serinde

I am somewhat covered in bees this week. It's mostly not start-of-semester crap, strange to say, but other things that are all landing at the same time; and I am never at my mental/emotional best when I can't exercise, so this is of course going to end wonderfully for everyone. But Mom is coming to visit this weekend, and I need to clean house, and tonight was theoretically the only evening I can do it. At the same time, I am again overpressed with farm share bounty; but lo! there is a work barbecue/potluck tomorrow! My bees were making it difficult for me to even figure that out, and I lost some time to general lazy-ass nothing, but in the event it proved that the avoidance brain would rather cook than clean.

I am not posting the recipe process per usual, because I am using nearly straight-up recipes from Smitten Kitchen: Slaw Tartare, which cuts down on the strategic cabbage reserves as well as finishing up some cornichon and capers that have been sitting around forever[1], and Dimply Plum Cake (fnarr fnarr), because I have all of the plums in the world[2].

It is now 9:40 and I have not cleaned a blessed thing other than dishes. The whole place is covered in cat fur, I have pieces of a Bronzino sari dress and a half-done chemise all over the living room, the bathroom is a right mess, and the bed Mom is theoretically sleeping in may not in fact have sheets or pillows on it; I haven't checked. Oh, and I have no clean towels. Perhaps I shall buy new ones. ><

[1] Change from printed: I used half yogurt, half mayo.
[2] Change from printed: I used lemon olive oil in place of canola.

Apparently yesterday's mental vomit cleared the poisons from the system. Although I did wake up a few times last night, it was for purely climatological reasons ("too chilly with the fan on, turn it off" "too stuffy with the fan off, turn it on"). And that shall be addressed with the purchase of a ceiling fan, which I shall undertake today. Watch this space for hilarious tales of home improvement follies--though at least, after blowing a fuse two sewing nights ago, I know which circuit to turn off while messing with the electrics.

I observe that my last several non-cooking posts were heavy on the stress and upset, so let me take a moment to reassure the Gentle Readers that matters are improving on most fronts. Ranger is in fine fettle and appears to have entirely recovered from his abscess. I have not yet been able to take him back to discuss the potential kidney issues, but he's eating, drinking, relieving, active (for age 17) and engaged; even his coat is looking better. I have been diligent in getting settled into the new place, and although there is still a dauntingly long list of Things To Do, it is definitely in a livable state. Not yet an entertain-able state, perhaps, at least not IMAO, but matters are progressing. And, I am finally reunited with all my STUF, including that which had been stored in sweh's garage for the last four years.

Work is still getting ahead of me. The first session of the leadership program was terrific, though intense (duh), and there's a lot of homework and what-not I have to do; the idea is that you take these principles and apply them in your daily work, and then you need to Show Your Work. So there's that, and then there's also the big software implementation project I am running; and when you add that to the day-to-day, plus me being gone for a week, then various other people being gone for training, and now I'm going to be out three days for training on said software...I feel like it's all getting ahead of me. I'm not as stressed as I was last year about this time, thank fuck; it's not spoiling my sleep and I don't have electric worms running along my nerves; but I have definite moments of EVERYBODY PANIC. Well, I knew it would be a tough spring. Keep on keepin' on.

I am putting out cautious buds on the creative front as well. A Super-Secret Knitting Project, which is using a number of techniques I've never done before, is going well and may even be done on deadline for a change. At the last minute (and I do mean the last minute) I put my blue, unlined GFD into the A&S competition at Mudthaw...which, to be honest, I thought was a display not a competition, or I might not have done it...and got tolerably good feedback, and in the course of discussion of it I somehow committed to teach a class at Pennsic and also at Southern Region War Camp; and I'm excited to get to work on the summer sewing. (Though I need to bung the spare room/sewing room into better shape before that can advance.)

The main stressor, other than direct work stuff, is that there's so much I want to do and there aren't enough hours in the day. I can win some time by managing my time more wisely, but I fear I am still going to have to re-engineer some expectations, and I hate that. And I haven't even started folding in workout choices--extra time/extra hassle if I start commuting by bike, or timing and logistics if I start going to the neighborhood dojo or yoga studio. But I know I'm going to need one or more of those in order to not go mad. I really love the local hang-out/cafe/bar; they have a quiz night, they have a KNITTING CIRCLE, they have good live music, but if I go there much I shall be in the poorhouse, let alone the time sink. And I want to chum around with the peeps who live up here. At the same time, I want to stay in and nest and bloody well finish Skyrim and catch up on TV shows and and and.

This working-for-a-living thing. What bosh.

I need to be out of my apartment in 2.2 months. That...is rather soon, when you put it down baldly that way. I had consciously put packing out of my mind, because that's one of those tasks in which early action does not redound to your benefit, mostly, and trebly so when Your Life In Boxes becomes a sliding-block puzzle on account of a total lack of storage; but the sweet spot of when to pack is at the pinnacle of a very, very narrow spike on the graph over time. And I think I am rapidly accelerating upslope.

