Too...many...options

First, news: naudia's surgery was performed last night, and though apparently there were various entertainments to do with pain blocking that didn't work, things otherwise went favorably. She's to be released sometime this afternoon.

I was originally planning to go to Mudthaw this afternoon, but Beth opted out on account of life pressure, and that was enough to activate my lame-out powers. I don't know what to do today: paint, play Vice City, watch our Netflix backlog...I could sew; there are a bunch of projects I have piled up. I could write up my Delta Green character, or clean out my dresser, or figure out some sane way of wrangling the spare bedding so it's around when we have a full house but not underfoot the rest of the time, or make the driving mix I've been intending to do for two years, or make an attempt at doing the taxes, or actually plan a budget for myself.

Or I could sit around in indecision for the whole day, which is what usually happens. I'd rather not, though.

A note to the weather people.

Dear people in charge of weather:

Please stop with the continual wind gusts we've had all week and look to have for the foreseeable future, because it makes it awful fucking difficult to do any work that involves spraying, and I'd like to get varnish topcoats on Aaron and Drea and primer some of the CoC figures sometime before I die of old age, or at least before it gets too humid to paint.

Love,
Me.

A word from the "where are they now?" department

Betsey just phoned me to share a bit of WTF? into my life. She gets the Great Lakes Brewing Company newsletter (for reasons that escape me, because they don't ship their beers to Boston any more than they ship 'em here), and opening the current issue, she found that their "spotlight on employee" feature was on someone I went to school with (she recognized the name, as his elder sister was in her class). It seems that he's their head of warehouse production, which going by the description equals "quartermaster": making sure the right quantities of hops and malt and whatnot come in, and the right quantities of beer go out to the right places. And before that, he was a lumberjack.

Gennaro the lumberjack. Weird enough, and plus, who the fuck knew we even had lumberjacks in Ohio? This is surreal on so many different levels; I love it.

In other news, the reorganization of my dresser proceeds apace, thank you; and Steve has just left to pick up naudia from the hospital.