It's been an amazingly busy weekend: I've just spent six hours putting together a 20 page e-book for marketing purposes (well, writing the text, after TPTB put their stamp on it, it should be closer to 50) and that's been about it for the day. Yesterday, however, I cleaned the play room, did 9 or 10 loads of laundry, wrote a column, crocheted half a scarf for my MIL's handmade gift (Can we say Thank you, oh inventors of Tunisian stitch? Oh yes, we can. We also can thank my yarn stash o' doom, and even if I do actually get my house organized, I'm going to keep on acting like I'm
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
byrne and hoard yarn like a mad yarn hoarding thing, as sometimes you need to make people presents and it might be a while before you leave the house to go after fixings) swept the kitchen, swept the living room and cursed out the vacuum cleaner for not spontaneously growing a replacement belt (It knows it needs one. Starfish grow limbs, for christ's sake, and they have to flail around and crack oysters and shit. I just need the belt to go around and around and around...) and watched Bacall on Bogart, which is beautiful and breaks my heart, and did the dishes, and read with Nadia, and helped Harmony research Lil Wayne's impending stint inside (and the discussion about why she cares about this took more time than one might hope)
I can't decide if all this activity makes me feel better or just keeps me moving. But I figure that Thursday and Friday will be spent not working and not house-wifing, so might as well make hay while the sun's not shining.
Did you know how they cut horns off of cows? If you don't, don't research it. The farmer I was talking to about it said, "Of course it hurts 'em. How'd you like it if your dick got cut off?" Then he cocked his head, and said, "Well, if you had a dick. And they don't, neither, causen they're heifers, but you know what I mean." Then he assured me that horns were much like fingernails, and you only bleed a little bit, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to ask how that compared with self-castration, but I managed.
And now my poor Harmony, who has been woefully deprived of computer time whilst I was working, is now dancing around like a deprived child staring up into the FAO Schwartz window (well, actually, not, since they're closed, but you get the point) so I'll go.
Previous
