guess what? last night I had a date! ... with my teenage son. We went to see the movie "Stardust" ... he'd already seen it with his friends and so was in the know, but wanted to make sure I was able to see it first on the big screen. How dear of him ... despite the fact that I paid!
my critique? Honestly? .... the movie was fabulous and I would highly recommend it to anyone who loves whimsy, action, love stories, fantasy and cinemagraphic magic! Filled with unlikely heroes, princesses, wicked witches, humor, fine acting ... it also had a wonderful fairytale story line. And the cinematography and special effects are worth dropping $9 at the matinee ... (okay ... $50 with popcorn and a soda). If you get a chance, it's truly excellent and a must see. Please don't wait until it comes out on video, unless you have a home theater.
my weekend also consisted of a visit to the dogpound (humane society) which left me feeling a little unsteady, despite my original desire to go kiss a few noses and cuddle some puppies and kittens in hopes of sharing some love and nurturing with our society's silenced throwbacks. Despite the intense sadness it brings, I realize that everyone should make a point of visiting their local dogpound several times a year. Perhap coming face to face with our use it, abuse it and lose it society, a few eyes and hearts may be opened in the process. Just an idea. I cover my own experience in more detail in my other blog www.wingedmuseepiblogue.blogspot.com if you are interested.
today, Sunday, I plan to relax with a great cup of Barry's Irish tea and partake in one of my favorite Sunday morning activities... visiting www.postsecret.com. Join me?
have a fabulous rest of the weekend!
~L
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
spider bites aren't fun, among other things
if it's weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all ... anyone remember Hee Haw? No? ... never mind. Still, luck, or rather the lack of it, seems to be the theme of the month of August for my human and animal family. Quite a few posts back I'm sure I mentioned "the Irishman's" visit to the doctor wherein he (we) found out he was not only allergic to the birds, but also to the cat and the two dogs! How nice.
Over a month later and several prescription medications consumed he is still not one ounce better than he was the first day he decided to go get needle poked by an overzealous receptionist (I swear), and told that perhaps he had a very slight allergy to our non-human children ($700 later). (Imagine being told you are allergic to your children?) Okay.... not the teenagers (whom I realize we all have allergic reactions to now and again) but rather your little toddlers? That's what it was like! An additional $300 in Heppa filters later, he's still coughing.
So I moved the birds upstairs. Oh my ... lucky you weren't here THAT day! Lucky no one was. The dogs hid, if that's any indication of how fun it was. You see, the bird cage is very large because it contains two parrots. So, I let the parrots play on a bookcase while I emptied out the cage, dragged it through the kitchen, knocked down several cups and cherished pottery pieces in the process, cursed, got the freaking thing down the stairs, and zapped it with the power hose. In the meantime, the parrots were unusually quiet. Good, you're thinking, right? No. Not good. Parrots being much like small children.
I then cleared out a nice spot at the top of the stairs by the big window where they could watch the workmen on the lot next door build the 18 houses that will destroy the neighborhood ... but that's another story. Then, back downstairs (there's 13 of them by the way, weird, huh!) and down another three to the patio where I then hauled the dripping bird condo back inside, took out several more precious nick nacks, and hoisting the thing half on back, precariously slipping on the wet stairs, lugged it up 13 stairs where I did battle with the thing (and they say most accidents happen in the home ... wonder why?), all the foul words I was merely thinking did in fact escape my lips (no sign of the dogs at this point), and finally after much repositioning and dagger looks at anything that moved in the vicinity, I got the thing situated. Then I packed up and down the stairs another three times to gather the grate and perches and feed dishes until everything was in place and perfect.
By the time I got back to the computer room which was the previous home of Mr. R and Ms. L ... there was a pile of confetti (I think that might have been a very thick book about hypnosis) and a half eaten bookcase. Luckily, I didn't like that bookcase very much because it was one of those put it together yourself Target specials. So ... I'm still relatively sane at this point.
After situating the birds in their new home, which they were very suspicious of and perched precariously on the door and stared at me in utter confusion and uncertainty without so much as one indication that they might actually ever inhabit their old condo in its new location ... I went back to the computer room to "de-bird" it. This took me most of the rest of the day. The birds watched from their perch at the top of the stairs. Worried expressions lingering on their brows. Yes, birds do actually have brows.
