Spent pretty much all of yesterday in bed, getting up periodically to eat, check e-mail, soak in the tub, and watch the rest of Battlestar Galactica, which I will rant about later (half the female characters are still robots, Starbuck is the hottest character of them all, I’m sick to death of boringly pretty boy heroes who all look alike, why the fuck is there a useless “subplot” for the 14-year-old-boys that involves a woman robot in a red dress making out with the scientist guy for 1/3 of an entire fucking episode, the entire point of which seems to be “look how hot we are making out”?).
Slept in again today. Wasn’t until this morning that I could honestly say I felt a lot better.
I rolled out of bed just after nine and took a good, long, look at my room and the rest of the apartment and realized how long I’d let stuff slide. Jenn’s been in and out, and messes don’t bother her, so most of the cleaning is my task, and it was the first thing I let go. About the only thing I’d managed to do with any frequency was take out the garbage. But the plants were dying from not being watered, ants had invaded in search of all the crap on the kitchen floor, I was fairly certain something was getting ready to grow in the sink, and I hadn’t cleaned the bathroom – aside from a wipe-down last week when the SO came by – for three weeks. And there was a substantial pile of books and magazines spewed all over the floor next to my bed.
So I cleaned the whole damn place, watered the plants, put the basil out on the outside porch to get some much-needed sun, vacuumed all of the throw rugs, re-ordered all of the books overflowing from my bookshelf (most had to go out in the “library” area in the dining room and living room, respectively. We’re at something like 1500 books in the house now), bleached, scrubbed, and windexed the kitchen and bathroom, dragged the gas stove out from its nook so I could clean out from under it (this is where the ants hide), washed all of my bedding and made the bed, toted out the trash from the overflowing can in my bedroom (paper trash gets less “eek” points on my internal monitor than the kitchen trash), and put away all of the DVDs in the living room scattered around on top of the entertainment center. I’ve started converting a bookshelf into a DVD shelf, as the entertainment center gets filled up. Jenn’s copy of Buffy Season 7 has returned from the SO’s, and I hadn’t yet made a space for my copy of the Extended Return of the King. And, much to my geeky delight, I found a set of The Ewok Adventure and The Battle for Endor today at Borders. Excellent.
Finished reading One L, and tried to continue reading Steven Erikson’s Gardens of the Moon, an epic fantasy saga. Unfortunately, all I’m thinking while I’m reading it is, “When the fuck is George R.R. Martin gonna finish book four? This stuff is crap.” In fact, it’s not that bad, but epic fantasy for me isn’t just about the battles and the bravery, it’s about connecting with the characters. I give a fantasy saga more time than other books, cause they have to have some time to draw you in. 50 pages is about right. With this one, I’m 100 pages in, and there’s no character I find terribly interesting or likable enough to trudge through the rest of the book with, let alone a series. George, where are you??
Yesterday, while pushing through my book pile, I picked up and finally started reading the first book of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, which I’d bought a couple weeks ago, but hadn’t had a chance to start. If I was wondering where George got all of his epic plots from, I will wonder no more. It’s good stuff.
I also got a shipment of perfume from Paris today, which I ordered sometime early this week (fantastic fucking shipping). I had picked up a bottle of it when I was in Paris years ago, and finally ran out last year. It’s so fucking expensive, and seemed so incredibly extravagent an expense (I mean, c’mon “I just ordered perfume from Paris” bah), that I put it off and put it off and put it off. Now I’ve got it, and I’m embarrassed to say how much it pleases me.
I also ordered a handmade pair of sterling silver earrings, also an extravagent expense, from a guy named Mark Ehrmann. I had dearly loved the pair I bought years ago in Alaska, but I’d lost them in Cape Town or somewhere on a research trip, and again, couldn’t justify buying a new pair until now.
My rationale? What did I buy myself for my birthday?… Music to write novels to, and a copy of LSAT sample tests.
Yea.
I’ve also been reminded, once again, how much I love my house. I love living here. I love the hardwood floors. I love the huge kitchen that’s so great for cooking in. I love that I’m growing herbs on the back porch. I love the built-in hardwood cabinet that we use as a liquor cabinet. I love that the majority of the furniture is actually composed of bookshelves. I love that I’ve reserved an entire space next to the elliptical machine for a punching bag, once I can afford it. I love my cozy room. I love that the video store is across the street, Borders and Starbucks are a block away, excellent Thai food places populate the entire block, there’s an Asian grocery store across the street, and upper-scale restaurants are just a quick 6-8 block walk away onto Clark.
I love my house. I love this life. I even sometimes love the mostly-useless job that pays for all this. I am very lucky. I know that.
