Les Miserables, for my brother

He loved Les Mis, and this song keeps playing in my head.

...I dreamed a dream in times gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung
No wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame

...But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So much different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.

Six of Nine

Six of Nine, sweet brother of mine. I will always remember you as the bright eyed boy in the farmer overalls with your plaid flannel shirt buttoned up to the neck. Your first day of school. Waiting for the bus. Pant legs rolled up. A bucket filled with crayons, glue and pencils clenched in your little hand. You were my buddy. You were always my bestest little buddy, and you could hide in my room any time and I wouldn't let anybody hurt you. And when you were a little bit older we used to stay up late late late, playing cards and drinking tea. Those were good times, back then, when we were young and innocent and beautiful. If only we all could have stayed young and innocent and beautiful. Six of Nine, sweet brother of mine, how I will miss you. Six of Nine, dear brother of mine, I wish you knew how much I loved you. Six of Nine, brother of mine, I'm not ready to say goodbye.

My cup runneth over

The tasks I get paid for are complete for the day. A big pot of soup is simmering for supper. I wasn't hungry at lunch time, but now that I am hungry I don't feel like preparing anything because I just used up all my prep energy on the soup. What to do, what to do. Wait until supper, I guess. Take a nap. Read a book. Go for a walk. Waste time blogging. Vacuum. I wrote a list of things to do once I finished my work.

• fold laundry - check
• clean kitchen - check (Dishwasher loaded, surfaces cleared and wiped down. It's not spotless, but good enough for now, anyway.)
• vacuum
• dust
• sweep
• mop
• water plants
• make soup - check
• remove rotten food from fridge - check
• take the compost out - check
• make list of all the other things that need to be done (and this is a substantial list)

I keep ambitious lists, but I generally run out of steam after only a few items. I've decided to blow off the rest of the above list, and am contemplating whether I will take a nap, read a book, or go for a walk. I'm already wasting time blogging. I would feel good if I took a walk, but my eyes feel scratchy from accumulated sleep deprivation. I would love to read. But I think the nap is going to win, this time. Oh, for more time in the day. Now to take the nap without feeling guilty. I've not learned how to master that one. Because really, since I have all this extra time on my hands, shouldn't I be more productive, or be a better mother and go get my baby from daycare and spend more quality time with him? I could go get him and try to persuade him to take a nap with me. Ha! I'm insane. Besides, we get our quality time at 2:30 a.m. Every day. And more at 4*. My cup runneth over.

---

Actually, he was starting to sleep a bit longer and a bit better, but he had a flu shot last week and it seems to have thrown off his schedule a bit. He's not too interested in his solid food and he's been crying and cranky during the day off and on, and during the night as well, which is so unlike him. He may be teething some more as well.

Bugging You

Sometimes I sing a silly song, Loving You, to my Bugaboo. It's especially excruciating at the high part, but I give it my best shot. A friend of mine just sent me a link to a rendition that some clever person has taken the time to concoct, and it's so bugly appropos, except the squishing part. Bugging You. It's a flash file. Hopefully with nothing malicious embedded.

The (Your Name Here) Needs Google meme

1. Sue needs to establish a web site
2. Susan needs to understand that she needs to be building up her language
3. Sue needs a home
4. Sue needs to redeem some of the IOUs
5. Sue needs to go back to school to learn the basics of What Not to Wear
6. SUE NEEDS YOU
7. sue needs to grow up a little lmao
8. Sue needs to reflect on the concept of self-preservation
9. Sue needs some advice on how to maintain the garden
10. Sue needs to save a swarm of little kids from evil Granny Clotkin

The most results seem to be from the meme game itself, so perhaps it's becoming skewed, or perhaps that is the point. At any rate, there may be some truth to most of these, but I don't know what a little Imao is. I could Google it. But I don't feel like doing that right now. I have to go save a swarm of little kids from an evil granny.

