Confessions of a One-Track Mind

No, I'm not neurotic, what ever gave you that idea? Lay there for an hour, unable to sleep, finally got up, came downstairs and did some more packing: Corraling loose clothes and shoes, getting my staple groceries together, making sure I have something other than my nightgown to put on in the morning. Three pairs of shoes? No, four---don't forget the sneakers. Or my egg pan---apparently, I can cook on a strange stove, but not with a strange pan. Books, magazines, DVDs---I suspect I'll get home tomorrow afternoon and crash like the Hindenburg.

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Heaps of boxes at the curb getting soggy in the rain. Several trash bags too, including one that leaked on its way out of the house, necessiting I stop to mop the trail it left behind. Can I get more out today? Maybe. If I can stop going in circles and muttering to myself. This is one of those days where I'm oozing neuroses out of my pores.

Am going in about four different directions. Trying to clean, talking to J and making calls for her---bless her heart, she has offered to take me around to drop off some applications next week. (Because I'm at the point where I don't have a lot of gas, or money to refill, it's about 15 cents a mile to go anywhere, and one place in particular will ONLY take resumes/applications delivered personally---and they're 10 miles each way. There's a reason I avoid talking about this, it makes my brain short-circuit. Arrrgh.)

I should also do laundry. The garage is horrendous; I flung stuff out there to clear other areas, now I need to deal with it all. And my bedroom closet---that stuff is clean, but most of it can go, either I don't wear it or it doesn't fit. Or I don't wear it because it doesn't fit. Department of Redundancy Department much?

Plus, if I can do sheets and such NOW, I won't have to worry about it when GK gets here. Pillow(s), I'm sure I have a couple I can boil clean. Do I have a twin fitted sheet anywhere? IDK, it's been about 15 years since I've had a twin bed to put one on, but I can always wrap a queen-sized sheet around the mattress. It's only for a few nights. I doubt it'll be cold enough for a quilt, but THAT I've got.

Part of the problem is, Excedrin is the only thing standing between me and involuntary decaffeination. I don't want to take too much of it because I *don't* need the aspirin, so I may get even squirrellier. Be afraid.

Every woman who's used to having a place of her own has her own standards and her own little ways of doing things. Stressful is two women in the same house, and worst of all, it's the house of a crochity old guy who's been on his own for a long time.

I will be the first to admit that my standards of house-keeping are modest. When it comes to the domestic arts, Mb has me beat; she's particular about things that I don't even notice, IE, the proper disposal of soda cans. Mind you, when I shop, there are some things I'm fussy about; I'm more inclined to go with good paper towels and cheap-ass toilet paper than the other way around, I get jumbo eggs, not large, and mayo, not Miracle Whip. But that's just me, YMMV. But---I love Mb and that's fairly minor.

The thing that's making me crazier is the hardware. There's a flat-surface cooktop, which I could deal with---IF all the pans were flat-bottomed. Some are and some aren't, and it's a pain in the ass to start cooking something, realize the pot wobbles, and have to find another pot to dump it into to finish. Most exasperating, there are NO lids for any of them. I know what I've got at home; if I want to make a casserole, I can lay my hand on the right sized dish. If I want to heat something up, I have a pan WITH a lid right there....

I think at some point, Mb and I need to take a day, go through the cupboards and donate the dross to Goodwill. Because seriously, HE'S not going to be cooking again, and WE would be a lot happier if we weren't up to our asses in surplus warped teflon.

Or a yard sale. The odds are Ahab will be going into assisted living at some point. Dementia is progressive, after all. It makes sense to start editing now, since he can't take it ALL with him.

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I'm feeling downright frisky today. Last week, the temps were in the high 80s-low 90s, now it's more like 70-ish, which for me is downright divine! At the same time, the humidity has dropped like a rock, so I've been drinking just as much as when I was sweating my butt off.

Speaking of the lack of butt, yesterday at church I got compliments from all of my cronies as to my weight loss. It's maybe, five pounds since they saw me last, which at my size isn't a vast percentage, IMO. They were all quite firm that it wasn't just what I was wearing (brown tank with brown sequins and bugle beads at the neckline, brown leggings, black flats and a stretchy brown jacket printed with sparkly metallic copper vines and leaves).

Don't get me wrong: I'm working at shaving a few pounds off, and it's nice to get compliments...it just tends to freak me out when people comment on my real or perceived weight loss. A lot of times, I've gotten compliments like that when I *know* I haven't lost weight, to the point that I've developed a theory. I'm tall---5'10"---and I think people "forget", if they haven't seen me in a while, just how tall I am---so when they *do* see me, their minds play tricks---they remember that I'm fat, but because they didn't remember how tall, they're convinced that something is different and that it must me my weight because they know I didn't magically get five inches taller. That's my theory, anyway.

( There's a great deal more...rambling and maybe triggering, I don't know. Read at your own risk. )