Ch. Ugh. Ga.

Nothing is resolved, all things are colored panic-bright and ominously hanging (think Damocles at Christmas-time), but motion is ocurring and it appears to be focused in a single set of directions that will, I believe, result in me standing in a place where horse-hair strung doom is not swinging over my meat and drink.

The legal issue, for instance, is not resolved, but I understand the options available to me clearly, and know what steps to take to prevent the situiation’s worsening.  That is, I think, the best one can hope for when cleaning up years of mess.

The too-many-rats issue has been defined to all parties, clearly and succinctly.  It has resulted in no action whatsoever, but I intend to push that a bit (like, “go make a list of rentals and look at two today”).

Sleep is still not really working well for me.  As quickly as I understood the legal issues (and my mind went ohthankgawd) my attention turned to the umpteen things I’ve to do, all with deadlines of one sort or another.  The professional ones will be cleaned up about 10:00 Monday, if I go in around 6 … the furniture making ones (yes, that has a deadline) have been defined, each problem separated from the others, each one provided with resolution that can take place in sequence … exercise will simply have to be done in lesser degree for a while, and I’ve a plan for that … writing needs a whole brain, but Shannon and I have discussed a plan to get me through this week in fit shape to engage the 24-hour-writing contest next weekend.

So.  Perhaps not the chugga chugga chugga of the indomitable Catie (anybody see any idealization there?  I should send her a pedestal), but I’ll be up to full chugga soon enough.

Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry

4 thoughts on “Ch. Ugh. Ga.”

  1. {hugs}

    I go sleep now. Clearly this was what was meant when I found myself ranting online about hooker pants. Ahem. That is to say: that I was to be here to see you post and send you a hug and some healing-sleep-type thoughts.

    Peace, Big Bro. At least for tonight.


      1. You can still read the hooker-pant-rant.

        Cold is fixèd. Plumbing will mend in a few months. Me I’m workin on.

        Love always.


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