(no subject)

[kittydesade]

Combine the sentences below into one with a prefixed adjective.
mar shampla: Feicim fear. Tá sé go deas. Feicim dea-fhear.
1. Feicim teach. Tá sé sean. Feicim seanteach.
2. Feicim bean. Tá sí go deas. Feicim dea-bhean.
3. Feicim garraí. Tá sé go dona. Feicim drochgarraí.
4. Cloisim scéal. Tá sé fíor. Cloisim fíorscéal.
5. Feicim bean. Tá sí sean. Feicim seanbhean.
6. Feicim daoine. Tá siad sean. Feicim seandaoine.
7. Cloisim amhrán. Tá sé go deas. Cloisim dea-amhrán.
8. D'ól mé pionta. Bhí sé go dona. D'ól me drochpionta.
9. Coisim ceol. Tá sé go dona. Cloisim droch-cheol.
10. D'ith muid béile. Bhí sé go deas. D'ith dea-béile.


Dear god I am exhausted. I barely remember what it was like before poached egg eyes became the normal thing anymore. I'm not getting enough sleep at night, work is fucking insane during the day, I come home and I'm too tired to do the things I want to do, ARGH.

... Also I have an hour and a half left at work where the hell did the time go, and not only have I not done all the things I wanted to at home this week, I havent' done all the things I wanted to at work today alone. I am so tired, you guys. And hopefully next week after the first two days of more of all the things incoming, it'll slack off? But I am seriously reconsidering being so blase about we don't need extra help we can handle it. Either that or I need to jump up and down on people about helping more, except there isn't really anyone who isn't. Ugh. Extra bonus ugh because when Flutter was here, we didn't have five suppliers arriving at once. I'm pretty sure the pile of outgoing at the front end of the week was just a terrible coincidence designed to try to kill me.

One thing at a time. Get through this week, see if it really was an outlier of what the hell why is everything happening at once. Get through this weekend. My brother is pulling some weirdass "oh hey I'm telling Mom I'm planning to come down and see you but not you I <3 U SIS" shit and there's still the chance that my nephew-in-sort-of-law will show up and I need to get this fucking house clean. And then kick the boy until he helps me keep it clean. And then figure out this whole working and writing bullshit. And not die of exhaustion.

Can I just die of exhaustion? Wouldn't that be so much easier?

I will say, I'm kind of shocked that I'm managing to maintain a semblance of exercise routines, languages, etc. I mean, most days a semblance IS all that it is, but still. Habits die hard? Or hardcore. Or something. I don't know, I'm tired and can't language. ... I know what I'm doing when I get home. Nice hot fucking bath.