Unutterably weird

Nevertheless, I shall attempt to describe it. I slept reasonably well. And this may have been the squirreliest that I have ever felt. Alternating between brain fog and thoughts skittering like drops of water on a hot griddle. I was still getting things done, when I checked my email and discovered that I'd missed my 1x1 (quarterly meeting) with the office manager because I was busy checking things off my ToDo list. I'd gotten it into my head that our meeting was at 10:00, and it was set for 9:00. I missed last week's setting because I'd spilled orange juice into my keyboard and had to dash out for a replacement.

At this point, I can only laugh and shake my head.

After I finished a phone call with one of my attorneys, Middlest came out into the living room and asked if I were taking prednisone, because I'd been increasingly manic as I spoke: both faster and louder. He said that I sounded like I do when I'm on steroids.

Nope, not on steroids, because I'd be working three weeks ahead if I were. I don't know if this is a reaction to the almond milk nightcap I drank last night, or something completely random. Maybe a weird response to the second dose of Moderna? Maybe kickback from yesterday's Cherry Coke after not having imbibed for two or three months?

It did occur to me that the fact that I haven't read my scriptures in four or five days might be a contributing factor. Heaven only knows. My mind is still racing along, too loudly for Heaven to get a word in edgewise.

In happy news, this month's installment from the yarn club arrived in today's mail, and it's gorgeous. I think my neurosis about the color blue may be mitigating slightly to moderately. The yarn is an inky blue semisolid, and I'm delighted that my reaction when I saw it was OOH! rather than EWW!

It's nearly midnight, I'm freshly showered, I need to comb out my hair, I need to fold the laundry that's occupying the foot of my bed, and I want a mug of hot chocolate.

No foolin'!

I like arugula?

On the way home from work, I stopped at Trader Joe's to stock up on chocolate covered ginger and triple ginger cookies. I also picked up two bags of frozen potato gnocchi and a flatbread covered with a new-to-me cheese, arugula, and prosciutto. I baked the flatbread as soon as I got home. It will definitely be joining the rotation.

I'd never heard of burrata, a fresh cheese meant to be enjoyed within a day or two of its creation. (Thank you, Google & Thummim.) And I've had arugula before, but only as part of "spring mix" so tasting it solo was a bit of a revelation.

Right now I'm trying an experiment.  I saw a recipe for "golden milk," and I had all of the spices but ginger. Kroger was out of almond butter*, so I've used some natural peanut butter. And because I'm not enamored of standing over a stove, stirring-stirring-stirring, I'm using the microwave, one-quarter cup of almond milk at a time for two minutes at 20% power so as not to boil the mixture. The fourth installment is beeping at me as we speak.

*They were out of smooth almond butter, and chunky almond butter didn't sound sipping-friendly to me.

Verdict: the honey and the nut butter and other spices go a long way toward mitigating the medicinal taste of turmeric. I take a turmeric capsule every morning. When it comes apart before I swallow it, which happens two or three times a week, it's a total eclipse of the taste buds.

Three of the four Gudrun petticoats which I ordered, arrived in today's mail. The other is backordered until November.

I don't know if it's the placebo effect, but I am suddenly, actually, deeply drowsy. This bodes well.

Austen-tatious

Several days ago, I purchased "Austenland" via Amazon Prime.

I like Keri Russell, Jane Seymour, and Jennifer Coolidge. Each is a talented actor, and the potential for the movie to be great fun was certainly implied. Twenty minutes in, I turned it off and began to watch twelve seasons of "New Tricks" on BritBox, because it just seemed so far over-the-top that it didn't even  qualify as good-bad.

Late last night I finished "New Tricks" and, on a whim, fired up "Lost in Austen," which I enjoyed so much that I got only four-ish hours of sleep. It was everything I had hoped "Austenland" would be.

Today at lunch I picked up where I'd stopped on "Austenland," and it grew on me. I don't know if I'll ever watch it again, but I began to enjoy the multiple improvisions on a classic plot. Keri Russell did not disappoint. Jennifer Coolidge toned it down a little and revealed a heart of gold under her flashy exterior. Jane Seymour chewed the scenery in proper Regency style.

I did not enjoy the song that "Jane Erstwhile" played on the pianoforte. I liked the closing montage and song (a reprise of what she had played) even less. Just gross.

In other news, a friend posted a wonderfully silly meme today:

    Me, after hitting rock bottom, "Welp, it can't get any worse."

    Rock Bottom's older brother, "Is this the guy that hit you?"

And on that note, I am going to bed several hours earlier than I did last night, because I'm driving in to the office tomorrow to take my turn at printing and posting everybody's mail. As LittleBit once remarked to me when she was two or thereabouts, "Goodnight. I am such a tired little blessing."

