8:24 am: I awake in a grog, bleary-eyed from staying up too late watching football and docudramas about King Tut. I suffer momentary panic until I remember I’m not supposed to be at work, then race into the kitchen to make coffee.
8:30 am: Ernest and Calliope let me know in no uncertain terms the degree to which I have ruined their day by not removing the cover to their cage at the break of daylight.
8:40 am: Armed with my first cup of coffee of the day, I sit on the sofa with the large lab trying to decode his desperate message. Has a squirrel stolen his carrot already? Is his food bowl only half full? Does he want to play Doggie Burrito, wherein I wrap everything but the tip of his nose in a bankie and coo “Babushka! Babushka!” into his ear while he snorts?
9:04 am: I must, simply must, pull myself out of this fog! I race back into the kitchen for more coffee.
9:20 am: Shit! I’m supposed to go out today to buy Panacur and turmeric. I spend several minutes observing the Houndie Grrrl to determine if she really *is* wormy, or if she had simply developed an intense, yet temporary, distrust of her hind end which led to her glaring at it suspiciously for hours on end yesterday. I decide the latter is the case.
9:23 am: It being the case that I am not to set foot outside of the house today unless temperatures warm to at *least* 55 degrees, I decide not to make the most sumptious potato recipe on earth (sans tomatoes, of course, this being winter and all) and, instead, opt for finally making those grits I’ve been threatening for a week or two now, and grilling some sweet pots, Hatch chiles and sweet onion, then slathering with a peanut sauce.
9:29 am: But I need breakfast first. I race into the kitchen for some yogurt laced with olive oil, black pepper, cumin and dill, and suddenly remember I’m out of garlic. The horror!
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I think that a game of Doggie Burrito with a second cup of coffee is indicated here. It’s good for dispelling fogs.
He loves his Doggie Burrito!
9:57 am: I rush through the house gathering up all the laundry and dumping it into the washer, then I pick up the paintbrush to begin work.
10:26 am: I spend several minutes contemplating Sorites paradox.
10:30 am: I realize I’m in trouble when I chance upon Paradox of the Heap. I shut the browser window immediately and race to see what’s on DIY network.
10:51 am: After determining (thanks to DIY) that, yes, I *do* want an arched wall between the living room and the kitchen, I happen upon Ship of Theseus. I give myself a stern lecture about reading anything having anything to do with paradox.
10:53 am: The Houndie Grrl scampers in with an acorn to put in her cache of acorns below the computer.
12:09 pm: I rush into the kitchen, grab the Tabasco and the bucket full of this week’s coffee grounds and leftover coffee, race out the back door, dump the bucket’s contents on the peonies and liberally re-apply Tabasco to the anti-Houndie Grrrl Defense Shield.
12:11 pm: Upon re-entering the house, I take note of how yummy it smells in here. I resume painting the hallway.
12:45 pm: Famished, I dash into the kitchen and grab a bowl full of the chicken cooked with the garam masala, garlic and tomato (but sans that certain ingredient I can’t remember) that I added water to about 10 am, then cooked into a stewish thing. I sprinkle sea salt on the chicken, then add a healthy spoonful of yogurt.
12:55 pm: I resume painting. Or priming, to be exact.
1:39 pm: CNN is breathlessly reporting that a farm somewhere (Colorado? California??) has opened its “doors so that people can come pick as much as they want. I wonder if they’re aware that farmers have always done this, or at least farmers in this part of the world. Well, maybe not pecan growers. But YES pecan growers do it, too, because I have friends who used to make their money picking the pecans, then selling them at the side of the road.
1:41 pm: Gobsmacked by CNN’s “what planet did these people grow up on anyway?” I return to painting.
2:16 pm: I check a wingnut blog and discover their plans to blame everything on George Soros. I am tempted to make a post asking what involvement the Masons might have in it all, but manage to restrain myself.
2:18 pm: I return to painting.
Question, biscuit – what and why is the Houndie Grrl Defense Shield, and is Tabasco intended to deter her from eating it?
The anti-Houndie Grrrl Defense shield is technically Tabasco liberally applied to an outside faucet cover. It’s the second I’ve put on this season. The first was destroyed within one day of me putting it on by a vexed houndie grrl.
I seriously need to stop work and take a break. I was in the process of backing up my email files to the external drive… and deleted them off my computer.
All I had to do was copy the backup to the computer, so nothing was lost, but still, I think my brain is fried. Time to go choose a nice photograph for the Lounge.
This is why I guard my weekends so ferociously. I need them to putz.
Nothing like putzing to heal a fried brain.
I’m trying to untrain the clients that I am available 24/7. I have one who only works weekends, so that is when she needs me, but I am still trying to limit it.
This weekend I am doing catch-up. Again. I have a ton of little loose ends to take care of before starting on the five (5!!) new clients I acquired this past week. And tomorrow is shot because I get to go have a root canal. And Tuesday is shot because it’s co-op day. And Thursday is Thanksgiving.
Sigh.
I’m ferocious about this. I don’t answer the phone at home, I don’t even answer the doorbell unless I’m expecting someone. My weeks are so intense that, if I didn’t, I would be a complete burnt out wreck.
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