Friday, January 13, 2006
i know, but.
one reason: dayjob, inc has installed some sort of net nanny which won't let me blog. those things make me extremely paranoid. i know it doesn't happen like this, but some part of me believes the entire company got together to look at a giant register-tape print out of all the internet traffic on the network and it turns out i've spent 324 billable hours blogging and will now have to pay them back.
really, though, like blogger is the worst thing on that tape. there are some incredibly misdirected people at work who i'm sure are into some bizarre porn.
there have been quiet days, lately. quiet ones where both people in the room are happy. the monkey took our christmas tree down; i think he picked up on the fact that i couldn't bear to do it myself. the last steps in sealing the new, replaced butcherblock countertop have been taken, signaling the end to major efforts in the kitchen (little touch-up paint, a backsplash: it's easy from here on in).
i've been trying to write more, and so have taken my laptop with me a few times during the day in order to harness some odd hours between engagements. yesterday it slid off my lap in the subway station. it didn't even hit the ground hard, but now there's a mid-sized aluminum dent in the southwest corner. sadness. these powerbooks are built like diet coke cans. i wanted to take it to tek5erve, but the monkey says they can't fix a dent in the skin. i'm trying to pretend that it's like a cool scar that makes me look dangerous.
i went to a pilates class at the yoga studio in my neighborhood last night. i'm not sure i did it right. like, three quarters of the stuff we did felt like absolutely nothing, like isolated muscle movements so small they barely registered--and then the last fourth were exercises so insanely painful that i thought i was going to lose bladder control if required to stress my abdominal muscles any further. i woke up feeling like i'd done a bunch of crunches and spent the rest of the night lifting a toddler off the floor.
also i feel like i'm coming down with a cold, so i'm home. ergo the blogging. there's nothing to eat, but the monkey's a sucker for a sickie, so i'm fending off hunger with wheat thins until he comes home from the lunch shift and i can ask him, so pitifully, to make me some soup. i have the voice all picked out.
really, though, like blogger is the worst thing on that tape. there are some incredibly misdirected people at work who i'm sure are into some bizarre porn.
there have been quiet days, lately. quiet ones where both people in the room are happy. the monkey took our christmas tree down; i think he picked up on the fact that i couldn't bear to do it myself. the last steps in sealing the new, replaced butcherblock countertop have been taken, signaling the end to major efforts in the kitchen (little touch-up paint, a backsplash: it's easy from here on in).
i've been trying to write more, and so have taken my laptop with me a few times during the day in order to harness some odd hours between engagements. yesterday it slid off my lap in the subway station. it didn't even hit the ground hard, but now there's a mid-sized aluminum dent in the southwest corner. sadness. these powerbooks are built like diet coke cans. i wanted to take it to tek5erve, but the monkey says they can't fix a dent in the skin. i'm trying to pretend that it's like a cool scar that makes me look dangerous.
i went to a pilates class at the yoga studio in my neighborhood last night. i'm not sure i did it right. like, three quarters of the stuff we did felt like absolutely nothing, like isolated muscle movements so small they barely registered--and then the last fourth were exercises so insanely painful that i thought i was going to lose bladder control if required to stress my abdominal muscles any further. i woke up feeling like i'd done a bunch of crunches and spent the rest of the night lifting a toddler off the floor.
also i feel like i'm coming down with a cold, so i'm home. ergo the blogging. there's nothing to eat, but the monkey's a sucker for a sickie, so i'm fending off hunger with wheat thins until he comes home from the lunch shift and i can ask him, so pitifully, to make me some soup. i have the voice all picked out.
