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Jun. 17th, 2014 10:20 am( Read more... )
DAMMIT IRISH.
See, this is the problem with trying to learn a language where the dialect/accent changes every ten miles. I'm not kidding, that's an actual linguistic map. So now there's fifty billion grammar and pronunciation rules. Argh.
Speaking of argh, what am focus. On the plus side, I've discovered that taking a loratadine in the morning even during weekdays when I'm not ostensibly around the plants that much? Makes me much more productive in the evenings. I got the garden weeded, the succulent mix mixed (and now I need to mix more oh well), the tomatoes finished tied up, things watered, dinner made, an ant incursion on the cat food dishes cleaned up, cats fed, scooped, a couple places in the house cleaned up, laundry put away, dishes cycled, laundry cycled, um. Plants transplanted. And writing done; in short, a shitload. Way more than I have been since the summer hit. So, yes. Allergies are that bad.
(The hilarious part of this is that another friend is contemplating prescription strength anti-allergy meds, and this is the first year I've taken any anti-allergy meds short of going into a den of strange cats, so apparently this year we have allergens +5? Or something. Epic level allergens. Need extra buffs to defeat.)
Today it at least seems like there's a lot less day jobligations, so we all know what that means, right? Writing! Because joy. Both actual joy and oh god this story will never end I just keep slogging through it why did I even start trying to write this joy.
Things. Stuff. I sent back the rejects from my first StitchFix box today! Two of which were budget rejects rather than eew what the shit rejects, which is a good sign. One of those budget rejects was something the tag called skinny jeans. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't skinny jeans supposed to be form fitting? These weren't! Which I think is good because unless my jeans have a high enough spandex content as to be barely jeans anymore, I do not want form fitting fucking jeans. They can form fit my thighs and that's it. The jeans were also white with do not bleach instructions, which, although I am perfectly willing to disregard laundering instructions as it suits me, that.... no. And then the other non-budget reject was a lovely turquoise top that looked really nice but it lost the coin toss between that and the other top. (The other other rejects were a skirt that barely came to the middle of my thigh and a pair of earrings that, while pretty, covered my entire earlobe and up to the middle of my ear. Comically large. Both, no.)
Okay. Writing. Seriously. Not shopping for bookshelves, not pondering getting lumber to build them, not pondering when and how to persuade the boy to set up the damn saw so boards can be cut to build the damn pressing table so stuff can be stored in the garage to build the bookcases and so on and so forth. (We replaced the porch steps over the weekend, which now results in me wanting to build all the things. Go figure.) Writing and day jobligations. Let's go, self, let's get this moving.
DAMMIT IRISH.
See, this is the problem with trying to learn a language where the dialect/accent changes every ten miles. I'm not kidding, that's an actual linguistic map. So now there's fifty billion grammar and pronunciation rules. Argh.
Speaking of argh, what am focus. On the plus side, I've discovered that taking a loratadine in the morning even during weekdays when I'm not ostensibly around the plants that much? Makes me much more productive in the evenings. I got the garden weeded, the succulent mix mixed (and now I need to mix more oh well), the tomatoes finished tied up, things watered, dinner made, an ant incursion on the cat food dishes cleaned up, cats fed, scooped, a couple places in the house cleaned up, laundry put away, dishes cycled, laundry cycled, um. Plants transplanted. And writing done; in short, a shitload. Way more than I have been since the summer hit. So, yes. Allergies are that bad.
(The hilarious part of this is that another friend is contemplating prescription strength anti-allergy meds, and this is the first year I've taken any anti-allergy meds short of going into a den of strange cats, so apparently this year we have allergens +5? Or something. Epic level allergens. Need extra buffs to defeat.)
Today it at least seems like there's a lot less day jobligations, so we all know what that means, right? Writing! Because joy. Both actual joy and oh god this story will never end I just keep slogging through it why did I even start trying to write this joy.
Things. Stuff. I sent back the rejects from my first StitchFix box today! Two of which were budget rejects rather than eew what the shit rejects, which is a good sign. One of those budget rejects was something the tag called skinny jeans. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't skinny jeans supposed to be form fitting? These weren't! Which I think is good because unless my jeans have a high enough spandex content as to be barely jeans anymore, I do not want form fitting fucking jeans. They can form fit my thighs and that's it. The jeans were also white with do not bleach instructions, which, although I am perfectly willing to disregard laundering instructions as it suits me, that.... no. And then the other non-budget reject was a lovely turquoise top that looked really nice but it lost the coin toss between that and the other top. (The other other rejects were a skirt that barely came to the middle of my thigh and a pair of earrings that, while pretty, covered my entire earlobe and up to the middle of my ear. Comically large. Both, no.)
Okay. Writing. Seriously. Not shopping for bookshelves, not pondering getting lumber to build them, not pondering when and how to persuade the boy to set up the damn saw so boards can be cut to build the damn pressing table so stuff can be stored in the garage to build the bookcases and so on and so forth. (We replaced the porch steps over the weekend, which now results in me wanting to build all the things. Go figure.) Writing and day jobligations. Let's go, self, let's get this moving.