, to socialist. So let the fucking lower middle classes die in ditches: nobody cares about us and we're too downtrodden to bother voting strategically. I mean, at least we're not poor, right?
no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:43 pm (UTC)quite a lot of local politicians do come from poor backgrounds, actually.
But if you want to vote, register NOW. I think the drop-dead date is sometime this week. Maybe even tomorrow.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:46 pm (UTC)That's what I dispute.
And I don't mean poor. I mean lower middle-class. We don't qualify for assistance. We may qualify for tax breaks. But we don't get shit for help.
I may have mentioned, I was thinking that if I ever wanted to have kids, I'd be better off going on welfare than trying to support them myself. If you try, nobody helps you. If you lie back and wait for the state to kick in, you can milk the system. If you have some, the state wants it. The only way to get anything is to have nothing.
And people who pull themselves up by their bootstraps are notoriously unhelpful to those who are down where they started but don't seem to either have bootstraps, or know where to hold them when they pull.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:59 pm (UTC)I'm not, I'm a borderline crazy libertarian by upbringing. ;)
no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 05:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 06:07 pm (UTC)I don't even remember a time when I felt bad about living like this, although my mother still tries valiantly to instil some sense of guilt in me. Maybe if I had unlimited leisure time I might possibly have a cleaner, tidier flat, but as things are, I firmly believe life's too short to waste time on pointless, non-essential cosmetic cleaning.