As weirdly avid readers may be aware, tenbears has been shuffling furniture around the place at my request and I have once again discovered that in order to tidy up, sometimes you have to make a bigger mess first.

I am still surrounded by Piles O'Crap(TM) but tenbears has reassembled the Noodle Communication Centre (ie: lifted necessary tables into position), cleared a path to same, and the floor rug is down. It's funny how much better I feel with the floor rug down.

Can now recommence normal lifestyle and deal with remaining Piles O'Crap(TM) and logical rearrangement as spoons allow. For all the ongoing chaos, great advances have been made. I can now lie down in comfort and stare out at the yard *at the same time*, am not feeling cloistered and stuck in a dim, dark corner, am feeling like mistress of my own domain.

Can now see people as they walk onto the verandah.

~~~~

tenbears has been a veritable sewing-bear. He's been repairing stuff and has also turned an old pair of pants into a pair of long shorts. Seriously, for all the training I received in the craft on account of having a uterus, I'll never match him. He knows how to put things together and that's what really makes the difference. All a machine does is give you a quick way to make it happen.

Now all I have to do is convince him he'd like to make stuff for me....I wonder if try this before or after I convince him that he'd really like to keep chickens.

~~~~

It should be a while before I get anything else productive done. In other words, I have a great urge to do stuff but I'm crashing, I can feel it and I know I should stop. Heart rate is up and arms are shaky. I'm flaking out, then hauling myself up to do some little thing that surely isn't a big deal, then crashing out again. Tired but wired, as they say. I think a small amount of diazepam is called for, to cut through the hyperness.

( Aaargh, care! )
~~~

Oh and I've decided I want new curtains of a lighter hue and probably retro. And cheerful rather than rich. Rich was okay when I was young and looking for things that felt old and important. Now I feel old and gnarly but much more like I have a right to be here so I just want yellow daisies, metaphorically speaking.

~~~

PS: InsideCat is unimpressed with the changes and is sniffing and poking around with an air of disapproval and occasional meows of complaint. A small amount of therapeutic chicken will soon be applied.

Damn.

Lacking the beans for yum cha today.

Next month, for sure!

*grumbles*

~~~

Oh and yesterday 10B made a lovely new wooden mallet, which was sitting on my armchair this morning.

Thankyou dear...I think.

This morning I dreamt I was at a market. It was full of little deli-type shops selling Japanese food. I was wondering round feeling overwhelmed by the number of exotic and beautiful delicacies I could choose from and most temptingly, every stall had for sale a sample pack of doughnuts: one with pink icing, one dusted with sugar and a couple of others that didn't stand out.

Of all the fabulously interesting things I could choose from, it was the pink-iced donuts that were really tempting me.

However, I wasted so much time walking from stall to stall admiring all the food (and the pink-iced doughnuts in particular) and wondering who to buy the doughnuts from, that they all closed up before I bought any and I had to leave, pink-iced doughnutless. I was rather annoyed with myself. And hungry.

In real life, I rarely eat doughnuts and when I do, they are hot, jam filled ones and are either purchased and eaten at South Melbourne Market or purchased and eaten on a beach, ideally in winter. Usually as I eat them I reminisce about the *real* doughnuts we used to get when I was young: we got them from a bus permanently parked opposite the sea wall and they were prepared and cooked right there, not cooked elsewhere then reheated like they are now, and which had hard crusts on them but when you bit into them the whole thing would collapse into nothing and if you weren't careful you'd sustain third degree burns from the jam.

So I'm figuring the pink-iced doughnuts must stand for something deep, I just don't know what. Nonetheless, I've been hanging out for some all day. 10B has just bought me doughnuts from the bakery (alas, too late in the day for pink-iced ones) and I've eaten three, but I'm still puzzled by why I'd dream about them because the three I've eaten have reminded me again taht cold doughnuts without a centre, with or without icing, are really not that nice.

~~~

10B went to the dentist today so he has been saying 'garg', drinking soup and tending to my doughnut requirements, bless his cotton socks. AND he took me on a wild and crazily impulsive trip to a wool shop because we're wild and crazily impulsive people, or maybe because I looked like I'd cry if he didn't (I haven't gotten out much lately and it's really starting to show). But bless him all the same, because he bravely had a filling done and he looks so cute when he's mildly distressed.

~~~

A very nice pathology nurse came by today, he told me that the word on my house among the path nurses of Melbourne is that it's 'haunted by cats'.

I would have thought our house was warmed by cats, or maybe soothed by cats. Possibly enlivened by cats (only not today on account of the weather). Silly path nurses and their inappropriate verbs. I would have chased him away with a few inappropriate verbs of my own if he wasn't armed with something sharp.

~~~

Oh and back to dreams again: the little market in my dream(kind of an arcade and food hall really) was part of a larger place that I often dream about that seems to consist entirely of shops selling all manner of exciting food. There's even a place that sells a really fantastic Thai-style/stir fry dish that has usually sold out by the time I get there, although the place has comfy enough chairs where you can look out the window, so I often prop there for a bit with an iced coffee or something. Occasionally in the dream I have gotten there early enough to get some of this fabulous dish. It has this really amazing mix of spices, with a fragrance something akin to what you'd get in a a Thai beef salad except that it's stir-fried and somehow richer. There is always a queue of people waiting for it. The chef's Italian and he also does a good pasta as well, but this dish is so good everything else kind of pales in comparison.


I'm not sure what this says about me, except maybe that I think food is nice. And possibly that I attribute far more meaning to it than perhaps I should.

~~~

And I'm trying to be a better person again. It's a work-in-progress but sometimes I find myself being more concerned about it than at other times. Y'know, more aware of those flaws you bitch about in other people and then realise you yourself possess in bucketloads. Things you wish weren't there because if you stopped being such a blatant hypocrite, you could criticise others with impunity.

I figure on leaving the bit about not being such a judgemental bitch to the next lifetime, when I hope to come back as the Minister for Immigration.