learning-disabled or lazy?

I have a Thing about filing. I don't know what it is. But just as I have problems, sometimes, with sequences of numbers, with instinctively grasping basic arithmetic functions, I often have difficulty with the alphabet. I can do alphabetical order, but I have to focus very hard on it, and am easily confused or distracted.

( venting, disguised as philosophical debate over learning disability vs. laziness )

Am I really that bad at alphabetical order, that I should have reason to doubt myself so thoroughly in the face of the slightest provocation, or is it just that I need to practice more? I often wonder this about reading analogue clocks, as well. I've taught myself repeatedly. I use them all the time. But I still have to sit and puzzle them out until I can see the digital clock readout in my head. Big hand past four, little hand past seven, and I stare at it, and think, ok, it's after 4, it's nearly, um, forty after? Um, that's, what, 4:37?
It's not that i can't figure it out, it's that it doesn't mean anything to me. I then have to think about what time that means it is-- it's nearly quarter to four, that means it's fifteen minutes until five o'clock, that means it's five hours after noon, that means it's nearly time to go home. Etc. I just have to devote so much thought to it.
Do I not practice enough?
I tried forcing myself to wear an analog watch, but all it meant was that I frequently glanced at it and looked away with no idea what time it was anyway. I have only the vaguest grasp of concepts like chronology and sequences anyway, and giving myself an extra step in the comprehension meant that I just wouldn't finish the thought process.

Is it laziness? Is it weird brain wiring? Does everyone have these problems, or is it me?

And is it terrible that despite these stresses and weirdnesses, I still kinda like being just the dang receptionist instead of whatever else they've been making me be? Bleh.

for some reason

For some reason I really really want to go out to dinner tonight and drink a very large beer and eat something fried.
Dunno why.
Just want to.

This morning I woke early enough to both take a shower *and* put a second coat of purple on at least two important areas of trim, so that tonight I can hopefully decide they're done and don't need touching up so I can peel up the tape and push furniture back into position, and start to get on with my life.

I don't think I made Z do any work at all last night, though he did perform the invaluable service of keeping Chita entertained and away from my damn paintwork. I did one coat on trim right when I got home, and stayed up until 10 pm to do the next coat because it said not to re-coat for 4 hours.
Thank God it hasn't been humid. This living room was supposed to be done this week so Z could start working on his room this weekend. I don't think he will-- even if we were ready and had the paint, I just don't think he can work so hard without a break. Last night doesn't necessarily count as a break for him. He needs a lot of down time, even more than me.

But that just means that we can start a new project next week and he'll be motivated. I'm trying to persuade him to work on the hall ceiling by himself, but I can't blame him if he doesn't-- it's a wreck.

Me, I'm taking the train at 4am on Saturday to go visit my folks and my sister, for her baby shower and my birthday party. I figure on bringing my laptop (I mean, of course, duh) and getting a lot of work done, to make up for the fact that I've done almost no writing this month yet. Blegh.

Oh, random aside: so I had this great opening come to me, for this novel I never realized I wanted to write. And I told Z. I'm on a chair, painting the wall, and this is how the conversation went.
"I have this idea for a novel," I say, somewhat absently.
"Yeah," Z says, who hears this kind of a lot. (He's trying to paint an edge.)
"It's a lesbian swashbuckling adventure," I say, putting down the brush for a moment and turning to beam at him, pleased with my own wit.
"Yeah," he says, unenthused.
"You don't think that'd be cool?" I ask, pouting slightly, mostly to see if he's listening.
"I think it'll go over real well with the Lilith Fair crowd," he answers. "Like middle-aged feminists and all."
"Shuddup!" I say. "It'll be hot!"
"Yeah," he says. "Like I said."
The moral of the story, indirectly, is that I should never assume he's not listening, because usually he is. Whereas the converse is often more amusing-- he can freely assume I'm not listening and say really weird things, like the phrase "coochy cream", and only minutes later will I surface from what I'm reading.
"Did you say coochy cream?" I blink. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
He'll just shrug. "I don't remember. Weren't you listening?"
"I swear to God you just said 'coochy cream,'" I'll say.
"You said mm-hmm at the time," he says. "I sorta moved on."
"God damn it." Of course then I have to Google it. Apparently it really exists. Oh my.

come on........

I swear to God there are days when time just doesn't pass.
It has been about 18 hours since I left my house this morning. I swear to you it has. It feels like I've spent days sitting here.

Why do these days when a minute is twenty minutes long only happen when I'm at work? Why can't I have a nice 40-hour day at home? That'd be nice.

I'm pretty sure the earth is rotating slower than usual, for sure.

oh! oh! more idea

So this novel isn't just going to have swashbuckling lesbians. No. It's also going to have a stereotypically yet admirably feminine feminist... hero. Yes, a passive and nurturing man.

Totally.

I should drink this much on Thursdays more often.

Yeah, I didn't get any painting done tonight either.