The non-silent treatment

I read this article in the Atlantic before church. It brought up memories of the last years of my marriage to the children's father. I don't remember his using silence against me. I do remember his using talk radio to drown us all out. I don't know if he felt overwhelmed by the estrogen storms that swirled around him. He was seriously outnumbered. I do remember feeling overwhelmed by loud male voices (his hearing was deteriorating) spouting subtle and not-so-subtle misogyny. He was the king of passive-aggression. I was the queen of codependence. I know that I stopped sharing what was going on inside my head, because he was unable or unwilling to hear me or to work with me. He'd make a commitment at counseling, pursue it for two or three weeks, and then resume old habits. Call it ADHD. Call it undiagnosed autism. Call it what you will. I remember feeling excluded, feeling invisible, feeling hopeless.

Years later, after time, further counseling, and the Atonement of our Savior have all worked their magic on me I can look back on this period of my life with a measure of compassion. For him. For myself. When ghosts or memories arise, I can look at them from a better perspective, acknowledge them, and let them go.

In unrelated news, today I am masking up and attending sacrament meeting in person. I am quietly anticipating that. Taking the sacrament surrounded (at socially responsible distances) by my ward family. Seeing their eyes above their masks. Our bishop asked, several weeks ago, that those who are unable or unwilling to mask up attend via Zoom. If I see compliance, I'll keep coming back in person. Today I am feeling, not loneliness, but a deep and healthy hunger to connect.

Keyboard a l'orange

It was a hell of a day in the neighborhood. A hell of a day for a neighbor. But I'm glad that you're my neighbor.

I managed to spill half of my orange juice onto my desk while setting up. A few drops splashed into my work keyboard. All seemed well until I attempted to email one of my attorneys. This is the sentence which my efforts produced:

I was inally able to igure out a way to save it to the ile.

I literally had no F's to give. Funny, now, but not so much when it happened.

This necessitated a couple of phone calls and then a trip to a coworker's house, as she's our IT person and lives half a dozen miles from me and had a spare keyboard.

I slipped a couple of errands in while I was out, and I ended up taking nearly two hours of PTO in the late morning, which cut into my productivity like you wouldn't believe. On the other hand, I enjoyed a fresh, hot chicken pot pie for an early lunch at my keyboard (eaten with one hand under my spoon as it passed across the new keyboard), and some Ghirardelli dark and I'm not going to tell you how much blueberry cheesecake ice cream.

I am now retiring to my boudoir to sulk while watching multiple episodes of "New Tricks" and knitting away on the gorgeously self-striping sock. That yarn really stands up to multiple bouts of frogging, and I couldn't be more pleased with it.

Stimulating.

After getting an official-looking letter that said I'd be getting a nominal amount, the deposit hit my bank today. It will pay for all of the bipolar bears' dental work, for which I am profoundly relieved and grateful. There should be a bit left over for fun things for each of us.

I get, but do not always take the time to read, the Modern Daily Knitting weekly newsletter. Based on an article in a recent issue, I've set up a monthly self-care date. Today is my first official one. I spent it at the office. Before I go to bed in a few minutes, I'm going to empty out my purse.

I put a few more rounds of ribbing into the current sock. I am loving this yarn.

Today I wore a Gudrun dress to work over a striped tee and a petticoat. It felt so good to be dressing up a bit.

Body is tired. Brain is going pingety-ping. Time to shut this down and putter off to bed.

There are times when I hate being right.

Last night was one of them. The Insomnia Fairy did, indeed, pay me a call. I got maybe three hours of sleep before my head exploded. I did manage to get another couple of hours before work, and I was dragging all day.

I've cast on a sock for me, out of the self-striping yarn I bought from Modern Daily Knitting. I'm using a free pattern recommended by the manufacturer and am about halfway done with the ribbing for the cuff. I'm really liking this yarn and am discovering that yarns which are 75% wool and 25% nylon can have a wide range of textures. I have some that is rather limp and almost squeaky. This feels slightly dry, a bit bouncy, but not scratchy. I really can't feel the nylon as it slips through my fingers.

Still enjoying New Tricks. I can easily identify with Brian, who has mental health issues, a phenomenal memory (OK, that's not an exact equivalent, for me), and a serious case of oh-look-shiny with all of his projects. I love that while his friends rib him about his eccentricities, they also love and respect him. He's the team's geek, and they rely on his strengths. I also identify with Esther, his wife. It's one thing for me to deal with the pluses and minuses of my own quirks. It's another to savor and/or work around those of my beloved bipolar bears. (Unlike Brian, all three of us are consistently med-compliant.) Esther just rolls with it. Our generation of women were reared to tend to the needs of others. That is a most excellent thing. It builds character; it builds families; and it builds communities. And we're not always good at appropriate self-care. But we can be taught.

