|Best laid plans gang aft agley
||[Jan. 9th, 2012|02:09 pm]
Damn you, PBS and Downton Abbey. I was all set for a productive evening – ready to move the cookbook bookshelf from the bedroom to the kitchen…okay, before you waste too many brain cells thinking about why my cookbooks were in the bedroom, remember that my office is also in the bedroom – I know, big expletive bedroom, isn’t it? – and having the cookbooks in proximity to the software I use for menu planning and shopping list generating made far more sense than down in the kitchen. Anyway, I don’t earn my living that way anymore and I’m far more likely to use those cookbooks for inspiration or reference in my own kitchen now, so down they go. And the giant armchair which has never fit very well in my living room is also moving to the kitchen, so that I have a comfy chair to lounge in while perusing said cookbooks. But all of this involved a lot of dusting, scrubbing, vacuuming, moving furniture, etc. And I was almost done, except for moving the now cleaned cookbooks down to the bookcase’s new home. And I KNEW tonight was the premier – but TWO HOURS? And on PBS, so no commercials!?! (I actually look forward to watching shows with commercials – hey, that gives me regular breaks so I can jump up, load the dishwasher, start laundry, get lunch ready for the next day, whatever. A solid two hours…tied to a single room?
I didn’t have room for that in my life last night. I got paperwork done, sitting there – but really, I had to move those damn books downstairs (perfect commercial break activity) and while I can’t move my office back into…well, the office…until the Captain gets all of his stuff out…I at least wanted to be ready. There are three dozen dinosaurs that need to be dusted and corralled for the move. Large piles of filing that need to be well, filed, before they go anywhere. And the “things” that tend to accumulate in the corners of a room that need to be dealt with – keep, throw out, find a home, whatever.
None of that happened last night, although it was on the agenda. Thrown over for a bunch of compelling Brits. I should have just sucked it up and waited for it to hit Netflix…but I dunno. I was weak.
I do have a tendency, once my personal plans have hit the fan, to just throw up my arms and give up. FINE. I will get NOTHING DONE. AGAIN. FINE. We all have victimhood grooves, and like a skate blade abandoning the path you chose and instead hijacking you into the groove, which typically leads you face-first into the side of the skating rink, or straight off the pond, ass over teakettle onto the ground…okay, maybe that’s not how it works for you, but boy, despite CLASSES in it, do I suck at skating! Hoo-boy. Anyway, I learned early that to fight the groove just meant an icy face plant sooner, rather than later. And that was a bad lesson, because now it can lead to the lazy “oh, god, the universe is conspiring against me” thinking that ends with me laying on the couch, indulging myself in electronic fodder for the masses.
Except of course, I wasn’t just laying there, was I? I was paying bills and filling out forms and I did jump up and do the dishes during the boring bits, and started laundry during some other bits, and watered the tree, cleaned up GeezerCat vomit, and put away the Christmas CDs. Now revealed: as much of a hardass as I am on other people? I dish it out to myself, as well. I don’t think I work hard enough either. Lazy sod, turn off the television and get on with it.
But STILL. Not what really NEEDED to be accomplished. And, because I was an expletive moron and sliced a portion of my index finger off on Saturday (typical – all sorts of knife work, all day long. I’m cutting up an expletive baguette and I decide that I want to eat the little end piece. But I really don’t NEED to be eating it, so I think, oh, I’ll just have half of it and EXPLETIVE. Half a baguette end and a sixteenth of a fingertip!) The beauty of a sharp knife of course, is that at least it’s a CLEAN cut, and it’s just small enough that I’m pretty sure it will grow back. But, bloody and painful and my plans for doing a big chunk of writing on Sunday? Yeah, down the drain with my fingertip.
In theory I should have all of the evenings this week to keep plugging – but of course, it’s already begun here – hey, let’s do Happy Hour (aka, drain the will to be productive once I get home Hour), probable supplier dinner on Thursday….