So, pack what? Books (I can make do with the ebook reader), DVDs (I can make do with Netflix), stalled sewing projects (haw haw). The kitchen stuff I rarely use. Tchotchkes. ...that should keep me busy for awhile.

I'm also debating how best to acquire boxes. Last time, I caused U-Line to deposit an Imperial butt-ton of them on my doorstep, which was okay because there was a garage with no car in it to stage them in. I think that won't work here. But, it seems fiscally broken to buy them in batches-of-five from Staples or whatever. How do normal apartment dwellers deal with it?

I want to go to sleep, but I'm actually more awake now than I was at 5pm. I have also noticed the last week or so that I'm starting to get that electric-worms-under-skin feeling that accompanied last spring's extended freak-out. It would seem that I am stressed, and sublimating it. I would like that to stop now, but I don't know how to fix it.

I looked forward to a nice lie-in followed by productivity, but this was truncated by Spinach Cat taking a leaf (haw haw) from Chaos Cat and dumping a pile of CDs off my dresser sometime around daybreak. Slogging towards functionality now. I am feeling a little bit enervated, though whether that's processing from the wake last night or hormonal stuff or what, I do not know.

Point of self-aggrandizement: my funky new galoshes came through yesterday's snow/sleet/rain/slush horrors with flying colors, and were therefore an entirely justifiable purchase. Because, honestly, the average snow boot is useful maybe once or twice in a New York winter (barring last year's silliness), whereas something like this will be useful on a near-daily basis.

Anyways, on to the list:
1. Pay bills, balance metaphorical checkbook (by which I mean Moneydance), go through paperwork, etc.
2. Make hotel reservation for next weekend.
3. Pickle the backlog of squash.
4. Tack down lining of red wool gown, and possibly the checked wool as well, so that they can be PUT AWAY.
5. Wind the 2nd skein of current-project wool into a ball.

Extra credit:
- Pick a day to hit up Butterfly Silks (anyone wanna go fabric shopping?)
- Pick a day to exchange camisoles that are too big, preferably before the 90-day return period is up, ahem
- Noodle a bit on rental sites, see where apartment-hunting efforts should be concentrated when the rubber hits the road.
- Morally, I oughta get some stuff written up for work.

Tomorrow's priorities:
- Procure and mail a birthday card for Mom
- Call Callen-Lorde and shout some more since it seems they still have not submitted the bill for various tests to the correct insurance company. (Quaere: does it work to call the testing company and give them my insurance info directly? or will it then be rejected because it didn't come through the primary care provider? YES WE HAVE THE BEST HEALTH CARE SYSTEM IN THE WORLD)
- Send back the last Netflix disc lest I own a copy of it forever. When I switched my account to "no DVDs just streaming" the other week, I expected them to have the clue to say "oh we'll delete your DVD queue then". Not so much.

As most of the Gentle Readers are aware, I have been happy in my apartment for the past two years. I was wibbling a little bit when renewal time came around this year (which I must needs sign in January, for a cycle date of April 1), but that was because I could use just a little more space to get my sewing on and reunite the last of my stuff that sweh is storing for me, not because I wasn't content. But because I was still happy, and because I knew that the winter/spring was going to be direfully busy & I would be in no shape to hunt a new place, I re-upped.

Immediately, of course, my DSL and phone line started having continual issues, my drains started blocking up, and a bunch of annoying people moved into the building, which also compelled the live-in super (who can be ... tricky to deal with, but who thinks I'm dandy and was always happy to sign for my packages) to retire because she was sick of dealing with their shit.

The telecomms have been fixed. The drains have been fixed (New Super managed that, and seems nice enough, though he's a bit of a dip). However, the crazy Russians on the fifth floor still have their periodic shrieking, door-slamming 1am fights into the airshaft, the drunken twat on the fourth floor still slams all the buzzers at the wee hours 'cause she always forgets her keys[1]...and then there's Downstairs Guy.

I met Downstairs Guy in passing when he moved in, and he seemed like an okay guy; bit awkward. Local gossip via ex-super says he's a divorcee who is Getting Himself Together and all--well, I can surely relate. However, we find that his method of Getting Himself Together seems to revolve around a relationship with Mary Jane, if'n you knows what I means. This is none of my business and I would neither know nor care, except that he leaves his back door, some eight inches below my window, standing open when he lights up, and the smoke comes right up into my window, permeating all the way back to the bedroom. Apparently he does not like his apartment to smell of ganja. WELL NEITHER DO I.

