Work was sort of torture today. I know it was rainy and boring outside but not going outside at all,

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Work was sort of torture today. I know it was rainy and boring outside but not going outside at all, not even seeing the sky, sitting in a single chair at a desk was just so– soul-crushing, today. Normally I can zone out and not mind it but it was just torture today. I can’t make myself care. Ugh. Nothing is important here. 

I let myself get sucked into rereading the last Raksura book for a bit. I’ll find other things to distract myself with. Just, ugh. I want to be doing useful stuff and making things and doing meaningful work and it’s just. Well, it’s not, the camera store job– it’s just not meaningful.

Oh well. My coworker there was like “oh man I got so much done today, I get more done in one day when you’re here than I do the whole time you’re gone”, so he clearly didn’t notice that I got jack shit accomplished today. It’s not even that the daily tasks I take over are so time-consuming. Maybe it’s just that with me there he feels like he can’t fuck around as much. I dunno, I don’t judge him; he was clearly using Facebook chat (audibly, it goes bloonk a lot) for like three hours in the afternoon, but he’s good at multitasking and I don’t care. 

IDK! IDK. I need to make myself another little embroidery project to work on at work, I’ve fallen off that wagon awfully. And I do have shit to sew before I go back out to the farm. 

I’ve been daydreaming about getting the yurt set up and getting it really comfy this time. I improve it every year, but every year I feel like I’ve only just gotten it just right when I have to take it down. So I’m trying to get myself organized to set it up right the first time. 

I have a power outlet this year! Well. Sort of. Instead of a 100-foot extension cord going all the way through the greenhouse, then plugging into another 100-foot extension cord that crosses the road and plugs into a 20-foot extension cord that comes in through the wall, I get to have an outlet at the near end of the greenhouse that I plug directly into. So it’s still something I have to wind up every morning to put away, but at least then nobody will unplug the other end of it or anything, and it’s that much less jankety. 

I just have to find all the stuff, again, and get it all back into the thing, and put away properly. 
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I think we need to talk about the under appreciated Window Seat fandom

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snowthunder:

I mean really? With the book shelves?

It’s like an alcove of happiness.

You want a whole row of individual seats? Fine, here you go. Or how about a whole window bed for those snugglers out there.Curtains.. Guys this one has curtains.Seriously? This is basically a glass cube of bliss. You can even get them with corners! Not enough corners? Okay.Ba-BAM!! Corners for cocooning. There’s also the Roman-esque themed seat for the historians out there.  If you don’t want to snuggle up in blankets with hot cocoa in this then I don’t even know why you’re on this planet. I mean dat stonework. This one’s an entire rectangle. Just imagine all the cuddling that could happen in there. It’s practically a fortress.This one’s fucking curved okay? it’s just chillin, up of the ground, and curved for your lounging convenience. don’t like rectangles or square? Okay. Have a fucking trapezoid seat.
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See? “Evil feminism” that proselytizes

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When I was six or seven I found some books on my parents’ bookshelves about understanding your children, and I was fascinated. The books talked about emotions and internal states and desires that children had, and what actions those produced, and it was the first place I’d been exposed to the idea that people had inner lives which you could understand and then interact with them more usefully. They gave me an emotional vocabulary. They helped me make sense of my own head. I read them over and over.

There was an anecdote in one of the books which I still remember vividly. It was about a mother who was cleaning out a chest freezer which had become full of massive sheets of ice. She handed a sheet of ice to each of her kids. “Hers is bigger,” objected the son, and so the mother gave him another one, and “how come he gets two?” demanded the daughter, and so the mother tossed one at her, and after a little whole both kids were standing in waist-high piles of ice they did not want, dancing back and forth because their legs were freezing, screaming and screaming for more because it was intolerable that the other pile be bigger.

They don’t actually want ice, said the book. They want to know that they matter, and the only kind of mattering they are confident of is mattering more than the other person.