|What I have learned recently...
||[Feb. 7th, 2007|09:02 am]
|||||Kathleen Edwards, Back to Me||]|
1. I'm a bit overscheduled...or I need to learn to get away with sleeping fewer hours each night. Since the latter ain't gonna happen, I must pin my hopes on finding the space-time continuum disrupter or be more of a beeyotch about saying "no". In the meantime, I haven't been very good at keeping y'all amused here lately. What can I say? Ya gotta catch the live show.
2. My soon-to-be-ex-husband is coming home close to 2 months early from his deployment. Which is fabulous news because it really sucks over there, and since I still care for him as a friend, I don't like the idea of my friends needing to dodge rocketfire. On the other hand, it means that all of the paperwork, and dividing of goods and financial issues, etc., that have been on hold while he's away...are moving out of the anxiety closet and onto my desk. It will be nice to get things going and dealt with so we both move on...it's been nice not having to deal with any of this stuff.
Is there anything I can think about without feeling conflicted? No. Whoever put this damned devil's advocate module in my head....rot in hell.
3. My dog, Percy, is the world's biggest drama queen. Arrived home from work the day after coming home from the Florida gig, hadn't even unpacked yet, and the zipperhead, in full Mommy's-home-hysteria, does something to his old injured toe and and won't put any weight on it. If you don't know him, you can't imagine the uplifted, curled paw, shaking and shivering, the pitiful looks, the dripping nose, the panting from the exertion of tripod-ing fourteen steps outside. But think of the most pathetic thing you can think of. Multiply by 10. You're getting close. After a day of suffering through this -- and of watching him sneak upstairs -- because yes, he'll do ANYTHING to be upstairs with me. And then watching him fall down the stairs...because he won't let me carry him down...and land spreadeagled on the kitchen floor...you'd think a greyhound's body could not actually spreadeagle behind, but trust me, it can, although it is accompanied by the kind of screaming you hope to never, ever hear again. Two days of this and we're off to the vet's. A disclocated toe, that will eventually need to be amputated or it's just going to keep getting reinjured, but not today. So, some serious pain meds, 6 more hours and wingnut is walking like there's nothing wrong. Until he occasionally remembers, dangles the paw, remembers that it was actually the other paw that hurt, dangles it for a few seconds and then limps for a couple of steps until he gets distracted by some wonderful doggy smell.
So, let's add to that already encumbered schedule...a probable surgery for Percy. With recovery time. Oh, frabjous f-ing joy!
4. Corporate gigs make you wonder how crazy you are to be doing what you're doing working a bloody renaissance faire. When your group's personal stage manager is asking you if everything's okay, is the green room adequate, is there enough food and drink on the buffet in said green room, is the stage setting workable (a replica of a Spanish fort in the middle of what would've been the biggest damn atrium I've ever seen, had I not already worked the Opryland hotel, but still pretty damn big)...and I have to answer "Honey, I'm excited to be working a show that has running water." In retrospect, I should've played it cool and said "Well, the chicken taquitos are a little dry and really, I could've sworn we specified Pepsi products in the contract" but...I was a guest & CD seller for the Pyrates, who'd muscled her way into acting as road manager (as I am wont to do) and didn't want to make them seem unreasonable just to amuse myself. The gig went extremely well for the Pyrates and I got 5 hotel room numbers and an offer to fly to Calgary...so I'm just saying, all you single women, see if you can work your way into one of the Harley Davidson Dealership Conventions. Easy pickings.
Gosh, I'm really looking forward now to starting rehearsals for Virginia Faire...in the cold, under a tent, with a portapotty....spoiled, spoiled, spoiled, spoiled. Ah, well, nothing that won't be cured this weekend, working Wicked Faire...12 hours on a hard concrete floor in a convention center...in Edison, New Jersey, albeit with running water, flush toilets and a temperature controlled, dry environment. I guess it's a good way of easing myself back into reality.
5. I am not ready to go to Wicked. I haven't unpacked from Orlando yet...and I need different stuff. I really, really just want to stay home and cocoon. Sigh. It's a fun event...but will be strange -- last year, Fetch and I shared a room with Captain Moone and Bagel, got snowed in for two days with the McDonalds and their two hounds, but plenty of food and alcohol. Much fun and bonding was had by all. This year, they're forecasting only flurries, which is fine by me. But the Captain is staid for, another gig. Bagel is no longer with us. And my "watching a duct tape bondage demo" virginity is gone. Sigh.
The pressure to create a brand new kind of fun is daunting...
6. My Bundt cake recipe is too dry, although the flavor wonderful, thanks to Penzey's Cake Spice Blend. Try it, you'll like it. Still no word on when the Rockville store is opening, so you'll have to go online. Add a teaspoon to any vanilla-based cake, tealoaf, muffin.
Now...the laundry calls...