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Apr. 22nd, 2016 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeSo far I'm not entirely sure I've managed to wake up any of the three times I woke up today, with the result that I also cannot make decisions about fucking anything, and I kind of have to. What Stitch Fix to keep or send back. Two of the tops are beautiful and transparent and yet would bring color to my wardrobe, the other top is black but also beautiful. The skirt is staying no matter what, it needs hemmed but since I'm shorter than a large percentage of the female population and it's a maxi skirt that might be designed to be worn with heels anyway, that was going to happen. What color to make my spider gloves out of (so far the leading candidates are in order of lead: purple, blue, red, pink). How much of what to fill my raised bed with, assuming I can't dig out that much mulch.
(If anyone can remind me tomorrow morning I did figure this out, I wrote it down, and I put it in my purse. The note on raised beds fill is in my purse. That is where it is.)
I have absolutely no idea why I'm so sleepy. I did go home, I went out and Roomie and I put together the raised beds and discussed gardening and I offered her some garden space. I picked up some of the plastic bins and buckets and things the boy had left out and rinsed them out and put them under the shed cover, including rinsing out the litter boxes, and I put the damn lawnmower away because, dear boy, those things were not meant to be out in the fucking rain.
But none of that was particularly strenuous, I didn't do capoeira, I don't think I'm sick. Although as I pull myself somewhat together to eat lunch it occurs to me that it might be grief over David Bowie again. God knows grief isn't linear, and the Bowie-Prince unique individual style comparisons have definitely been thick on the ground lately. Is it a combination of grief, physical exercise, and not eating well? What the fuck is it? I don't know.
I guess at this point it's finishing lunch, trying not to drop any more almond slices down my cleavage, and then trying to get work done. Although how anything's going to get done today I have no idea. Less a 'how is this going to happen' and more a 'in what manner is this going to happen' because I'll get stuff done, it may just be a plastered together mess instead of a tidy skillful achievement. Oh well.
(If anyone can remind me tomorrow morning I did figure this out, I wrote it down, and I put it in my purse. The note on raised beds fill is in my purse. That is where it is.)
I have absolutely no idea why I'm so sleepy. I did go home, I went out and Roomie and I put together the raised beds and discussed gardening and I offered her some garden space. I picked up some of the plastic bins and buckets and things the boy had left out and rinsed them out and put them under the shed cover, including rinsing out the litter boxes, and I put the damn lawnmower away because, dear boy, those things were not meant to be out in the fucking rain.
But none of that was particularly strenuous, I didn't do capoeira, I don't think I'm sick. Although as I pull myself somewhat together to eat lunch it occurs to me that it might be grief over David Bowie again. God knows grief isn't linear, and the Bowie-Prince unique individual style comparisons have definitely been thick on the ground lately. Is it a combination of grief, physical exercise, and not eating well? What the fuck is it? I don't know.
I guess at this point it's finishing lunch, trying not to drop any more almond slices down my cleavage, and then trying to get work done. Although how anything's going to get done today I have no idea. Less a 'how is this going to happen' and more a 'in what manner is this going to happen' because I'll get stuff done, it may just be a plastered together mess instead of a tidy skillful achievement. Oh well.