Quiet Morning

When sleeping on the couch, your best bet is to empty the couch cushions onto the living room floor and make a nest of them. Shamash has figured out that Mommy spent the night in my room, and has consequently been crying at my door for his breakfast.

It's a quiet day. Feels cool and damp, or maybe that's just the fishtank and the a/c.

Cut my finger yesterday, changing the filters on the a/c.

Anime club today. May or may not go. Clover may take us upon an adventure of shopping. Yay Clover!

Shamash has been sticking his striped face into the holes in the couch, hoping for access to the lower regions so he can have a private space of his own without people snagging back the stuff he's swiped for his altar.

I'm lonely, rescue me

( In the bright lights of morning, I'm seeing why I almost fell apart last night. )

Mmm, hugs.

I like hugs.

I just need to be better about remembering to get them regularly.

Insights while scrubbing the bathtub

If you're one of those people who looks beyond the surface as a matter of habit, and someone asks a question with right answers and wrong ones, and says that the first answer that comes to mind is not going to be right, you'll discard that right answer and go scooping deeper into the far-out theoretical, and come up finally with some of the fluff answers that your classmates are being told to discard.

crawling back towards normality

Votania made cappucinos today. This is a normal weekend type thing for her to do. Those things make me hyper, wired, and weird. I've been picking up bits and pieces from all over my room, and ended up scrubbing the bathtub and the toilet. I'm also in the process of going through the spices. One of the jars labelled Black Peppercorns actually contained the slightest sprinkling of pepper dust and dirt.

I've been putting herbs from plastic baggies into jars, and consolidating jars into jars. I brewed myself some tea. I like it. It's lemongrass, lavender, rose, parsley, and a bit of anise, and it's for the settling of stomachs unsettled by too much caffeine. Honey in it is good. I can see the surface of my altar again. It was taken over by the GUDS project, and then overlaid projects. As I only tend to use it for the arts-and-crafts side of the Craft, and my major workings go on internally, it's not particularly noticeable when it starts to get cluttered.

The first inklings of order are beginning to creep back into the room. One container of leftover rainbow rotini/alfredo sauce/hamburger is gone from the refrigerator; votania and marxdarx and I are all satisfied equally.

Beautiful Arizona fall weather out there, nice and "crisp" (only in the 80's or so) with lovely skies and our windows are open.

Whewh.

Spice rack is cleaned out. I put duplicates up, and consolidated jars, and brought some of the things that tend to get lost in the cupboard down to where they can be accessed.

Consequently, finding stuff in the kitchen's going to be a bit of a task for the next little bit until everything decides where it's really going to wind up being.

Sadly...

The words of truth straight out of one mind don't settle well in mine; I hear angst and drama where pain and tragedy should be. I am too much the editor, ever wishing to make over inexperienced words in my own image.

Most offerings of poetry I pass over, avoid, if the words don't settle in my mind and ring clear. If a few awkward notes strike, I skim, and eventually skip.

Angelou, Frost: they cry out loud and strong. Shakespeare. Others. They sing to me with the voice of ages, undimmed.

Other words were only meant for the moment, and ring soft, then fade away. Read again, the bell cracks, the tone is soured. I can't read those words over. They were not meant for me.