Smallhouse Log

Monday, fourth week of Easter

  • Number of hours I've been awake: Twenty-four.
  • Number of customers buying tax software today: Four.
  • Number of computers 'fixed': Two and a half.
  • Number of computers left to fix: One and a half.
  • Number of times I've been interrogated about my casual use of the phrase "full of Rage", wherein the interrogator assumed I was referring to your petty human fee-lings: Two.
  • Number of litres of RC Cola drunk: One half (estimate).
  • Number of bad decisions made in the past forty-eight hours: Five Six or more (tallies presumed to still coming coming in).

Saturday, third week of Easter

When I was a child, I would often wake from dreams with a sense of tragic loss from discovering something in the dream and knowing that I'd probably never find it in the waking world. Now that I am grown, I haven't quite put away childish things: I wake up, and can immediately google for whatever it is that I now fervently hope exists, whether it be the Congressman's March or the not-so-famous painter Jayce Corbin-Watts, and confirm that it doesn't google-exist (which is close to, but not the same as, actual existence). Then I feel the sense of tragic loss.

And they said Google was changing everything. It's just a newer, dimmer mirror.

Saturday

Disappointments:

  • Despite haven given up writing, or even speaking, the English language, lack of proper capitalization still bothers me.
  • What laid me low these past few days was, I am informed, no disease but a migraine. I always kind of wondered what all the fuss was about.
  • Lifter Puller is not as much to my liking as The Hold Steady.
  • Not being able to stand going out (see above) on a weekend where I had a full social calendar.
  • Orange juice.
  • Also, I somehow let the rind of my cantaloupe get all molty. I've never had to peel a cantaloupe before.
  • My parents keep sending me memorabilia of my childhood, which always makes me think, "Didn't they want this to remember me by?"
  • Getting rickrolled again.

Wednesday

Reading Rushdie's The Moor's Last Sigh, I can't help but wonder what it would mean to me if I hadn't seen Mother India and The Importance of Being Ernest. So strange to see both in one paragraph, it makes me feel well-read.

Speaking of things that make me feel good, I got some mail today, a strange thing, I'm glad Brian didn't see it (as he had already departed for Spain). I'm not usually happy with my mail -pre-approved this, student-loan that, welcome-to-the-neighborhood the other- but I received a postcard from the National Eagle Scout Association. Seeing as my awardedness, along with, say, my birthday, age, and current task-at-hand, is something I often forget, it was a pleasant surprise to rediscover that once, I did something, did it well, had a holiday dedicated to me, and am still remembered for it. My rational-nihilism groans at it, but the old desire to be remembered for things is still on me, it seems. A curious thing. But why else keep a journal, ne?

Other than that whole 'hearing myself talk' bit, I mean.

later that day

I kind of wish my staircase was just a little bit steeper, so I could clamber up it on all fours.

April Fools Day

Whelp, March went in like a lion, out like a fish, and on this first day of the new month, I finally got rickrolled. Urgh. The lesson here: Think before you click.

Monday

I forgot that So Long and Thanks for All the Fish is my favorite book in the the trilogy. It is my favorite book in the trilogy, though it is quite short and probably unintelligible without at least one of the three books that preceded it, because I have this huge crush on the fictional character of Fenchurch. I kind of remember this while I'm not reading the book, but while I am reading it, I sort of spend the whole time in that shoulder-squnching, wide-eyed "Awwwwwwwww" expression which is typical to me when I'm mad crushin'.

I think this also has something to do with why I'm kind of surly all through the fifth book, but there are sufficient reasons for that already.

In real world news, Anna visited from California, and it made my month to just sit and talk for hours and hours with old friends. So that was nice. I don't think I mention enough nice things in my life to people, faceless voids, inanimate objects, higher powers, or even myself (I feel like I can legitimately claim not to properly belong to any of those categories), so there you have it. Also Shurpak is adorable. Like a cute little dancing snow machine.