A self tagging meme

I stumbled across another meme while reading the Old Horsetail Snake. I don't know why I like memes, lists, and the like so much. But I do. It's a self-tagging meme. How polite.

Fill in the blank:

Feeling ________ (woosy, just when I thought I was done being sick).

Listening to ________ (the steady whoosh whoosh of the Lactina).

Spent last night ________ (trying not to think about how I'm going to pay the piper come April 15th, 'cuz I just spent it all).

Missing ________ (my nieces and nephews).

Had breakfast of ________ (coffee, and a giant plate of imaginary hashed browns, toast, and scrambled eggs).

Thinking of ________ (how to expeditiously amass a nestegg large enough to live modestly and indefinitely from the interest thereof).

Would love to ________ (get a good night's sleep).

Planning to ________ (build my dream home).

Working to ________ (get over myself).

Favorite time of day is ________ (morning).

Always wanted to play ________ (Classical Gas on guitar).

Dreaming of ________ (being small and wearing fabulous things).

A dream comes true when ________ (a 10lb 7oz healthy baby boy is born).

Would like to French kiss ________ (Eeew, nobody. Not while I'm lactating. Eeeeew. I just can't even think about it. Eeeeeeew.)

Really hate ________ (seeing anything in myself that remotely resembles aspects of the things I like least about my mother).

Self Portrait Tuesday

Finally, the last of the self-documentary October challenge. Things are looking up. It has been a good week, and it is a good day. On the health front, I'm no longer sick. It's a wonder that these nostrils can supply me with enough oxygen, even on the best of days. Oh. Wait. That's right. They don't. Which is partly why I'm seldom effervescing with energy. That and the general sleep deprivation for the last year or so. I also find that I'm much less symmetrical than I'd imagined.
I have a halo. My holiness, a solid white line, is one and a half inches from my scalp. It has been a very long time since anything but Clairol's Greybusters has been used in achieving the luscious brown locks of my youth.
I've discovered the surface of my desk. There is less chaos in the world. I am feeling at peace with the universe.
I am now officially a minivan mom.
I am taking great pleasure in the beauty of my dashboard. Who knew that such pleasure could be derived from a cluster of glowing blue instruments.
I had reservations. I've always considered myself the conservative luxury sedan type, or the sporty upscale utility type (given the funds and the preference). I never would have guessed that I'd feel such delight behind the wheel of a minivan. Comfort. Visibility. Smooth turning radius. A cocoon of airbags. Respectable gas mileage. There is, however, the sticker shock to contend with. But I will find a way. Right now I am too tickled, too delighted, in all the deeeeeeeeluxe features I allowed myself. DEEEEEEELUXE!!! It's a thrilling thing, to be able to revel in the luxury of a new ride. It happens so infrequently in a lifetime (in my lifetime, anyway). Yes, I am very pleased today. And I've done my part to keep the economy going. Such a fine citizen I am, indeed.

A matter of pride

Our switches are boring, announced the cool cat a month or so ago.
Boring? says I.
Boring, says he.
Does a light switch need to be interesting? says I.
They're just boring, says he.
What do you mean by boring?, says I.
You know, boring, says he. He's very expressive, this one.
Some of them have motion sensors, says I. That's not boring at all!
That's not what I mean, says he. That doesn't count.
...and the conversation fades...

