Not Enough Hours in a Day

Being sick has to be the biggest time suck in the world. There's never enough time and energy to do everything that needs to be done. From the moment I open my eyes in the morning, I'm late. The alarm is set for 6:05 am and goes off for an hour. I usually wake up at 7:15. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about that. My body says, "You need sleep more than you need to get up right now," and refuses to flip the switch. I stagger into the bathroom and deal with a good 15-20 minutes of unpleasantness. I clean up from that and then some days I stagger to the laundry room to check the status of whatever sat in the dryer over night. Usually it's not dry yet, so I give it another spin. Back to the bathroom, where I climb in the shower and wash the really important bits. A couple days a week I'll wave a razor in the general vicinity of my under arms. Then I'll sign and look down at all the hair on my legs that I once again won't be shaving. Out of the shower. Dry off. Brush teeth. Towel dry and brush hair. Maybe slap on a little moisturizer if my face is dry.

Next stop the living room. Pull the cell phone off the charger and stuff it in my purse. Make sure I have a full compliment of feminine protection, in case of unfortunate accidents. Make sure I have all my meds. Depending on how late I am at this point, or if the weather is doing something funky, I'll turn on the National news for a few minutes. Someone is grilling something or singing something. If the timing is right I might get to hear a bunch of tourists squeal and wave signs while one or two lucky ones get to tell about their mission trip from South Podunk. And then maybe some weather. All the while pulling on the least wrinkled of the clean clothes piled on top of my dining room table. Put my shoes on. Feed the cat. Hopefully remember to bring a plastic cup so I don't have to drink out of the mini paper ones. Save a tree. And a trip to the water dispenser.

If I'm really lucky there will be something easy to grab for breakfast at my desk. Lean Pocket breakfast pockets, maybe. But usually I ate the last one yesterday and there's nothing. So it's a peanut butter sandwich or a bowl of cold cereal. (Do you have any idea what a hassle it is to pack a bowl of cold cereal to go?) Check again to make sure I have my meds. Trip over the cat on the way out the door.

Arrive at work around 8:20. (Twenty minutes late.) Deal with a grumpy boss who claims to understand my condition but still is mad when I'm not there on the dot of 8. Try not to resent the hypocrisy when he leaves to run his son to sports camp/takes the afternoon off for a massage/takes an hour to get a hair cut/wanders out of the office with a vague "I'll be back" and returns twenty minutes later with a smoothie.

Drag myself through miles of mind numbing paperwork. Hope that I'll make it all the way to Friday before collapsing. Wonder how I'm going to make it to the grocery store after work. Wonder if I really have to. Convince myself that I can squeeze at least one more meal out of the stuff in the freezer and pantry. Stagger out the door at 5:01.

Get home and spend another 20 unpleasant minutes in the bathroom. Clean up again and raid the kitchen. There is nothing to eat. Manage a meal out of ramen noodles, cheese sticks, and a package of diced peaches just slightly past their due date. Put the dirty dishes in the sink. They'll keep 'til tomorrow. Or next week. Or whenever you feel good enough to scrape off the fuzz and throw them in the dishwasher. Vegetate on the couch. Knit a little. Talk to Mom on the phone. Try to pretend things are better than they are. Don't manage to fool her. Go read a book in the bathroom for a while. Final round of medicine for the night. Hope I can do it all tomorrow. After all, it was only Tuesday.

Hello? Pizza joint? Is anyone home?

All I want is a pizza. And maybe some bread sticks. You know, something starchy and fatty that I'll enjoy in the moment and then pay for later. Is that so much to ask? Apparently, it is. I've placed six phone calls to three different locations of a national pizza chain, and they all say that they don't cover my area, someone else does. I've talked to three different managers. They all point the finger at someone else. Now I'm waiting for one of them to call me back and tell me, finally and for sure, which location will take my order. I'm not holding my breath. It really shouldn't be this hard to sin.

The Man With the Golden Torc

Just a quickie today. More to come.

I've been reading The Man With the Golden Torc by Simon R. Green. It's... I don't know what it is. Different. Funny in a way I'm not used to seeing in Urban Fantasy. Repetitive. The author could have used some help from an editor or critique partner. When the action is going he's fine. But when he's describing stuff we get the same info two or three times. Those sections read like NaNo drafts. The main character is perfectly serious, but some of the superhero stuff is wacky, maybe even camp. I'm enjoying it, but I'm not sure if I'd read a follow up. I'll definitely finish this one, though. This book just might be Art. It's definitely causing a reaction, although I can't quite nail down what the reaction is.

