![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
well-being
Jan. 3rd, 2007 11:10 pmI managed to get a Metric Assload of laundry done yesterday and today, so, go me. Woo. It all went according to my weird little plans, too. (I have this odd sort of OCD thing about everything being Just So, particularly when it comes to laundry, so, it's best not to ask. This is why I have never really let Z do the laundry. Because he does laundry just fine with no mishaps whatsoever, but he doesn't do it Just So. And lest you think me just crazy, my Just So methods have results like a black t-shirt worn approximately every week still being black-like-new a year and a half later. Just So works, it's just a little, well, OCD. Don't go into the basement when I'm down in the laundry room there, because it's better if it remains a mystery to you all. I just promise that everything will be clean if you don't interfere.)
I don't think I've blogged my laundry OCD before, so, consider that a milestone. I'm not terribly OCD in other areas of my life, anymore. Part of that is maturity, I think. And I've always been very private about my weird compulsions for imperceptible-to-outsiders Order. Well, perhaps not private so much as insulatingly incomprehensible, but what's the difference, right?
I had, this morning, this wonderful sense of well-being, which sort of suffused my soul and made me feel like I was Doing Well in life. You know the feeling? I can't really explain it. I just felt like everything was great. So I took the bus to work, read the White Flower Farm catalogue, convinced myself I can't live another year without asters and coneflowers and orienpet lilies, oh my!, and then sat with my computer chewing the inside of my lip and consolidating the first chapter of Barbarians_Novel--- still. Yes, I only just finished Ch 1 today. But, it's Way Better. Right? Oh sure.
(Chapter 2 will be more impressively better. I remain unconvinced that 1 is the length it needs to be-- or rather, the shortness it needs to be. But for some reason I still hesitate to cut too much. Hah!)
And then I had a lovely day at work, and I couldn't say what was so great about it, except that it was steady but not too busy, and my coworkers were in good moods, and the customers all seemed cheerful and more importantly, left reasonable tips, and nobody needed me to work too hard, but I wasn't bored. All in all, the kind of things you sort of always wish for.
And then I came home. And oh! Z had made dinner! Which I'd half-expected, as I'd phoned him and said I'd be on the 9:15 bus and hadn't eaten. But what I hadn't expected at all was that he'd made meatloaf and baked potatoes and green beans, and I love baked potatoes with this sort of irrational passion that I can't explain except that I grew up eating them about twice or three times a week and always, always have loved them. And Z cordially dislikes them, so it really meant a lot that he made them. Because I love them and could live exclusively on them. I cannot explain it.
So I am full of baked potato and meatloaf (I don't think I mentioned that I also have an immoderate affection for meatloaf, and completely fail to understand why people make fun of it. It is the food of the gods, if the gods were the comfortable homebody sort with good hearts and warm kitchens, which I sometimes like to believe) and life is just good, and I really don't think this is hormonal but if it is, I need to figure out which hormone and bottle that shit.
Oh, I was going to blog that the rollergirls are having a skate/dance thing as a kind of introduction of the team to Buffalo's social scene. Which is cool and all. But it has an 80s prom theme. Which, OK, sure, it's cute, and I didn't vote against it so I have to shut up. But I hate the 80s, hate them with a... not a passion, but a sick sinking feeling of dread and disgust. Everyone's having a blast going to consignment stores finding themselves a tacky old prom dress to wear, and I'm trying to raise the enthusiasm, but... dear Christ, I had to live through the 80s once and nearly didn't make it. The 80s are kind of Purgatory for me. So I really don't know what I'm going to do, or when I'm going to find myself a dress, or whether I'll manage to raise the enthusiasm, or whether I'll just show up in jeans and a t-shirt and try to be inconspicuous. I just... don't know. So wish me luck and please anonymously mail me a fabulous pink taffeta prom dress in a size 14, OK?
I don't think I've blogged my laundry OCD before, so, consider that a milestone. I'm not terribly OCD in other areas of my life, anymore. Part of that is maturity, I think. And I've always been very private about my weird compulsions for imperceptible-to-outsiders Order. Well, perhaps not private so much as insulatingly incomprehensible, but what's the difference, right?
I had, this morning, this wonderful sense of well-being, which sort of suffused my soul and made me feel like I was Doing Well in life. You know the feeling? I can't really explain it. I just felt like everything was great. So I took the bus to work, read the White Flower Farm catalogue, convinced myself I can't live another year without asters and coneflowers and orienpet lilies, oh my!, and then sat with my computer chewing the inside of my lip and consolidating the first chapter of Barbarians_Novel--- still. Yes, I only just finished Ch 1 today. But, it's Way Better. Right? Oh sure.
(Chapter 2 will be more impressively better. I remain unconvinced that 1 is the length it needs to be-- or rather, the shortness it needs to be. But for some reason I still hesitate to cut too much. Hah!)
And then I had a lovely day at work, and I couldn't say what was so great about it, except that it was steady but not too busy, and my coworkers were in good moods, and the customers all seemed cheerful and more importantly, left reasonable tips, and nobody needed me to work too hard, but I wasn't bored. All in all, the kind of things you sort of always wish for.
And then I came home. And oh! Z had made dinner! Which I'd half-expected, as I'd phoned him and said I'd be on the 9:15 bus and hadn't eaten. But what I hadn't expected at all was that he'd made meatloaf and baked potatoes and green beans, and I love baked potatoes with this sort of irrational passion that I can't explain except that I grew up eating them about twice or three times a week and always, always have loved them. And Z cordially dislikes them, so it really meant a lot that he made them. Because I love them and could live exclusively on them. I cannot explain it.
So I am full of baked potato and meatloaf (I don't think I mentioned that I also have an immoderate affection for meatloaf, and completely fail to understand why people make fun of it. It is the food of the gods, if the gods were the comfortable homebody sort with good hearts and warm kitchens, which I sometimes like to believe) and life is just good, and I really don't think this is hormonal but if it is, I need to figure out which hormone and bottle that shit.
Oh, I was going to blog that the rollergirls are having a skate/dance thing as a kind of introduction of the team to Buffalo's social scene. Which is cool and all. But it has an 80s prom theme. Which, OK, sure, it's cute, and I didn't vote against it so I have to shut up. But I hate the 80s, hate them with a... not a passion, but a sick sinking feeling of dread and disgust. Everyone's having a blast going to consignment stores finding themselves a tacky old prom dress to wear, and I'm trying to raise the enthusiasm, but... dear Christ, I had to live through the 80s once and nearly didn't make it. The 80s are kind of Purgatory for me. So I really don't know what I'm going to do, or when I'm going to find myself a dress, or whether I'll manage to raise the enthusiasm, or whether I'll just show up in jeans and a t-shirt and try to be inconspicuous. I just... don't know. So wish me luck and please anonymously mail me a fabulous pink taffeta prom dress in a size 14, OK?