Anyone who cracks wise about "lol contact high lol" will get nad-punches, because I cannot stand the smell of pot smoke; I never could, and if there is enough of it I get sick to my stomach. Nor am I going to close my windows, because a) I live for fresh air, and b) I don't have aircon so the instant we stop being 55 and rainy the place will be deadly if I do. After a certain amount of agonizing and whining on Facebook, as one does, I penned a polite note in which I mentioned that I had no objection to his pastime but I really disliked having the smoke in my apartment, so if he could close his door when smoking up I'd really appreciate it; and this I slipped under his door one fine morning.

Mirabile dictu, it actually seemed to work for a time, but in the last two weeks he's started up more than ever. One evening, fortified by cocktails, I actually yelled out the window "PLEASE TURN YOUR WEED DOWN", but I have no idea if he even heard it... New York custom permits of some several responses to this situation. Passive-aggressive, sarcastic notes posted publicly in the stairwell is a respected art form. There is always shot-rolling, i.e. making horrendous noises on my floor/his ceiling at hours of day or night for equivalent annoyance. One could whine to the super and/or the landlord. There is the nuclear option--hollering copper--but I have moral objections to that (and it's not like they'll put it at the top of their to-do list anyways). Or creative, specific solutions such as reaching down through the fire escape slats with my broomstick and closing his door forcibly when the smoke rises.

Or, hey, I guess I could go knock on his door and try talking to him. I have all kinds of resistance to this idea, as I am still deep down a self-effacing, non-confrontational, good Midwestern child. (Not to mention, if he decides to get stroppy, he will know for sure who His Enemy is.) Tonight, however, I actually got to the point of getting dressed again in preparation of so doing, but by the time I did he finished his doob and the smell was gone so I didn't really have anything to propel me.

I have no idea what I'm going to do if this doesn't work, though. Can one break one's lease because of smoky neighbors?

[1] This is much more amusing in Breakfast at Tiffany's than it is in real life, I do assure you.

The party can, I think, be labeled quite a success. My clever decompression techniques notwithstanding, almost everyone was there between 6 and 10pm, but there was enough population rotation that it did not get too crowded to move, so that's okay. I never did make the gougères, and at that, I still have a lot of terribly unhealthy stuff left over, in spite of giving a whole bunch to elibalin and nedlnthred. And a full pitcher of sangria, yet. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. (I am not as who should say hung over, in spite of a steady rate of booze consumption from 1pm - 10pm, but my stomach is more pleased with herbal iced tea today than is usually the case. Yes.)

I did hang the curtains and I'm pleased with 'em, as well as my purchase of a retro-ish metal table fan. The balcony chair and table also served well as the smoking section, though I think only the PFY took advantage of it. I may spend some of today's lounging time there.

Apparently we all missed a car bomb at Times Square that failed to go off in the early evening. My parties shake the earth, yo.

The dishes are mostly done, the floors swept (though the kitchen area could use a bit of mop action), and most stuff is squared away. I have to square away some leftover soda and beer, and make the bed, and that's about it.

Shout-outs to:
sweh, for pre-game moral support, schlepping, and making me rest my ankle
nedlnthred, for doing the first round of dishes, and procuring breakfast
elibalin, for also procuring breakfast
And all of you lovely people who came. Thank you all!

Now, I shall relax, with periodic breaks to lounge, and occasionally bask.

I woke up today with a feeling of upset and off-kilter-ness, in part due to a dream I shall not recount at this time. Today at work kinda sucked rather lots, which didn't help. I came home intending to cut out the lining for a new 14th c. overdress (running a copy of my green wool one that has garnered acclaim) (because yes it's great but I NEED TO HAVE MORE THAN ONE OUTFIT FDJKLSFJDKLJF) (ahem.) (It shall be, per pale, black velvet and gold-tapestry-woven-with-a-diamond-and-fleur-de-lis-pattern.) (Should I counterchange the sleeves?) (Am I speaking in LISP?). Instead, in the middle of ironing, I felt myself getting more and more agitated, unable to settle for the state of the apartment as it is, with things bursting out of closets and cluttered dresser tops I can't dust and STILL A BOX OF BOOKS UNPACKED and and and and. So I pulled apart closets and have been rearranging and letting things go and so on. It is going promisingly so far, and I feel calmer and less agitated. So maybe no new dress to fit this weekend, but it seems that I needed to do this thing.

I think I'm even ready to let go my boom box. This is a large entity Mom gave me when I went away to college. The tape decks don't really work so well, the CD player works but is fussy; chiefly I use it for radio (or CDs) when I'm playing games at the computer and so don't want gfefx also playing music. It has really good sound for its size, but...the size. It's huge. It takes up half of my dresser. It could be replaced. What I replace it with won't sound as good, but does it really matter?

If I can sort out a way to keep all the sewing stuff together and accessible, I will have done a good evening's work.