![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I enjoy my life more when I write it down
Dec. 14th, 2004 03:49 pmAnyone know how to keep a small, caged bird from compulsively masturbating? Yeah, me neither.
If I had all the things I need to do written down in one place, in large letters, without a chance to meander or dawdle, I might accomplish something, even something small. But I have no such list, no plan, no coherency. My holiday goal is to attempt to mail out the things I should have mailed out months ago in complete and attractive packages. Ah. There's where I run into trouble: the attractive part. Because then I want to design covers and booklets and superstructures and dresses for every possible use and application, and it all goes to happy hell in a riot of color and disorganization.
Speaking of which, I have a burlesque pattern and then costume to make, and pronto!
So, naturally, I'm going to go to the coffee shop for a bevvie I don't really need. But I've been in self-imposed exile for two days now (trips to the mailbox don't count) and I need foreign air and the sight of other human shapes.
Spent Sunday out in the cold petting Casey and throwing his tennis ball, and I'm glad I did it, but I'm all congested again. He's officially our dog now: we paid his fee, and we signed a contract stating that we won't sue the rescue lady if he ruins our possessions or bites strangers. We still have no fence, and Mr. G is in Kansas City this week going on dates with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shaggirl, so we won't have a fence any time soon. I know how to build a fence, theoretically, but I haven't the physical strength/coordination/wherewithall to actually do so on my own.
I feel like I live dimensions away from the things I see and the urgencies I ought to attend to. Despite knowing otherwise, I function like I live in a world without end. Or clocks.
If I had all the things I need to do written down in one place, in large letters, without a chance to meander or dawdle, I might accomplish something, even something small. But I have no such list, no plan, no coherency. My holiday goal is to attempt to mail out the things I should have mailed out months ago in complete and attractive packages. Ah. There's where I run into trouble: the attractive part. Because then I want to design covers and booklets and superstructures and dresses for every possible use and application, and it all goes to happy hell in a riot of color and disorganization.
Speaking of which, I have a burlesque pattern and then costume to make, and pronto!
So, naturally, I'm going to go to the coffee shop for a bevvie I don't really need. But I've been in self-imposed exile for two days now (trips to the mailbox don't count) and I need foreign air and the sight of other human shapes.
Spent Sunday out in the cold petting Casey and throwing his tennis ball, and I'm glad I did it, but I'm all congested again. He's officially our dog now: we paid his fee, and we signed a contract stating that we won't sue the rescue lady if he ruins our possessions or bites strangers. We still have no fence, and Mr. G is in Kansas City this week going on dates with
shaggirl, so we won't have a fence any time soon. I know how to build a fence, theoretically, but I haven't the physical strength/coordination/wherewithall to actually do so on my own. I feel like I live dimensions away from the things I see and the urgencies I ought to attend to. Despite knowing otherwise, I function like I live in a world without end. Or clocks.
