yada yada yayaya
Thursday, Jan. 20, 2005,
I never feel more like writing than when diaryland is down. Perverse. And frustrating, because it doesn't matter whether or not I actually have anything to say. Or that I always write in Word or MWP or Notepad, and then copy, paste, post anyway. So I end up with this desperate feeling that I'm missing out, but I'm really not.
I'm an idiot. And I cannot even imagine what Andrew is going through with all this.
My Scooter-Pie announced last night that "You don't have to make me a lunch tomorrow". I curbed my tongue. I politely refrained from pointing out that, strictly speaking, I never have to pack his lunch; it is something I do to be nice. Instead, I merely asked why that was the case. He then announced that he was taking today off. Once I recovered from the shock, I inquired as to what prompted this atypical behavior on his part. You see, Spouse does not take days off, except when extremely ill, on paid vacation, or as a beneficence from the boss.
Well, apparently he does when sufficiently piqued by his coworkers. The company lickspittle had asked for Wednesday off to take care of some stuff before going out of town for a week, so my sweetie actually made so bold as to do the same for Thursday. As far as I know, his plans for the day include making himself pancakes and bacon for breakfast, and fixing the snow-blower ignition so I can use it (if I have to) while he's in Georgia. Other than that, I don't know what he's got going on. But let him take a day for himself. Good grief--we all need that once in a while.
IT'S TIME TO VENT THAT PEEVE!--
One of the things that really pisses me off about his boss is his belief that I am the one who should get Spouse ready for a trip--doing the wash, packing the bag, etc. Spouse shouldn't need to allow time for that, as that is my job. (Yes. This has been relayed to me by several people. This is actually, in 2005, the man's belief. And he can't plead ignorance, as he has known me, where I work, what I do, and probably how much I make, for five years.)Now, may I just say a few things to address that?
One: I am not a professional housekeeper, homemaker, or laundress, a personal valet or a servant of any kind. I employed as a professional technical analyst and software tester. Therefore these duties are most assuredly not a part of my 'job'.
Two: As a loving wife, I often wash, dry, mend, fold, hang, iron, etc. my husband's clothing. As a former fashion retail worker and extremely fast and efficient clothing folder, it is my pleasure to fold my husband's clothing for packing. In no way do either of these two facts confer upon me the responsibility for same.
Three: As stated in item one, I have a career. A fairly lucrative and demanding career. A career which requires me to commute 61 miles a day on congested roadways. A career which pays half of the bills in my household, and enables my husband and myself to enjoy a comfortable life, despite the pittance you pay him. I do not work three days a week as a cashier at the Piggly-Wiggly, for Pete's sake! My time is spoken for.
SO--Respect me, damn, you! Just because your wife insists on being kept, and the wives of most of your male employees can barely hold a job, and are perfectly happy pretending it is still the 1950s, or holding down a "hobby" job for "pin money", DOES NOT MEAN THAT ALL WOMEN ARE LIKE THAT. Open your eyes, step into the twenty-first century (or, at the very least, into the the twentieth), and realize that there are women like me all around, and that if a man is a skilled electrician, chances are he's capable of running a washer and dryer.
Frankly, as someone who makes the same annual pay has her partner (a higher rate, but fewer hours) AND is responsible for providing health, dental, life, disability, and vision insurances for both of us--I think HE should be doing MY laundry.
I cheated. I promised I wouldn't weigh myself until I'd gone through two consecutive weeks of at least 5 workouts each. But I weighed myself yesterday.I lost two pounds. So now I'm kind of glad I cheated and looked. But also kind of sad that I didn't wait till it was three pounds.
Anyway, that puts me at four more pounds of Holiday Excess to lose. Then I will be back to actually losing NEW weight, so to speak.
All this leads up to the Gym Report:
27.00 minutes
1.47 miles
201 calories
May I just say; "WHOO-HOO!! ?
I made meatball bombers for dinner last night, with oven fries and onion rings (for Spouse). We were both fairly well behaved, and limited ourselves to one sandwich each.. I had one peanut butter cookie and a cup of low-fat milk for dessert, but Spouse has less control with the cookies, and next to none with his (whole) milk. Funny, though. Before dinner, I told him about weighing myself, and that I'd lost two pounds. Then he decided he didn't want a second sandwich. Could it be that my getting back in the groove has re-whetted his appetite for competition?'Cause that would be great. If that's what motivates him, he should rock it like there's no tomorrow. Seriously. I'm to the point where I'm pretty comfortable and secure just doing my own thing, but if he wants to use me and my success in some sort of support capacity, I can live with it. If it doesn't bother me, and it helps him do the healthy thing , why not?
After I did some laundry and cleaned up the kitchen, I did what I'd promised myself, and committed an hour to beading. 7:00 to 8:00, in the chair, bead tray on my lap. No trips to the washer, the backyard, the bathroom, etc.--just sit down for an hour and bead. Since he didn't have to get up this morning, Spouse stayed up with me and we talked and watched CMT while I plied my needle. "Greatest Road Songs", or something. We are not big country fans, although we don't hate it, either. I was raised on it, and his dad is a huge George Jones fan, so it is in our blood to a certain extent. But the main fun of those list shows is arguing or agreeing with each other and the TV over the choices. I realized how long it had been since we had a nice evening like that, and I really enjoyed it. I wouldn't want him underfoot all the time, but it was nice. Times like that remind me that he is my best friend.
And that Merle Haggard spent part of the seventies looking like Bob Troll from "The Neighborhood of Make-Believe", as Spouse pointed out.
After that, I had to resume the advancement of laundry, and play a little Bookworm, which has become a nightly ritual. But I was pooped and still a little headachy, so I took two Genasecs and turned in around nine, with a crossword puzzle. Once the Gs kicked in, I was gone.Not a peaceful night, though. Pitching, tossing, and I must have been moaning or whimpering at one point, because Raji came in and patted me with her paw to calm me down. She scared the living crap out of me, of course, but still. She was doing what I do for her when she's having nightmares. It is rather cool when she does that kind of thing.
And this morning, I woke to more snow, and a severely gassy Raji. I mean her little tushie was whistling. Non-stinky, but non-stop. We gave her one of her tummy pills, and I think it helped. She was interested in her food by the time I left.I actually took her for a walk this morning, snow or no. She hasn't had one in ages due to the frigid weather, but it wasn't bad out this a.m., so we went about a block down and back. She was feeling well enough for that, anyway.
I'm feeling awfully long-winded today, so I suppose that is enough tales from whyme the whiner for now.
Reading: �The Eyre Affair", by Jasper Fforde (1st Thursday Next book)
Listening: XM Laugh USA, Comedy 150
Beading: Whipping through the bright silver metallic spiral.