By the time the allergic Irishman got home, you'd never know a bird lived in our house, what with a pristine environment and heppa filters blowing fresh air all about the place and not an animal to be seen (the dogs and cat were still hiding) ... except for the fact that two very nervous parrots were screeching from the top of the stairs ... it sounded something like "HELP ... SAVE US!"
I swear it was the very next day when I noticed our little Esky, Mr. E., who'd finally come out of hiding to eat, came down with a terrible rash all over his body following a reaction to his flea medication. I clipped away at least twenty-five pounds of hair and still couldn't find his skin ... but eventually, after continued snipping and pulling and coming to understand what a sheep shearer must feel like, I did ...and slathered his rash with neosporin, the wonder drug of the century. At this point our dear Mr. E resembled something like a French poodle who'd received his last hairdo at the nearest hedgeclipper's. Needless to say he was mortified to go out in public.
The very next day, truth, our beautiful golden Shepard Ms. S was bitten by something, I think it was a brown recluse spider ... and suddenly her eye, cheek and nose swole up (I do realize swole is not a word, however, here it fits quite nicely) with blisters that popped and began to bleed. Gahhh! At this point, I had to chase her with the neosporin.
Okay, perhaps two days later, Mr. E's "hot spots" were not doing so well, despite neosporin, Reiki treatments and oatmeal baths ... and so it was time to bite the bullet and go to the vet for a cortisone shot. However, the vet thought it would be very nice to shave his tail, to help heal one of the more severe "spots." I had to hold Mr. E because he was growling like a hyena, bearing his pearly whites, and acting totally in character. But if you'd seen what that vet did to his tail, you'd sympathize. Now he looks like a weird white lion with a naked tail and a baboon's bottom. Every time my eyes happen to fall upon his backside he is prone to growl at me or look certifiably embarrassed. The very nice vet also gave us some antibiotics to help him heal quicker.
In the meantime, Ms. S's spider bite has spread. I looked it up on-line and there are horrid photos of spider bites! Now I'm feeling very frantic and slathering neosporin on her every two hours, and giving her Mr. E's antibiotics. She runs from me every time I reach for the neosporin and tries to hide her huge bulk under the bed.
The Irishman, by now, has gotten no better at all and continues to hack like a 30 year smoker and has given up all faith in the medical establishment. But back to the doctor he goes, and now they think he's aspirating or maybe he has acid reflux. GAHHHHH ... he takes a new bunch of pills (these are purple) and once again there is no response. He goes back to the allergy specialist's nice receptionist ... apparently there are shots that can give you immunity. Really? Who knew? Immunity to what? The birds? The dogs? The cat? Acid Reflux? Aspirating?
He keeps asking me, like I actually know something, what do you think it is? They've x-rayed, they've poked, prodded, checked his throat, his esophagus, his larynx, his lungs ... it appears he's coughing for no reason at all! I think a minute and look him in the eye. I still think it's the birds, I say. So now he walks around the house with a mask. Should we move the birds out of the house? I ask. No, he says, I love those birds! Are you crazy? I'm getting those shots! But in the meantime, he wears the mask and takes the purple pills, just in case the doctors do know what they are talking about, but which I very highly doubt.
Amid all these goings on, the birds, who have yet to truly accept their new home, repeatedly leap from their perches to land at the bottom of the 13 stairs, sort of like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid when they leaped off the cliff into the raging river miles below! I can just hear them say, "but I can't fly ... so what, we'll probably die from the fall anyway!"
In the meantime, the "young man" has turned his ankle skateboarding for the umpteenth time and is hold up on the couch or in bed with his foot up in the air and wrapped in ice or generally wimpering and limping about the place and begging for room service.
This week, with all of the forementioned taken into account, despite painting, making jewelry, preparing for a houseload of company, I'm running up and down the stairs with two insecure birds on my shoulder, caring for two-legged and four-legged patients like a much friendlier version of Nurse Ratchid ... ( right about to fly over the cuckoo's nest myself!) Just picture me chasing down dogs, cornering them, slathering on neosporin and stuffing hot dogs loaded with antibiotics down their throats. It doesn't actually bare thinking, does it?
Trouble is, I'm not sure at this point if it was the teenager who got that last antibiotic stuffed in a hot dog or the Irishman who got the neosporin slathered on his eye. And who, for godsakes, took the last purple pill!
A spa sounds "real nice" right about now ... actually a small cave in the Andes shared with nothing but a family of roving coatimundies sounds heavenly.
