There went the morning...
Nov. 22nd, 2007 01:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceUrgh. Didn't sleep at all well last night, just because I couldn't breathe. Not in an asthmatic way, just so bunged-up with cold. Yuk. (So Barry got to demonstrate his new trick a lot, which is sleeping on top of me; when I'm awake I lie on my back and listen to the radio, largely, which offers him nice resilient unbony stomach to curl up on. So he does. Which I wouldn't mind at all, if (a) I didn't feel so damn unwell and (b) he didn't feel so damn heavy... I'm just not used to cats with gravitas. The girls were four-, five-pounders all their light little lives. Mac might be eight or nine, I guess, but doesn't feel it, he's anti-gravity. Barry is a very solid twelve-pounder, and where he sits, the world bends to accommodate him. In this instance, I bend. Oof.)
So here I have been, dragging myself around all morning and feeling dizzy and not well at all, and utterly plagued by that end-of-novel feeling that I should be Doing Something. I am not short of things to do. But I have been promising myself for months that once the book was finished I would spend some time sorting out the worst of the house; and now I'm there I am of course utterly daunted. Everything that needs done can be broken up into neat little packages, to be sure, but there is almost no package that can be broached until something else has been done first, and so on, and on... And it all becomes too wearing to contemplate, and I'm not well, and and and.
And I just end up defeated, as ever.
But! I have made a start! I have brought a CD player up to the office, because many tasks break down into CD-length packages of time. I have unclogged the wossname, the thingie, sorry, the machine that cuts sheets of paper into many narrow strips - shredder, that's the word. I have unclogged the shredder, and I have sat down to clear that stretch of paper-strewn floor that leads to the corner where I have to dismantle home-build shelving and move the filing cabinet before I can do something about the wallpaper that's peeling off where the roof was leaking before I had it fixed, which I have to do before I can move the desk and build new shelving all along that wall...
So: I am listening to Hejira, and I have sat down and emptied the shredder's last hopperful into a rubbish back, and I have begun to pick up the strewn sheets and sort through them, and suddenly there is Mac pouncing on the Exciting New Thing that is the rustly baggy rubbish bag, and then he is rolling on his back and attacking my hand, and I am giggling and ouching and, um, not really sorting through paper at all, because how can I do that when he's all over it...?
Ahem. So I thought I'd blog him instead, in hopes of boring him into wandering off. Which seems to have happened, so here I go again...
ETA: Mac is now inside the rubbish bag. And Barry is eyeing it in a soon-to-be-pouncy manner: it rustles! It's baggy! It's alive!
Oh, God...
ETA2: The bag is now shredded (cat-claws from inside and out being pretty much as efficient as the wossname). Mac has chased Barry away, and come back. Barry has come back. There has been more pouncing. Rinse and repeat.
Mac is currently nesting, with every intention of sleeping, inside the bag. Which is leaking its contents all over the floor (ie back where it was before, pretty much), while Baz sits on the document-box on my desk and gazes down, with pouncing on his mind.
Rinse and what was it, again...?
Happily, Joni has stopped singing and I can go and get lunch, with a feeling of, well, I dunno really. Not exactly achievement, but...
So here I have been, dragging myself around all morning and feeling dizzy and not well at all, and utterly plagued by that end-of-novel feeling that I should be Doing Something. I am not short of things to do. But I have been promising myself for months that once the book was finished I would spend some time sorting out the worst of the house; and now I'm there I am of course utterly daunted. Everything that needs done can be broken up into neat little packages, to be sure, but there is almost no package that can be broached until something else has been done first, and so on, and on... And it all becomes too wearing to contemplate, and I'm not well, and and and.
And I just end up defeated, as ever.
But! I have made a start! I have brought a CD player up to the office, because many tasks break down into CD-length packages of time. I have unclogged the wossname, the thingie, sorry, the machine that cuts sheets of paper into many narrow strips - shredder, that's the word. I have unclogged the shredder, and I have sat down to clear that stretch of paper-strewn floor that leads to the corner where I have to dismantle home-build shelving and move the filing cabinet before I can do something about the wallpaper that's peeling off where the roof was leaking before I had it fixed, which I have to do before I can move the desk and build new shelving all along that wall...
So: I am listening to Hejira, and I have sat down and emptied the shredder's last hopperful into a rubbish back, and I have begun to pick up the strewn sheets and sort through them, and suddenly there is Mac pouncing on the Exciting New Thing that is the rustly baggy rubbish bag, and then he is rolling on his back and attacking my hand, and I am giggling and ouching and, um, not really sorting through paper at all, because how can I do that when he's all over it...?
Ahem. So I thought I'd blog him instead, in hopes of boring him into wandering off. Which seems to have happened, so here I go again...
ETA: Mac is now inside the rubbish bag. And Barry is eyeing it in a soon-to-be-pouncy manner: it rustles! It's baggy! It's alive!
Oh, God...
ETA2: The bag is now shredded (cat-claws from inside and out being pretty much as efficient as the wossname). Mac has chased Barry away, and come back. Barry has come back. There has been more pouncing. Rinse and repeat.
Mac is currently nesting, with every intention of sleeping, inside the bag. Which is leaking its contents all over the floor (ie back where it was before, pretty much), while Baz sits on the document-box on my desk and gazes down, with pouncing on his mind.
Rinse and what was it, again...?
Happily, Joni has stopped singing and I can go and get lunch, with a feeling of, well, I dunno really. Not exactly achievement, but...
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-22 03:16 pm (UTC)What's that expression you can never remember, Chaz?
Actually, in this case I suspect it may be procrastination. Procrastination, thy name is Cat...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-22 04:14 pm (UTC)