There’s no such thing. And as this article says, nothing has produced more unhappiness than searching for one.
I love watching Castle. I love the chemistry between Castle and Beckett. It’s hyper-real. And then I go and sort out the house, brush my teeth and go to bed with my husband, and really, good enough is good enough. Good enough to last forever.
You know, when God created the world, he never said things were “Perfect.” He said “Good. Very good.”
That’s good enough for me.
I think I might have found a supervisor. I went to visit him today, and though we only had 25 minutes he managed to listen to what I was interested in, encourage me in it, and tell me the projects he has running that I could find a place in instead if that would be better. They involve focus groups and real live people with chronic illnesses and it sounds like something I could actually be good at. He’s asked me to send him an old assignment so he can be sure, as he put it, that I know how to string two words together. That may take a bit of digging in the old computer… it’s been a while.
He’s about six foot five. When I told Miss 4 that he was taller than Uncle P2 (she has two Uncle Ps and he’s the younger, and taller, of the two) she exclaimed: “What the!”
Then she explained, “‘What the’ is what I say when I hear someone is very taller.”
By the way, I promise that one day, when my head is less full of stuff that needs to be done, I will wax more philosophical. In the meantime, you’ll just have to put up with the stuff.
I laughed so hard this evening it made my head and tummy hurt. It involved movie quotes and timely farts and really doesn’t bear repeating. You had to be there. I’m glad I was.
It’s always such a relief when the bad mood clears away at last. I’ve started to think we should talk about Post Menstrual Euphoria, rather than PMT. It lasts for a much shorter time, sadly… Perhaps then, instead of dreading ten days of every month, we’d look forward to this shining golden week before the clouds gather again.
Perhaps I just need more exercise. Most months aren’t as bad as this one has been.
But seriously, I don’t think people realise the extent of PMT, the number of systems affected by these perfectly normal hormonal fluctuations. Grumpy, yes. Reduced ability to stop oneself saying whatever one thinks. Hungry, craving salt and fat. Bloating, retaining water. And chips, thank you Billy Connolly. Clumsy. Fuzzy eyesight. Dizzy, thanks to labyrinthitis and resulting BPPV that I’m not quite over. Tired. Cold. Spotty. Restless in my own skin, with a terrible wish to be able to unzip it and climb out of it and leave. Or at least head for the airport with a credit card.
It’s nice to be home.
I have a new computer! It’s a laptop, but I have it set up in my office (heh heh, MY office, actually “the” book room which is mostly full of Dad’s books with a corner desk built in for me) with keyboard, mouse, box to put the laptop on so the monitor is at eye height, new mouse pad, planning notebook, coaster for a cup, pinboard, pencil tin (currently empty), and our degrees and a couple of small pieces of art on the wall to my left. I have red velvet curtains behind the screen, and behind the red velvet curtains is the ivy-covered bank outside.
Now I just need something to write.
And a document holder, external hard drive, laptop backpack, printer, shelves for printer and paper, sticky labels, and a rubbish bin.
The walls in here are 90s textured creamy-ochrey-yellow and there’s a skylight in the ceiling above and behind my head. It smells of old books, because of Dad’s aforementioned
hoarding tendencies library. I am very comfortable. It is cool and quiet. Let’s hope this will be a productive space for the next five years or so, and not just a refuge from family chaos!
I just noticed that the little note he wrote me the other day was a haiku too. He doesn’t know what they are.
I think I should probably be in bed.
Now that DH has got his game programming mojo back, I may need to hurry up and buy my own laptop. Mr 9 on the desktop, DH on the laptop and here I am blogging on the iPod. Not really ideal. Conducive to a telegraphic style, to which I am prone anyway.
I spent an hour today with one of those potential supergiants HAHAHAHAAA AUTOCORRECT FTW!!! _supervisors_ I mentioned last time. He seemed nice, but very TJ to my FP. I couldn’t change the course of the flow of information by asking questions, for example: he had it all laid out in his mind and that was how it was going to go.
Hopefully the chap I’m seeing on Tuesday will be more congenial.
highway heat shimmer
AC cold air smoke sharp at
the back of the throat
I have christened my new desk in my new study at last, by sending emails from it to two lecturers in the Psychology Department whose research looks like it might be up my alley.
When I went into the room earlier this morning I found the following written on the A4 spiral-bound book I keep to the right of my keyboard for making lists of things to do:
HoPe YoU HaVe
a HaPPY DaY.SinceLerLY [Mr 7]
He must have written it when he was in Time Out yesterday (for throwing a cushion at his sister and hitting her in the face), since the Time Out space is next to the study door. I went in and gave him a hug while he was still in bed this morning. When I told DH about it just now he got a little emotional.
Just goes to show, eh?
WHAT it goes to show, you tell me.