Sigh....
Note: For those of you who DON'T remember ... here's words from that infamous country variety show of the 60's featuring Buck Owens and the Buckaroos, Roy Clark, Grandpa Jones,and a whole slew of old time country-western singers which I must say I loved to watch and who's huge audience base shall forever baffle mankind, science and the arts, while somehow managing to remain time immemorial:
"Gloom, despair and agony on me
Deep dark depression, excessive misery
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all
Gloom, despair and agony on me...."
That's about it.
Over a month later and several prescription medications consumed he is still not one ounce better than he was the first day he decided to go get needle poked by an overzealous receptionist (I swear), and told that perhaps he had a very slight allergy to our non-human children ($700 later). (Imagine being told you are allergic to your children?) Okay.... not the teenagers (whom I realize we all have allergic reactions to now and again) but rather your little toddlers? That's what it was like! An additional $300 in Heppa filters later, he's still coughing.
So I moved the birds upstairs. Oh my ... lucky you weren't here THAT day! Lucky no one was. The dogs hid, if that's any indication of how fun it was. You see, the bird cage is very large because it contains two parrots. So, I let the parrots play on a bookcase while I emptied out the cage, dragged it through the kitchen, knocked down several cups and cherished pottery pieces in the process, cursed, got the freaking thing down the stairs, and zapped it with the power hose. In the meantime, the parrots were unusually quiet. Good, you're thinking, right? No. Not good. Parrots being much like small children.
I then cleared out a nice spot at the top of the stairs by the big window where they could watch the workmen on the lot next door build the 18 houses that will destroy the neighborhood ... but that's another story. Then, back downstairs (there's 13 of them by the way, weird, huh!) and down another three to the patio where I then hauled the dripping bird condo back inside, took out several more precious nick nacks, and hoisting the thing half on back, precariously slipping on the wet stairs, lugged it up 13 stairs where I did battle with the thing (and they say most accidents happen in the home ... wonder why?), all the foul words I was merely thinking did in fact escape my lips (no sign of the dogs at this point), and finally after much repositioning and dagger looks at anything that moved in the vicinity, I got the thing situated. Then I packed up and down the stairs another three times to gather the grate and perches and feed dishes until everything was in place and perfect.
By the time I got back to the computer room which was the previous home of Mr. R and Ms. L ... there was a pile of confetti (I think that might have been a very thick book about hypnosis) and a half eaten bookcase. Luckily, I didn't like that bookcase very much because it was one of those put it together yourself Target specials. So ... I'm still relatively sane at this point.
After situating the birds in their new home, which they were very suspicious of and perched precariously on the door and stared at me in utter confusion and uncertainty without so much as one indication that they might actually ever inhabit their old condo in its new location ... I went back to the computer room to "de-bird" it. This took me most of the rest of the day. The birds watched from their perch at the top of the stairs. Worried expressions lingering on their brows. Yes, birds do actually have brows.
By the time the allergic Irishman got home, you'd never know a bird lived in our house, what with a pristine environment and heppa filters blowing fresh air all about the place and not an animal to be seen (the dogs and cat were still hiding) ... except for the fact that two very nervous parrots were screeching from the top of the stairs ... it sounded something like "HELP ... SAVE US!"
I swear it was the very next day when I noticed our little Esky, Mr. E., who'd finally come out of hiding to eat, came down with a terrible rash all over his body following a reaction to his flea medication. I clipped away at least twenty-five pounds of hair and still couldn't find his skin ... but eventually, after continued snipping and pulling and coming to understand what a sheep shearer must feel like, I did ...and slathered his rash with neosporin, the wonder drug of the century. At this point our dear Mr. E resembled something like a French poodle who'd received his last hairdo at the nearest hedgeclipper's. Needless to say he was mortified to go out in public.
The very next day, truth, our beautiful golden Shepard Ms. S was bitten by something, I think it was a brown recluse spider ... and suddenly her eye, cheek and nose swole up (I do realize swole is not a word, however, here it fits quite nicely) with blisters that popped and began to bleed. Gahhh! At this point, I had to chase her with the neosporin.