I shouldn't have been surprised the next evening to come home to this. There he was, the cool cat, drill in hand, electrical tape, wire caps (those neato colorful thingamajiggies that you just put on the end of a bunch of wires and twist away to make a clean and safe connection), packaging, papers, and an assortment of various and sundry other odds and ends used in the installation of non-boring light switches. We had, after all, talked about it. Therefore it was officially okay to proceed. Honestly! It's how the cool one thinks! I learned this when we 'discussed' broadband internet last year. That conversation went something like this:
.... a Friday evening in December....
Cool Cat: Comcast is having a special on cable internet.
Me: Oh? What's the catch?
Cool Cat: There's no catch. It's $x (something cheap but I don't recall the number).
Me: What about installation? The modem probably costs something.
Cool Cat: It's free.
Me: I'm sure it's only a limited time offer. There is always something in the fine print. Is there a contract required, or a minimum commitment?
Cool Cat: No, nothing like that.
Me: We don't use the internet at home enough to justify spending extra on broadband.
Cool Cat: I hate waiting for downloads.
Me: You hardly ever use the computer, and I'm on it all day and don't care to spend that much more time on it when I get home. We don't need it.
Cool Cat: No comment. Just a blank stare.
Me, sighing: We need to read the fine print and then we can talk about it. (This was most generous of me, as I was probably 36 weeks pregnant or so. Normally I'd say flat out no. We have, you see, had this conversation before. Several times.)
...and the conversation fades...
Monday evening I enter the office to check my email, and I notice a box with packaging materials and whatnot scattered about.
Me: What's that? Looking closer, I see the Comcast label.
Me, suddenly miffed: I told you we could read the fine print and then talk about it.
Cool Cat: Oh. Blank stare.
Me: We didn't make a decision.
Cool Cat: The offer was going to expire.
Me: You obviously made the decision and ordered it before we even talked about it.
Cool Cat, obviously lying: No, they're just fast. Sometimes he doesn't realize that the story just doesn't add up. Or else he just doesn't care. He is a stubborn one, he is.
...and that is how we ended up with broadband. Like I said, I was nearly due, and planning to start working from home once my maternity leave was over, at which point the need would be justified. So we got the broadband a few months early.
...and since then...
The Comcast suite has expanded to include digital cable, which then paved the way for the DVR. And each time one of these new services appears, I inquire as to its expense.
Oh, it's a special, says he. And when the promotion expires, it will actually costs us less than our current cable. So he says. I have yet to see the bills. He claims that he doesn't hide anything from me, but he is not, shall we say, forthcoming with the information.

...But this was a tale of boring lightswitches. The new switches are ultra hip, two tone, wide, and flat. (I'm not particularly fond of them. They look trendy to me, and I prefer the old fashioned non-descript switches we had before.) We have a triple switch in the entry where the first bay is a three way, which can also be switched from upstairs. We have these motion sensor switches installed in several convenient places so that we have only to walk into the zone and the light comes on automatically, for a set time. Very handy in the pantry and the bathroom. We thought it would be nice for the stairs, so we wouldn't have to look for a switch in the dark with a sleeping babe in one's arms. Thus begins the tale of the three way switch.
There's really not much of a tale to tell. I asked the cool cat if he wanted any help.
No, no, I'm fine, says he. The task begins in the late afternoon. And continues. I hear the sound of the drill, putting the plates back together. Footsteps up. Cursing. Footsteps down. More cursing. Silence (while head is being scratched, I imagine.) More drilling, undoing the plates. More silence, redoing the wiring. This cycle repeats until bed time. The cursing becomes more passionate. Still, he does not want my help. Finally, he calls it quits and puts one of the old fashioned plain switches back, defeated by the three-way motion sensor. Bed time. Another day. The weekend arrives and we drive a few hundred miles to visit my sister C. and her very capable husband D., a fine team who have built a most amazing and beautiful home together. The cool one brings up the matter of the switch with D., while we're driving around. I'm in back with my sister. I whisper to her that he won't ask me for help. I do have a degree in electrical engineering, you know. Not that one learns anything practical like house wiring in an electrical engineering program, because I certainly didn't. But I can follow a diagram, thank you very much. D offers to help if the cool one will fax the instructions over, later. But he'll have to take a look at the instructions first. I smile at my sister. I am very patient. A few weeks later, I say to the cool one, let's finish that switch installation this weekend.
Sure, says he. We've had a hole in the lightplate for weeks, since the new plate has big rectangular holes for the new switches, and the old switch requires a very small opening.
Somewhere in the midst of this tale I forgot to mention the key point that the cool one doesn't actually read instructions. He will glance at the pictures once in a while, but will rarely read anything written around the pictures, including, it would seem, the title, which addresses the specific switch configuration. The switch was, I found, wired perfectly for a two-way configuration. So. I looked at the instructions, and determined the scenario. This is what we have. This is what we want. This wire goes here. This wire goes there. This one and this one connect to that one. That one and this one connect to the other one. Those two connect to each other. And reverse on the other side. Five minutes, max. Voila! It works. Imagine that.

