And the dish ran away with the spoon


I am perfectly capable of finishing this scene.  I have this chunk attached from the first iteration and I’ve been clinging to it in hopes that I can so

Having the day off and the day off tomorrow for the holiday is glorious.  It is helping my brain reconnect with the rest of me.  I am hoping in some way that the intensity of the organizational aspect of my little retail job will spur me into scullery mode back here in the privacy of my own chambers.  All day long, you leap up to thoroughly review the racks for singles, mismatched hangers, sizing out of order, anything amiss.  If those are suitable, your eyes are meant to searchlight the rest of the shop for any paper, any fingerprints on display cases, the gift wrapping shelves need a restock.  You are meant to correct imperfection.  Imperfection is gross.

As one co-worker explained, everything has a place.  There’s nothing that needs to be left out.

It is funny how my mind wants to chastise them for this.  No one is asking for perfection. No one takes a severe tone about it.  It is just normal for the clothes to need to be put back on the rack so that someone else can find them and buy them.  It is just good business to be ready to make a sale, to have the view clear and unobscured.  In my mind, I take it as though I am being asked to maintain a glass bottom boat.  That a thing wrong risks everything.  It’s carryover from the other job where I was told we can’t seem to get anything right.  I want to not pollute it with my wrongness.

It’s laughable how strong that statement feels, but it also rings true to me.

My mother used to be as these mothers I work with are.  She’s also someone who does what we do, albeit in a massive retail chain and not an individual store.  Looking around the house, wanting it to be like the pictures in Better Homes and Gardens, and encouraging us to clean things up. All the while, my head was in fifty feet of cloud.  Always just around the bend from another cleaning binge because between them, I just leave this wake of unattended crap. But thinking back, slowly over time as we grew and she had far more pressing issues to attend to, she gave up on the severity.  She cleans her place because she wants it clean.  She doesn’t focus on the minutiae in corners.  She maintains her glass-bottom vessel because she lives in it and she’d like to see the fish.

It’s not about drowning.  It’s about happiness where you are.  Would that I could come down for a minute and stop the all or nothing thinking and just…breathe in my boat.

That’s weird.  I didn’t really want to write about cleaning…there’s plenty of other things to talk about, actually.  But I will save it for the morning, friends.  Save myself.

Tony Danza

weird-statues-2-1507518Typing away.  So, yeah, last night I kind of fucked up and in trying to gather quotations for this writing project idea thing…I ended up reading the whole sequence of posts around Mr. Confusion and last year.  You know, that time when I wrote my heart out to this guy or at least a very literary and clever facsimile of my heart and things were weird.  We had this very intense back and forth for a while, then he disappeared for a while, and then he was back for a second but told me that he needed like…a real girl…or whatever and this motivated me to say, hey, you want to meet – let’s meet.  And that seemed like a good thing and then we had this nice, not excessively or problematically awkward date where I kinda thought he was kind of cute and and then…we never talked again.

That was a fun time to relive.  Fuck. Progress? Is there any progress in my heart whatsoever on that front?  I don’t…honestly think so.

Today might require bullets.

  • Having gone over to my parents when my sister did – she’s staying over to drive them to the airport tomorrow morning – like at 3:30a.m.  I basically went there because I wanted to raid the larder and I was 99% sure that they had a frozen pizza in their freezer and I sort of walked my arse off so that I could go.  Walked a ways beforehand around the subdivision listening to music mostly with that pizza in mind.  I’d basically had like rice and broth earlier and coffee to keep all those calories controlled and nope.  No pizza available to poor little me.  So instead, ate some chips and guac (very nearly too much) but was able to cut it just below the quota with that walking and call it good.  I don’t feel hungry, but I would, I think, like some wine.  I kind of feel like I am going to buy a bottle tomorrow for all that writing I want to do.
  • Watched an episode of Monarch of the Glen because my mother has decided it is the best show ever and I was briefly into it.  It’s a BBC dramedy and that’s my catnip.  I will probably try and watch more, but maybe just from the episode I saw – so the start of season 3, I guess.
  • Finished this Dragon Age: Inquisition run.  I have feelings.   Still.  Again.  More.  Oh, darling babby Solas. I want to keep writing fanfic that is not useful to anyone but me with my very specific tastes.  Not planning to restart another playthrough, but I want to find whatever what I can to extend my mental holiday in Orlais.
  • Also got to have some house of solitary pleasures time – watching the Oscars and bleating happily with the lovely friends on Skype about it all.  Golly, they make me so happy.

Also: because we want it written down, immortalized in script forever, Fuck Sam Smith.