Okay, perhaps two days later, Mr. E's "hot spots" were not doing so well, despite neosporin, Reiki treatments and oatmeal baths ... and so it was time to bite the bullet and go to the vet for a cortisone shot. However, the vet thought it would be very nice to shave his tail, to help heal one of the more severe "spots." I had to hold Mr. E because he was growling like a hyena, bearing his pearly whites, and acting totally in character. But if you'd seen what that vet did to his tail, you'd sympathize. Now he looks like a weird white lion with a naked tail and a baboon's bottom. Every time my eyes happen to fall upon his backside he is prone to growl at me or look certifiably embarrassed. The very nice vet also gave us some antibiotics to help him heal quicker.
In the meantime, Ms. S's spider bite has spread. I looked it up on-line and there are horrid photos of spider bites! Now I'm feeling very frantic and slathering neosporin on her every two hours, and giving her Mr. E's antibiotics. She runs from me every time I reach for the neosporin and tries to hide her huge bulk under the bed.
The Irishman, by now, has gotten no better at all and continues to hack like a 30 year smoker and has given up all faith in the medical establishment. But back to the doctor he goes, and now they think he's aspirating or maybe he has acid reflux. GAHHHHH ... he takes a new bunch of pills (these are purple) and once again there is no response. He goes back to the allergy specialist's nice receptionist ... apparently there are shots that can give you immunity. Really? Who knew? Immunity to what? The birds? The dogs? The cat? Acid Reflux? Aspirating?
He keeps asking me, like I actually know something, what do you think it is? They've x-rayed, they've poked, prodded, checked his throat, his esophagus, his larynx, his lungs ... it appears he's coughing for no reason at all! I think a minute and look him in the eye. I still think it's the birds, I say. So now he walks around the house with a mask. Should we move the birds out of the house? I ask. No, he says, I love those birds! Are you crazy? I'm getting those shots! But in the meantime, he wears the mask and takes the purple pills, just in case the doctors do know what they are talking about, but which I very highly doubt.
Amid all these goings on, the birds, who have yet to truly accept their new home, repeatedly leap from their perches to land at the bottom of the 13 stairs, sort of like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid when they leaped off the cliff into the raging river miles below! I can just hear them say, "but I can't fly ... so what, we'll probably die from the fall anyway!"
In the meantime, the "young man" has turned his ankle skateboarding for the umpteenth time and is hold up on the couch or in bed with his foot up in the air and wrapped in ice or generally wimpering and limping about the place and begging for room service.
This week, with all of the forementioned taken into account, despite painting, making jewelry, preparing for a houseload of company, I'm running up and down the stairs with two insecure birds on my shoulder, caring for two-legged and four-legged patients like a much friendlier version of Nurse Ratchid ... ( right about to fly over the cuckoo's nest myself!) Just picture me chasing down dogs, cornering them, slathering on neosporin and stuffing hot dogs loaded with antibiotics down their throats. It doesn't actually bare thinking, does it?
Trouble is, I'm not sure at this point if it was the teenager who got that last antibiotic stuffed in a hot dog or the Irishman who got the neosporin slathered on his eye. And who, for godsakes, took the last purple pill!
A spa sounds "real nice" right about now ... actually a small cave in the Andes shared with nothing but a family of roving coatimundies sounds heavenly.
Sigh....
Note: For those of you who DON'T remember ... here's words from that infamous country variety show of the 60's featuring Buck Owens and the Buckaroos, Roy Clark, Grandpa Jones,and a whole slew of old time country-western singers which I must say I loved to watch and who's huge audience base shall forever baffle mankind, science and the arts, while somehow managing to remain time immemorial:
"Gloom, despair and agony on me
Deep dark depression, excessive misery
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all
Gloom, despair and agony on me...."
That's about it.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
getting tagged and the seven things
as I sat down to write my entry this morning, I was very excited to see that I'd been tagged by my fellow etsy jewelry maker Ackeloade! Hmmmmm....You're sneaky! Not that I really understand anything about being tagged, mind you, it just seemed... well ... exciting anyway. I have noted this "tagging" phenomonen going on as I've perused the blogs on a regular basis while taking my morning tea, and thought it looked fun... and I especially love to read those seven "things" everyone must tell about themselves once they've been tagged. They MUST tell secret things about themselves... or... or ... like ... self-destruct or something. So ... sure as heck ...I'm game!
