How do you like my new room?
You better bloody well LOVE it, because I spent half a freaking DAY to change it. I even had the beginnings of carpel tunnel in my mouse arm from the customizing area. That's the only polite thing I can say about it... though come to think of it, I shouldn't complain. I don't know of one other diary site where you can do so much to customize your blog.
After quite some time contemplating my navel.... Let me rephrase that, shoveling through the mountains of totally useless crap that had piled up in my data banks and was choking the life out of me.... I have come to the conclusion that my brain has resorted to a new system of filing things.
I call it 'The Post-it Note Strategy'. NOTHING seems to really stick. Put a little pressure on some bit of information, oh say like a butterfly flitting by, and poof, whatever it is I was supposed to remember has peeled off and followed the winged insect. [I DID see a butterfly the other day, right in the middle of one of the busiest intersections near our house. The incongruity of it sent me into a dream like Sgt. Peppers.] Really, I should NOT be allowed to drive. All kinds of things are going on while I drive that don't have anything to do with road safety. There is something about driving that puts me into a rather meditative state. I suppose it's the forced 'sitstillism' of the whole thing. I don't sit still for very long in any other situation and my poor body can't handle it very well, so my body puts my mind in the playroom so I don't jump out of my skin or start using my car as a bulldozer on Sunrise Blvd.
I think of ALL kinds of stuff while driving. I sing, I talk to myself, I talk to the people on the radio, I cry, I have existential meltdowns. I tell you, Im not fit to have a licence.
But I digress.
Post-its. That is about the extent and permanence of my mental capacities these days. You can only write so much on a post-it, so you better chose your words wisely. They are kinda pricey, so you can't use too many. And they certainly aren't permanent. Any good stiff breeze with send them flying.
What Im trying to do is come to terms with this. And oh, for the record, I don't think it has anything to do with my age. Well let me re-phrase that. I dont think it has anything to do with my chronological age.
It has everything to do with the Age.
Here's the deal. There is just way too much freaking crap to keep track of. I can't do it any more. And here's the part that really chaps my arse as they say in Canada. [Been hanging out with the Yarn Harlot too much.] There is SUCH a huge pile of loose, written on post-its that I'm sitting on that to really dig deep into a subject has become nigh on impossible. [Ever try to poke a fork into a big stack of papers? It don't go too far in now does it?]
Ergo, I have also concluded in all my shoveling, that I am suffering from 'Superficialism'. And I am just not sure what I am going to do about it.
Well, I did have one idea, to obtain a bazooka and put the television out of my misery. But Hub Man would object. Not to the bazooka mind you, but its target. I think he would like to own a bazooka actually.
Okay, enough of that. Im sure we will come back to it later.
Remember, you have been warned.
Other things have been happening around here. Just a few days after I told the Sheltie Rescue director that I thought I would be ready to take in a new dog by the middle of April, she emailed to ask if I would mind helping out with a dog that was at the city animal shelter since the other fosters were all tied up because they took in three puppies just a few days prior. I took one look at her shelter picture and said yes. I won't show you her bedraggled self. It was just too awful.
Here she is all clean and shiny:
[album 65561 Pipersized.JPG]
Say hello to our new doggie:
[album 65561 Pipereyes.JPG]
She was brought into the shelter by someone who found her on the street. She was covered in mud and wasnt spayed. They gave her a bath thank goodness and she got her operation. I picked her up while she was still 'high' as the technician said when he put her into my car.
She didn't have a name. That was our job.
We named her 'Piper'.
She is tiny and sweet and we love her.
Okay, this is enough for now, Im sure your eyes are tired, never mind my fingers.
(Am I supposed to say something meaningful here? A welcome back speech? Well you can forget it. I was enjoying my vacation. Now it's going to be work, work, work. Crap.)
Slap a post-it on it ( ).
You better bloody well LOVE it, because I spent half a freaking DAY to change it. I even had the beginnings of carpel tunnel in my mouse arm from the customizing area. That's the only polite thing I can say about it... though come to think of it, I shouldn't complain. I don't know of one other diary site where you can do so much to customize your blog.
After quite some time contemplating my navel.... Let me rephrase that, shoveling through the mountains of totally useless crap that had piled up in my data banks and was choking the life out of me.... I have come to the conclusion that my brain has resorted to a new system of filing things.
I call it 'The Post-it Note Strategy'. NOTHING seems to really stick. Put a little pressure on some bit of information, oh say like a butterfly flitting by, and poof, whatever it is I was supposed to remember has peeled off and followed the winged insect. [I DID see a butterfly the other day, right in the middle of one of the busiest intersections near our house. The incongruity of it sent me into a dream like Sgt. Peppers.] Really, I should NOT be allowed to drive. All kinds of things are going on while I drive that don't have anything to do with road safety. There is something about driving that puts me into a rather meditative state. I suppose it's the forced 'sitstillism' of the whole thing. I don't sit still for very long in any other situation and my poor body can't handle it very well, so my body puts my mind in the playroom so I don't jump out of my skin or start using my car as a bulldozer on Sunrise Blvd.
I think of ALL kinds of stuff while driving. I sing, I talk to myself, I talk to the people on the radio, I cry, I have existential meltdowns. I tell you, Im not fit to have a licence.
But I digress.
Post-its. That is about the extent and permanence of my mental capacities these days. You can only write so much on a post-it, so you better chose your words wisely. They are kinda pricey, so you can't use too many. And they certainly aren't permanent. Any good stiff breeze with send them flying.
What Im trying to do is come to terms with this. And oh, for the record, I don't think it has anything to do with my age. Well let me re-phrase that. I dont think it has anything to do with my chronological age.
It has everything to do with the Age.
Here's the deal. There is just way too much freaking crap to keep track of. I can't do it any more. And here's the part that really chaps my arse as they say in Canada. [Been hanging out with the Yarn Harlot too much.] There is SUCH a huge pile of loose, written on post-its that I'm sitting on that to really dig deep into a subject has become nigh on impossible. [Ever try to poke a fork into a big stack of papers? It don't go too far in now does it?]
Ergo, I have also concluded in all my shoveling, that I am suffering from 'Superficialism'. And I am just not sure what I am going to do about it.
Well, I did have one idea, to obtain a bazooka and put the television out of my misery. But Hub Man would object. Not to the bazooka mind you, but its target. I think he would like to own a bazooka actually.
Okay, enough of that. Im sure we will come back to it later.
Remember, you have been warned.
Other things have been happening around here. Just a few days after I told the Sheltie Rescue director that I thought I would be ready to take in a new dog by the middle of April, she emailed to ask if I would mind helping out with a dog that was at the city animal shelter since the other fosters were all tied up because they took in three puppies just a few days prior. I took one look at her shelter picture and said yes. I won't show you her bedraggled self. It was just too awful.
Here she is all clean and shiny:
[album 65561 Pipersized.JPG]
Say hello to our new doggie:
[album 65561 Pipereyes.JPG]
She was brought into the shelter by someone who found her on the street. She was covered in mud and wasnt spayed. They gave her a bath thank goodness and she got her operation. I picked her up while she was still 'high' as the technician said when he put her into my car.
She didn't have a name. That was our job.
We named her 'Piper'.
She is tiny and sweet and we love her.
Okay, this is enough for now, Im sure your eyes are tired, never mind my fingers.
(Am I supposed to say something meaningful here? A welcome back speech? Well you can forget it. I was enjoying my vacation. Now it's going to be work, work, work. Crap.)
Slap a post-it on it ( ).