Show and Tell

The theme for the day is the contents of my medicine cabinet.

Alas, my medicine cabinet is very boring, full of things that I don't use.
In fact, the only things I use regularly are on the bottom shelf, plus the deodorant, which is too tall for the bottom shelf.
To make it more interesting, I staged the bottom shelf to add frogs of my own (ref sea dwelling creatures). In fact, the brown tamarind stained pottery box with the frog lid is a fertility symbol and gift from a sweet friend. (Hey, it worked!)
I really do have frogs scattered about the bathroom. This one usually lives on the counter near the sink. Sometimes he can be found hiding in the bark at the base of the orchid.

Self Portrait Tuesday

The self-documentary continues.

There's nothing as sweet as snuggling with my boy, first thing in the morning.
My bed hasn't been made since I was single. This is a small point of contention, as I am learning to pick my battles. I'm the first one up, always, so it doesn't get made. Ever.
But isn't this a fabulous quilt? My mother made this for me, and it was a wedding gift. There's a much longer story behind it, as it took over 5 years to complete, but that's another story for another day.
I told her the colors I liked, and gave her an idea based on a greeting card with a floral vine and scalloped edges. Fantastic, huh? She decided to try a button hole (or is it satin?) stitch around one of the leaves, but having done one, needed to do them all. There are over a million stitches in this quilt. Did I mention it took 5 years to complete?
I've been working on a halloween costume for the munchkin. He will be the cutest viking I've ever seen. I'm nearly finished. I stained the horns using coffee grounds to get that battered dirty look. They were originally a very white flannelly fabric. I love the fur, but I'm sure he will try to eat it and it might not go over too well. There is a shirt with fur cuffs, leggings, a tunic with a fur collar, a pair of boots with fur cuffs, and hat with horns and fur trim. Very fierce. I was going to make him a fleece bludgeon, but I'm running out of steam.
Working. See, my hair is shiny. I took a shower and got dressed today. I went in to the office for half a day this morning. At home, my desk is still a mess, and my office is still a cave. But I had a good time in the other office. It was good to be around people.
I have a pimple under my nose, in a very sensitive spot. Ouch. Of course, it wouldn't hurt if I would leave it alone. But I can't do that. I like this photo perspective. It sheds a good 50 lbs. That's why the cool cat always thinks these are old pictures, because I look skinny. No, I tell him. I took it today.

Opportunists, The Lot

It all started a few weeks ago, this football social thing. Being tuned in, now, I happened to notice a raffle in my company newspaper. So I entered, and voila, I won! Two free tickets to Sunday's NFL game. Woohoo. I gave the cool cat the good news. I don't mind an outing, especially if it's free. When I got the tickets, I noticed the price posted on ech ticket was $33. That's a far cry from the hundreds that CC has spent, but that is an entirely different inquisition that I will save for a day when I have more energy. Of course, these seats were at a dizzying height, 5 rows from the top of the stadium. Vertigo zone, for sure. And a bit unnerving to be perched so high up with an infant strapped to my body. Anyway, free tickets. As luck and timing would have it, the cool cat ran across a customer who happened to own a sportswear shop. Having no shame whatsoever, he somehow arrived home with official NFL attire for all. A jersey for the Boo, plus a jogging suit and onesie, all embroidered in the team logo. For me, a nice long-sleeved shirt with the team name in big fancy block lettered emboidery across the chest. The cool one got one of those too, plus a jersey to match Boo's. But that's not all. The wardrobe wasn't complete without the official hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap. Truthfully, I'm a bit embarrassed. Like I said, he has no shame. I should mention this windfall was free. That customer must have been very happy with the cool cat's service (he repairs household appliances, and must have saved the day).I must say, Boo is absolutely adorable in his official NFL jersey. How cute can a little guy be?!