The only thing is ... now that I'm the tagEE... I also get to be the tagER ... which I'm not so sure how that will work, since as a child I never liked being IT because everyone ran so darn fast and hid so darn well! Oh, wait ... that's hide and seek, isn't it? We're not playing that, right? (Oh... distraction... just this moment I looked up to catch Vera out in my flower box digging up the pansies! Lovely!) For those of you who missed it, Vera is the (sweet?) squirrel who lives in the giant cedar tree next to my deck. (So where was I? Golly, I am easily distracted, obviously... I suppose that should be one of my 7 things).
Okay .... so here goes:
Gosh ... I'm only to number three?
The only thing is ... now that I'm the tagEE... I also get to be the tagER ... which I'm not so sure how that will work, since as a child I never liked being IT because everyone ran so darn fast and hid so darn well! Oh, wait ... that's hide and seek, isn't it? We're not playing that, right? (Oh... distraction... just this moment I looked up to catch Vera out in my flower box digging up the pansies! Lovely!) For those of you who missed it, Vera is the (sweet?) squirrel who lives in the giant cedar tree next to my deck. (So where was I? Golly, I am easily distracted, obviously... I suppose that should be one of my 7 things).
Okay .... so here goes:
- Number One: I am easily distracted. I think I have undiagnosed ADD. I can certainly hyperfocus, like when I'm eating chocolate ice cream or reading a totally forgettable romance novel. I can be vigilant about the strangest things ... like noticing that one of the sofa pillows is in the wrong position or noticing that one window smudge in an otherwise immaculate house (okay ... on the rare ocassion the house is immaculate) ... but paying bills, balancing my check book, talking about cars or plumbing, doing anything math related ... you can be pretty sure the lights are on, but no one's home.
- Number Two: I am a dog maniac and magnet. I have been known to cross to the other side of the road just to visit with doggies ... worse, while driving...swerve to the side of the road in order to jump out and visit with doggies. Sad isn't it. Really? And wherever I go, dogs seem to find me. I'm always trying to save them ... sometimes to my detriment and everyone elses. And have brought home my share of strays, sad sacks and lost souls of the four legged persuasian in my lifetime. Once, I found a huge german shephard running along the highway. I coaxed him into my back seat with my son, then a toddler in a car seat, and drove home to check out his tags and call his owner, all the while he hung his huge head over my shoulder, licking my ear or my baby son's face. We found the owner, by the way.
Gosh ... I'm only to number three?
- Number Three: I am a 2nd degree Reiki practitioner. Reiki is an ancient healing art discovered in Japan which involves the laying on of hands. I received my first attunements seven years ago, and only last year felt ready to move up to level II. (I'm a slow mover ... that's another thing!) I have had great success using it on myself and other's to dissipate aches and pains, skin disorders, depression and animal ailments. I love it so much because it feels so nurturing and deeply relaxing to the giver and receiver. It's a miracle right in our midst and I'm surprised at how many people don't know about it, or merely dismiss it without ever having experienced it.
That's all for today because I will need to think about the other "things" before I continue, and also, it's already quite late already ... just look at the clock! I must run. So, I will return tomorrow morning (or maybe later tonight if I am able) to provide the remaining 4 "things" and decide, too, who I get to tag! I can't wait!
It's the next day already! And I decided I would pick up the next "things" in the same blog entry, otherwise, well ... it would just be too confusing.
Number Four: I'm a popcorn-a-holic. In my book, popcorn is the 5th food group and must be consumed on a daily basis or else the body will have a nervous breakdown. I'm very careful, mind you, to make sure I buy only good popcorn with 0 transfats. Orville Redenbacher makes some lovely popcorn worthy of addicted souls like me.
Number Five: I am the most disorganized person I've ever met. Truth. But I hide it very well and most of my friends are totally unaware. This is why, I try to do all things at once. Because of my undiagnosed ADD, I try to do everything on my mind all at the same time and it isn't easy to read ten books, work on 12 projects, clean all the rooms of the house, paint the front door, re-design the garden, re-arrange the furniture, write a romance novel, meditate, pay the bills, learn a new technique , bake a pie, make a list of all the things I need to do, listen to all my favorite music and relax with a cup of tea or a glass of wine all at the same time! It's downright dysfunctional. I just want to do everything now and I don't want to wait and I have no ability to see tomorrow because I'm so entangled in today. Sad, isn't it. Funny thing is, I'm usually pretty calm about it.