Running on empty

I stayed up way too late last night, or should I say this morning, watching New Tricks on Britbox. I am learning all manner of British slang, much of it in the realm of childbirth words. Think R.E.D. (the first one; I haven't seen the second one as yet) but with retired cops instead of retired spies. The soundtrack is rocking!

I am drowning at work. We had our dental cleanings on Monday. I spent the rest of the day reading and watching Rosemary & Thyme. We got our second vaccinations last Wednesday, and right before I was due to log in on Thursday, I had spectacular rumblies in my tumblies. I gratefully accepted the option of taking the day off to recover.There was only the one episode, but I really didn't want to be more than five feet from the loo, just in case.

That same day, the washing machine repairman came and determined what the problem is. A pump has burned out, and thankfully it's covered by warranty, but he had to order the part. With any luck, he will be back this coming Thursday to install it.

Wednesday I will be going in to the office to print off and send out the mail. I don't anticipate getting much done in the way of my attorneys' dockets that day. I may need to request more overtime. I'm good, and I'm thorough, but "we have learned by sad experience" that there are only so many things one can accomplish in a given chunk of time, even with the assistance of one's guardian angels.

Mine are probably on furlough after protecting me during that tumble down the stairs four weeks ago tomorrow

In knitting news, I finished another pair of baby socks.

I am one tired mama, and I suspect that the Insomnia Fairy has plans for me tonight. Wish me luck.

Fat-bottomed Loo

Still getting used to it. It's louder and faster than the prior one. Massive whoosh with less water, and done. No longer need to fill up the tank with a one-quart measuring cup before flushing. All very nice. But the Squatty Potty doesn't fit neatly against the base, so it either tilts up at the back or juts out at the front, creating a possible tripping hazard.

Definitely not something I could have foreseen.

In knitting news, I'll finish another baby sock before bedtime and cast on its mate. I'm currently 4.5 pairs of socks behind the goal which I set when the pandemic sent us home, that of two pairs a month. Still, it's an impressive haul. Not sure if I'll stop when this pair is done or extend the challenge. I'm ready to knit a pair of self-striping socks from my recent Modern Daily Knitting purchase to coordinate with my Gudrun outfits and petticoats.

The sock is calling my name, and I need to catch up on my reading.

The week got (somewhat) better

On Thursday I went down to the office and printed the mail for everyone. We are doing a 9-10 day rotation. It mostly went well. The postage meter jammed when I ran a bunch of envelopes just before taking my lunch. After a couple of phone calls, I was able to get it running again. On the drive to and from the office, I listened to roughly an hour and a half of Anna Karenina. There are just under eight and a half hours remaining. There is light at the end of my reading tunnel.

I've also begun reading Lady Susan on my Kindle app. I wonder if this was the first work featuring a female anti-hero in the English language. It was written c.1793-1794 but not published until 1871. Anna Karenina was written in 1873. Wuthering Heights was written in 1846. (I do not consider Catherine a heroine. I think she's a spoiled brat.) Gone with the Wind was written in 1935. (I do not consider Scarlett a heroine, either.)

Next week is going to be incredibly busy. And spendy. Dentist on Monday. Our second Moderna vaccine shots on Wednesday, with the distinct possibility of being knackered for the next several days. Thankfully, we will not be out any cash for that. And on Thursday, the repairman is coming to work on the washing machine.

I've watched the entirety of Scott & Bailey this past week. It was well-written but not exactly edifying. I've signed up for BritBox as of today, and I'm watching Rosemary & Thyme as a palate cleanser. The writing and acting are not particularly good, but it's funny at odd moments.

Brain and Body seem to be in agreement that I could go to bed right now and maybe sleep through the night.

Oh, bleep.

Oh, bleep! Oh, bleep! Oh, Bleep! OH, BLEEP!!!!!

So, we've been waiting a few weeks for the part to come in, to fix the commode in my bathroom. Our wonderful plumber came this morning, only to discover that the part doesn't fit. Further research revealed that my wonderful, eco-conscious, ergonomic dual-flush commode has been discontinued. It has now been replaced with a wonderful, ergonomic, reasonably eco-conscious model with a traditional lever handle. To the tune of several hundred dollars. I've arranged for a transfusion from my credit union so that I may pay for this.

Our wonderful plumber checked the washing machine, out in the garage, to discover that its refusal to drain is not a plumbing problem. That freezing spell killed something in our two-month-old washer. I've put the word out on our Relief Society Facebook group for the name of a reputable repairman. I've also arranged for a withdrawal from my 401K to cover whatever this is going to cost me.

I also need to come up with $2K apiece for dental work for the bipolar bears. I could really use a good cry about now, but I can tell that it's stuck in crosswise. You're likely to find me eating my feelings for the next few days.

Oh, bleep.