The game was actually fun. FUN! There's something about a stadium packed full of people, wearing all sorts of crazy things, from painted faces, painted mowhawked hair, to crazy foam hats. The works. The smell of stadium food filled the cool autumn air -- garlic fries, hot chocolate, beer, hotdogs. The theatrics were a hoot. They had a squadron of drummers who would roll out a beat every once in a while and try to get the crowd all worked up. It was very hypnotic. I got a kick out of the huge screen they use for playback and advertising, and such. Every now and then it would flash the evil eye. The shape of the mascot's eye would fill the screen and flash a glowing neon green to an accompanying ominous sound like that of crashing thunder. I imagine it was meant to be intimidating to the opposing team. Or if the refs made a questionable call, the crowd would boo and the evil eye would flash and crash. I found it quite amusing. Of course, we happened to be seated behind a couple of drunk youngsters who were a bit on the obnoxious side. The alcohol patrol actually showed up to have a little word with them, and they settled down a bit after that. Yes, they had people in yellow jackets with the words Alcohol Patrol or Alcohol Enforcement, I can't remember which, stamped across the back. Very official. They must have cameras all over the place, scanning the crowd for trouble. Because I'm not aware that anybody reported them, and I had a good vantage point for all their antics.

Then there were the girls. Those long haired, long legged beauties out there shaking it up. I used to be in drill team, a hundred years ago, and it reminded me of the glory days. How I wish I were one of those long haired, long legged beauties, shaking it up out there on the field. It looked like so much fun! White go-go boots! We wore white go-go boots! And what a devoted following they have. All those male admirers. Such attention. Of course, anyone who dresses like a stripper and shakes it like a stripper is bound to get some attention. I could possibly be a mascot, because they can wear a big frumpy animal outfit. I'd still dream of being one of those dancing girls. Ah, the life. It's not all it's cracked up to be, though. My sister is in the glamour biz, and one of these dancing girl celebrities was telling her about the pressure of being who she is. She can't go anywhere without full makeup, hair, the works. She has to maintain an image. Tres importante. I could never do that. Remember, I don't have the best hygiene schedule or wardrobe. Sometimes I wear slippers to the supermarket. I do. They're nondescript black, and I always hope nobody notices.

All in all, the game was fun. The parking was ridiculous though. $30. THIRTY DOLLARS! It's an outrage. It's highway robbery. And then there was the idiot drunkard on the way out who was out of control. I don't know what he was all riled up about, but he was engaged in a fist fight in the upper level hall as we were coming out of the stadium seating area. We worked our way around the hubbub and made our way to level two, where another fight was breaking out. Hey, isn't that the same guy, I asked the cool one. Sure enough, it was. Unbelievable. We just shook our heads and made our way to the first level and out. Where is the Security staff when you need them? When we emerged on the street level, we saw a crowd of police officers, and there he was in the midst of them. I was glad to see that he was being arrested. He was handcuffed and under interrogation. I had seen him punch another person in the face, and it sort of looked like that person was a bystander who happened to be in the way. I don't know, though. I wasn't in on it, and wanted to keep my distance, what with Boo and all. It's very unpleasant to see violence like that. I see plenty on tv, but still, it's tv. This was real. It was much different.

Getting home wasn't too bad, once we found our car. It helps to return to the same parking garage where it's parked, though.

The gushing continues

One of the things I love best about this beautiful boy is his smile. Once he got past the colic, he has been the happiest child. My sister remarked that he has the smile of a Muppet (and she meant that as a compliment, in the most loving way, because she adores this love bug nephew of hers)....and, I must say, I have to agree...