Number Six: I hate to cook. First let me clarify one thing. I absolutely LOVE to bake! And I really LOVE to eat baked things ... cookies, especially. Okay ... I like cake too. Pie's nice. I think I hate to cook because I"m so busy doing all the other things listed in Number Five above (you might wish to scroll up and re-read those). That's why Pizza Tuesday is my favorite night of the week. Because I don't have to cook! I am very jealous of the wonderful cooks I see in the blogs ... so creative! Such skill. I truly wish I could enjoy cooking more. But I'm more likely to put on a roast, and head off to do other things while it cooks, then forget the roast is in the oven. Not good. Just ask my husband.
Number Seven (FINALLY): I love rain. It's not that I hate the sun. It's very pretty and it does warm things up nicely and where would my flowers be without it. But my favorite day in the world is a rainy one. Where the rain falls gently or in torrents, it doesn't really matter. If I have places to go, I prefer a warm, gentle mist. If I have a good book a clean house and no place to go, I prefer powerful wind and lashing rain! I love to work in my shop with the door open on a rainy, summer day. The air is thickly scented with Douglas fir and dark, fertile earth and everything is sparkling and clean. My dream day: If I can pull on a sweater, wool socks, jeans and boots and head off down a wooded lane with my dogs on a misty morning ... there is nothing sweeter in life. I've died and gone to heaven.
So that's my seven. And now I get to be IT. That will have to wait for a later post!
Friday, August 10, 2007
future work in progress
I've been searching for sometime for very pale blue turquoise and having no luck. I found these lovely rounds, although not the blue I really wanted, but I think I will settle this time. The key is antiqued brass which I plan to somehow include in this piece as a pendant.
Can we play?
Guess they win.
Later.... ~L
As turquoise is blue it is associated with the sky-blue color of the throat chakra and therefore increases the power and clarity of that particular energy center, assisting the wearer with finding their own voice and speaking their truth. Somehow, in my mind, the key signifies opening that particular gate or portal and setting free an extraordinary life purpose and authentic story in the world.
But, alas, that is the extent of my creative spark today, my studio needing a good cleaning and major feat of organization. Then of course ... there are my friends....
Can we play? Guess they win.
Later.... ~L
Thursday, July 26, 2007
the morning constitution
the dentist reassured me my tooth would give me no further problems ... and so I went to breakfast to chomp on some eggs and toast just to make sure ... and plenty of hot coffee with cream, too. And you know what? It held up? No problem yet. Tonight I'll try some popcorn just to make sure.
When I came home, I pulled on my walking shoes and the dogs and I headed off to the park for a morning run.
leaving me in the dust they are off to explore the road ahead ... what fun! plenty of bushes to be marked and smelly things to roll in before she can catch up with us...
where is that slowpoke? Better wait up. we don't want her to exert herself too much! Poor decrepit old devil.
As I sat in the dentist's chair this morning, I did some very important thinking. Why all the most important thoughts seem to come when I'm about to be tortured, I'm not sure ... but, this is what I realized, when I'm home and should be working, I seem to find a zillion other things to do, none of which have any real purpose other than to take up a good portion of my day, by the end of which, I can honestly say I've done nothing.
I've decided a list is in order. A list of things to do so my day will appear to have some reasonable format and that things I set out to do in my head, I actually do ... as in, physically DO THEM, not just think about doing them and having done that, think I'm done. Make sense? Nor to me, really. Still ... I think its a good idea.
that will be the subject of my next post ... my list ... or ... how to prioritize my day ... something like that.
til then, then ...
When I came home, I pulled on my walking shoes and the dogs and I headed off to the park for a morning run.
leaving me in the dust they are off to explore the road ahead ... what fun! plenty of bushes to be marked and smelly things to roll in before she can catch up with us...where is that slowpoke? Better wait up. we don't want her to exert herself too much! Poor decrepit old devil..................................................................................................................................................
As I sat in the dentist's chair this morning, I did some very important thinking. Why all the most important thoughts seem to come when I'm about to be tortured, I'm not sure ... but, this is what I realized, when I'm home and should be working, I seem to find a zillion other things to do, none of which have any real purpose other than to take up a good portion of my day, by the end of which, I can honestly say I've done nothing.
I've decided a list is in order. A list of things to do so my day will appear to have some reasonable format and that things I set out to do in my head, I actually do ... as in, physically DO THEM, not just think about doing them and having done that, think I'm done. Make sense? Nor to me, really. Still ... I think its a good idea.
that will be the subject of my next post ... my list ... or ... how to prioritize my day ... something like that.
til then, then ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
