feh.
2004-05-18, 9:32 a.m.

Here's the thing:

I wrote one paragraph yesterday, and it was so soaked with misery and despair that I couldn't bring myself to put it up. So. Tuesday, fresh start, and I still feel miserable but I'm not going to write about it. Much.

Frustrating thing happened yesterday morning as I was getting ready to go to work--the spray mechanism on my cologne bottle died. Pump, pump, nothing. Oh, well, it was cheap crap, and I won't boo-hoo over having to throw away half a bottle. And spring having arrived; it is time to switch over to something more summery. So I stopped at the drugstore on the way home and picked up a bottle of the old reliable, L.'Air Du Temps. What can I say? After this long, it's me.

I was going to wear my new green top yesterday, but when I put it on, it was too big, baggy, and made me look pregnant. I wonder if it would shrink if I washed it in hot and dried it on high? Or, of course, I could attempt to exchange it for the next smaller size. But between you and me, that probably won't get done. I'm bad that way. The other two fit fine, and I ended up wearing the blue.

I finished the piece I was working on last night and I hate it. I'll probably pick it apart at some point and recycle it into something else. Oh, well--they can't all be winners. I want to try some of the techniques in my new bead book, but it looks like they all need at least some delicas, and I have none. I completely blew my bead budget for the time being, so they will just have to wait. I think it is time to set the beads aside for a while, anyway. I woke in the night with the shrieking pain in my hands, which is usually a good indication that I've been overdoing it. Although I did find a really good set of daisy chain instructions...I'm incorrigible.

I'm a little ticked at Spouse; we bought some of that seeded matting for easy flowerbed planting, and the instructions clearly state you should lay it over cultivated soil, and cover with a thin layer of topsoil. I read this, and specifically told him not to mess with it until I did the prep and bought a bag of dirt. So what do I see last night when I took Raji out? The matting, spread over a hard-packed, debris-spread flowerbed, lying there dry and uncovered. After an entire day of being blown off, ignored, snubbed, etc. at work, and then taking that pigheaded dog out and putting up with her stubbornly refusing to pee, the realization that NOBODY EVER LISTENS TO ME was rammed home by that sight.

These are the things that are making me go into the "don't waste your breath" mode, where I just don't talk because it doesn't do any good. I can feel myself headed in that direction. Can't win, though. When I get like that, all the same assholes that drove me to it by not listening will proceed to raise unholy hell about my anti-social behavior. So, to recap: Speaking is unproductive (my pov) and choosing not to speak is unacceptable(their pov).

"I'm always amazed to hear of air crash victims so badly mutilated that they have to be identified by their dental records. What I can't understand is, if they don't know who you are, how do they know who your dentist is?" ~Paul Merton