(no subject)

I've got a couple posts brewing, all of them a little disjointed. Something about enough, something about change and dealing with disappointment, something about schedules and their fullness, or lack of fullness. My words are all stuttery, I'm fumbled-fingered and full of backtracks and dead ends, and all my sentence wander around points rather than ending in them.

I've been doing things, and they've all been either fun or interesting. I've got dates with both my little brothers in the coming week, Chile's coming over for dinner tomorrow, I ushered a production of Henry V(for the free tickets), I had my first volunteer stint as a library intern for PRA, I went to a nonprofit job fair, I bought myself two silly British cookbooks (delia's summer and winter collections).

Possibly the most interesting though was while at my parents' house, I stumbled upon a bag of correspondence from the 1890s/1900s. Seeing that I like the bag, my mother showed me the giant boxes they have of stuff they just pulled from Tampa's house when he died. I got to see a bunch of pictures of my grandfather from the 40s, when he enlisted, and my grandmother was gorgeous as a young girl, and gasoline ration cards, and all sorts of other interesting stuff. Mom's told me I can go through it all and try to sort and store it if I want, which sounds like the most exciting project ever.

I feel like any day that doesn't contain eight hours of working for a paycheck can't possibly count as busy, that I'm not allowed to be tired at the end of it so I am prone to overloading days, discounting whatever my body's trying to tell me. Today, however, I am sneezy and in my giant new pajamas on the couch, with Funnyface doing her best to stop me from doing anything whatsoever, and here I shall stay.

(no subject)

I've got a couple posts brewing, all of them a little disjointed. Something about enough, something about change and dealing with disappointment, something about schedules and their fullness, or lack of fullness. My words are all stuttery, I'm fumbled-fingered and full of backtracks and dead ends, and all my sentence wander around points rather than ending in them.

I've been doing things, and they've all been either fun or interesting. I've got dates with both my little brothers in the coming week, Chile's coming over for dinner tomorrow, I ushered a production of Henry V(for the free tickets), I had my first volunteer stint as a library intern for PRA, I went to a nonprofit job fair, I bought myself two silly British cookbooks (delia's summer and winter collections).

Possibly the most interesting though was while at my parents' house, I stumbled upon a bag of correspondence from the 1890s/1900s. Seeing that I like the bag, my mother showed me the giant boxes they have of stuff they just pulled from Tampa's house when he died. I got to see a bunch of pictures of my grandfather from the 40s, when he enlisted, and my grandmother was gorgeous as a young girl, and gasoline ration cards, and all sorts of other interesting stuff. Mom's told me I can go through it all and try to sort and store it if I want, which sounds like the most exciting project ever.

I feel like any day that doesn't contain eight hours of working for a paycheck can't possibly count as busy, that I'm not allowed to be tired at the end of it so I am prone to overloading days, discounting whatever my body's trying to tell me. Today, however, I am sneezy and in my giant new pajamas on the couch, with Funnyface doing her best to stop me from doing anything whatsoever, and here I shall stay.