Sizing things up

The love bug wouldn't hold still, as if that's a big surprise. Especially with such an interesting thing nearby. He is somewhere between 30 and 31 inches tall, and weighs around 30 lbs as well. I'll get the real numbers from the professionals next week at his 9-month checkup. No matter what, he's a big love bug! He's already wearing size 2T.
That's more like it!, he's thinking to himself. I'm certain of it.

This could take some time

Blackbird's Friday Show and Tell theme is Things that Annoy.

Tailgaters. People who follow too close. Especially when they're driving obnoxious big pickup trucks. In a school zone. And a construction zone. (Traffic fines are double in school zones. They're double in construction zones too. I wonder if that means they're quadrupled in school zones with concurrent construction.) Especially people driving obnoxious big white pickup trucks, who then flash their headlights at me, as I am approaching an intersection, where the light is currently yellow on its way to red. Hello? Especially people driving obnoxious big white pickup trucks, flashing their headlights at me, expecting me to run a red light through a school and construction zone, with children on board said truck. Especially people who tailgate me when MY child is on board. Grrrrrrrrr.*

Singers who attempt to convey passion by squeezing their voices through clenched teeth. Posers. It. Does. Not. Work. For instance Photograph, by Nickelback. And pretty much any pop Michael Bolton ever did. Now, he (Bolton) has professional training in opera (I'm pretty sure I read that some time back), and the man can sing if he wants to, but ACCKKK! None of that whiney fakey constipated so-called passion. Chad Kroeger (Nickelback) sings just fine in Why Don't You & I with Santana, so I know he has it in him. So what is up with Photograph? If someone wants to convey passion in their singing scream, then by golly, open wide, throw back the head, and belt it out from the bottom of the belly! (Roger Daltry and Bono are good at this.) Whew, glad I got that one off my chest.

But this is show and tell, so perhaps a picture is in order.
Non-recyclable items in the recycle bin. And I could list a hundred other things with accompanying photographic proof, but alas, it would only serve to portray unbalanced annoyance cool-catward, and I would have to follow up with an equally long list of all that is wonderful about him, to keep the karma straight.

On a more positive note, today my dreamboat is nine months old. And he's as dreamy as ever. My little love bug.

---

*In all fairness, I myself, might have ended up a wee bit close on occasion recently, as I have found myself trying to get a better look at the leaf patterns in trees that catch my eye as I drive by, arrayed in their gorgeous fall foliage. What is that tree, I think to myself, over and over, but can't quite tell what most of them are. The oaks and the maples are easy, but there are so many that I am now noticing in their fall splendor, and I think to myself, I must have one of these. If only I knew what it was. So, the lady in the grey Volvo sedan with the Baby on Board sign in the rear window apologizes to anyone who she might have gotten a little close to enroute from thereabouts to home.

Personality, anyone?

According to the Jung Typology Test, I am INFJ, the Counselor Idealist.

Introverted Intuitive Feeling Judging
Strength of the preferences %
78 12 38 67

Qualitative analysis:

• very expressed introvert
• slightly expressed intuitive personality
• moderately expressed feeling personality
• distinctively expressed judging personality

Visited Countries and States

I found this link on Dani's page. I thought I'd been to quite a few places until I looked at this map.


create your own visited countries map



create your own visited states map

Type A

I can't stand it when I publish the blog post and things don't align properly. It drives me nuts. The preview function isn't WYSIWYG at all. (Much as I detest acronyms, I first heard this waaaaaaaay back in the college days, in the context of systems theory I think it was ...or perhaps I'm recalling SISO, which makes more sense in a systems framework, but I digress... ...so I'm going to allow its use in this one post.) Anyway, I republish the stupid post several times and fiddle with this and that until it lines up and my sidebar is always on top. Formatting. Hrumph. Such a waste of time, but I have to do it. I have to. So so particular, is she. Type A, they call it. Or anal, if you're not being very nice.