And I'm not quite 100 pages in yet. I'll let you know what I think when I finish.

Certain Girls

I spent the morning and half the afternoon reading Certain Girls by Jennifer Weiner. What a rip-off. I'd heard that it was really funny, but I couldn't find anything funny about it. I'm not really surprised- the first book had a fair bit of tragedy before finding a happy ending. There was no happy ending for this one. I sobbed my way through the last forty pages.

Spoilers Ahead.

Why did she have to kill Peter? What purpose did it serve in the story? None that I could see, other than a cheap way to wring tears out of the reader. It finally looks like the problems between Cannie and Joy have been worked out, and BAM! Her husband dies. At the end of the book she's lost her job and her husband. Joy, her 13 year-old daughter seems to be holding things together. She's written another book- one that's she's not too sure of and will likely cause more problems. And worst of all, she's got a brand new baby that I'm not convinced she ever wanted.

I don't mind a little tragedy in my books, but there's got to be an emotional payoff of some sort at the end. I'm sorry, there was no payoff for me in this book. No resolution. Just more misery. And a headache for me, from crying so hard.

And now I have to get it back to the library so it can make someone else miserable. Boy, am I glad I didn't read it at the beach house like I'd planned.

Is it weird?

So, I met this guy a couple of years ago. He was smart, nice, funny, had a cool job. I was definitely interested. In fact, he's the only guy I'd met in years that made me sit up and think "Wow!" And he seemed interested, too. We met through a writing group, and he always made a point to talk to me. There was even an email or two exchanged.

And then he just disappeared.

In this group that's not terribly unusual. Things get busy and life intrudes and people wander off. He's a few years older, and I know he had kids. Maybe it was just really bad timing. But I thought there was something there.

Is it too weird that I still think about this guy every once in a while?

New Knitty

The new Knitty is up. Yippie! And they've announced their 2009 calendar contest. I'm so new to the online knitting community that I didn't even know they had a calendar, let alone a contest to fill it. I'd love to enter, but if you've seen any of my pictures here on the blog, you know I am not one of the world's great photographers. Actually, I'm not bad. I just don't have a great camera. The light isn't so hot in my apartment, either. But I'm not spending a bunch of money on a new camera right now.

Also, I need to knit something to take a picture of. I should probably work on that part first, huh? I've got a pile of patterns I want to make, including a couple of sock patterns from the summer issue. This one is designed for self-striping yarn, and you know I love me some self-striping yarn. http://www.knitty.com/ISSUEsummer08/PATTmuscari.html I think that one is my favorite of the bunch.

As you may have guessed, I am back from vacation. I'm not up to blogging about it yet- maybe this weekend. I remembered to take my camera, but forgot to use it, so sorry. No pictures. Whoops!

An Annual Event

Brace yourselves, folks. I shaved my legs this morning. That's right, I've spent the last year as a hairy feminist. Not out of any particular political conviction (Although I'm proud to say I'm a feminist. What's up with all the women today who say they aren't feminists? Do you like being paid less for the same job or having others limit your access to reproductive care and birth control? Really now.), but because I've been too exhausted/lazy to deal with it. Let me tell you, it takes a lot of energy to shave that much acreage on a semi-regular basis.

You wouldn't believe the hassle in shaving off a year's worth of leg hair. First of all, it requires multiple razors. That much hair dulls the blades fast. If you want to leave the skin and remove the hair, you'd better be prepared to switch out at least half way through. And then there's the problem of missing spots. When you shave regularly and miss a spot, no one is going to notice a little stubble. (Unless they're feeling on your legs, in which case Good For You!) When you've got a year's worth of leg hair and you miss a spot, it's visible from space. I think I got it all, but I guarantee I'll find a big ol' spot when I put on my shorts at the beach tomorrow. Whoops!

I can't wait to get there. I missed the beach house last year because I was in the hospital. I was so damn sick I hardly even regretted it at the time. All I wanted to do was lie there. Even if they'd sprung me, I couldn't have managed the trip. This year it may not be all good- things have been a little rough again this week- but it's a hell of a lot better than last year.

I even remembered to pack my camera, so maybe I'll have a few pictures to post next week!