Part Two

The documentary continues.

After work I finally took a shower, and decided to grab a little joi de vie (Suse, French spell check please). My choice of wardrobe would surely land me in snarkywood, were I a celebrity. Fashion faux pas for certain. But oh, so comfy, and I'm going for a walk. Yes, a walk. It's a good thing I am not a celebrity. I'd be lambasted for my attire for sure. I have until 5 o'clock, which is the latest I can allow myself before I have to leave to pick up my little one.

The street by my house is lined with rocks. When I had dogs, my boy Jet would pee on every rock. He was a champion that way. Oh how I miss my Jet. I was so inspired to be outside, in the fresh air, that I decided to try jogging. Jogging! Alas, it was very short lived. I made it to the end of the street. The double-dees and tree stumps to which my feet are attached bring the fantasy vision of the long legged Masai running effortlessly for miles upon miles through the desert to an abrupt screeching halt of a reality check. It takes me another block to recover from the coughing fit that this moment of idiocy induced. I was so caught up in le joi de vie (Suse, need your help again) that I forgot I was sick.

I noticed that the street-side landscaping behind the fences of the houses one block over is much nicer than what lies behind my fence. Their neighborhood is probably ten years older, and perhaps the developer landscaped? Or the city or county had different rules back then? The city or county maintains the land behind my fence. I wonder if they maintain the land behind the neighboring block's fence?

The sign, sadly appropriate, is stationed directly behind my house. It is an outrage. An outrage! I wonder if that land is even mine, or if it is easement or city property. Things I should pay attention to when buying houses. That and their proximity to busy (noisy) streets. I arrive home with ten minutes to spare before I must dash off to collect my bundle of joy.

Self Portrait Tuesday

The documentary. More Self-Portrait Tuesday info here.

Mornings are his best time. He is so snuggly and an all around love, my love bug. All smiles and contentment. He's my little space worm (and longer than I thought). Mornings are too short lived because I have to work and he has to go to daycare.




Do not all office floors have a giant stuffed horse and an exersaucer? My office is a cluttered cave. The blinds are closed to reduce glare on my screen, and also, because milk duty renders me topless for a good part of the day.
My desk is no less messy than it was last week. It's chaos and I don't like to work in these conditions, but I don't have the energy or gumption to clean it at present, nor do I have sufficient office space for the overflow. It's depressing, this cave.
It seems there is no respite from bottle washing.








While washing bottles, I see my lawn of dandelions and thistles beyond the kitchen window. Depressing. But the leaves cheer me up. I love leaves. And fall.





The coffee has made me somewhat loopy today. Perhaps it's the drum of my head with the sinus congestion. Caffeine normally doesn't faze (?) me. My coffee cup is less than perfect. I like bone china but have yet to find the perfect blend of size, shape, color, feel, and volume. This cup has the perfect volume, but nothing else.

Maybe some nice herbal orange tea will help. Lots of it.
I've been craving toast with butter and Marmite. So salty and satisfying. I will be glad when the coughing, congestion, and misery is over. Until then, comfort foods like this are most welcome. Who am I kidding? They're welcome all the time.
I am distracted by a ray of sunshine. It lifts my spirits tremendously, and I yearn to be outside in the fresh fall air, cool and crisp. My favorite.


Beyond the blinds there is bamboo, falling leaves, damp grass, and fresh air.





Yes, beyond the blinds there is sunshine and fresh air. But I am stuck within.








One of the conveniences of working from home. Still in my jammies. The other half took the space worm to daycare today, so I haven't even gotten dressed yet.
Bed head. It's what I like best about this haircut. It looks the same fresh out of bed as it does when it's freshly 'done'. Working from home, I don't bother with makeup, hygiene, and wardrobe as much as I should.

The thing is, the days tend toward depressing, and I know that I would feel better if I did actually take a shower, get dressed, put on makeup, and fluff up my hair. I'm still stuck in the cave, but it would help.