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Also, Sunshine purple-screened on me earlier this morning, and I bought a new computer.

Yeah. I am freaked out too, but I am hard on laptops. Sunshine has been with me for two years, her hard drive is full, she is missing keys, there is a hunk of the exterior frame missing, and I Think It Is Time.

The next computer may be Constantine.  Could-be-Constantine comes with a docking station, a 2x+ larger hard drive, and a DVD writer. All for about the price of this year's dividend.  I am having it shipped to Our Nation's Capitol, and TDaC is going to help me set it up.  This means by the end of the week we will be up to three adults and five laptops. Whee.

Also: Ack! Ow! Whatever am I thinking! (answer: I am thinking *I NEED A RELIABLE COMPUTER*).
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Dear Interwebnets -

What is a good, visual way to store necklaces and bracelets. My earrings hang on a mesh thingy and its amazing - when I see them, I wear them! What could I do like that for bracelets and necklaces?


the unpacking one

PS - If anyone needs me I will be at bellydancing (huzzah! yay! etc!) then grocery shopping (boo! hiss!) for my dinner party tomorrow (more with the huzzahs!)
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I got all my thesis paperwork in on the last day of the semester, and submitted my application to the new program I want to join within an hour.

The next week I sent a reminder to my thesis committee about the letters of recommendation they had agreed to write (in our department letters are required from all thre members of the committee), setting a deadline. I received two "okay, it is submitted now" emails and a one "thanks for the reminder - I will have it in by the end of the week."  So, guess whose letter is still missing a week after the deadline?

My advisor's, of course.

I just re-reminded her, and hopefully she will be ashamed enough to make good on it right away.  Gah. This is the last thing I need before I am free of her forever, and letting it drag out this way is making me crazy.
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I have had some pretty unglamorous jobs.  Aside from the usual telephone tech support gig, where people would call and shriek about how I had broken their computer, I worked in commercial fisheries and on a farm (essentially rolling around in the mud for $7/hour). My personal safety was always an issue on the riverbank (I was less afraid of the bears galloping around our camps than I was of the men I worked with that first year) and I did my laundry in a five gallon bucket, with frigid, silty river water, but it was really pretty nice compared to sitting at this shiny box, in a warm dry room, trying to work on my thesis.

I mean, fish slime in my hair and carving pieces of meat out of struggling salmon? Not so bad. The mud bath that was picking carrots in the rain? It could have been worse.

Melanie, who is also working on finishing a thesis, and I talked about this when I was in New York.  Her question was, "Have you every actually dug a ditch?" and the answer is yes. 

Obviously I need to figure out some good bribes, cause my motivation is pretty much absent, and time is a precious, very limited commodity.  I am taking suggestions...
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I am at home, with too much to do and too little motivation to do it.  I had a lovely run-away, but my inner introvert now wants me to make like a Victorian invalid and take to the fainting couch with a good book for days, to get the quiet time I have not had these last two weeks.  I have no time for the fainting couch and/or delicate embroidery, so am instead trudging uphill both ways through the snow to answer the eleventy-million emails crowding my inbox, get ready to take Kiska visiting tomorrow, pack and prepare to leave for New York tomorrow night, etcetera, etcetera.
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I think I figured out why I was such a sad case last night - I woke up sick.  As in, snuffly breathing, feel like crap, no energy.  I blame the snot-nosed monsters I sat for on Thursday (note: I love them, but they are snot-nosed monsters).

I did not go over to a local garden to volunteer, as planned, instead taking a hot shower, a dose of cold meds, and spending an hour or two in bed with a book. I have a dance rehearsal now, but plan a quiet afternoon since I am going to hear a band tonight.
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Kiska (species: dog, age: 2) has been running up to cars as they pull into the driveway.  She ignores me calling, and instead front rushes at moving vehicles, then barks their way up the hill.  I call it "trying to get hit by a car," and there doesn't seem to be a way to get through to her, so she is either locked in the house or attempting death by smashing.  She has also gotten into trying to slam her way out the door when the people leave with car keys in hand, and careening at anyone trying to get in. (She wont jump on you, but damn if she isn't an effective barricade as she bounces off your legs).

She is a dog. These are dog behaviors.  But her unwillingness to listen makes me so angry, and then I yell and slap at her (I am not beating my dog, but I am scaring the shit out of my dog, which is worse in some ways).  After the rage passes, she wants to come up to me but you can see the hesitation in her mincing circles and sunken body posture.  She is afraid that I am going to come unglued again and shriek at her, and the fact that I have become an unreliable, unpredictable adult in her life makes me profoundly sad.  I had grown-ups like that around when I was a kid and they are the ones I still distrust, despite being twenty-five years old and big enough to take the broom away from any aunts who get mean. 

I owe my dog an apology. I have a plan to keep her from rushing the door (putting her on a 'wait' every single time we come or go until she gets the idea), which is the less irritating habit. I still dont know how to deal with driveway thing, and am taking suggestions.

And this, internets, is why I am not entirely sure I am qualified to be a parent to actual children. The potential for damage is just too much.
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It is a beautiful day. I think I am going to take the dog for a walk, shove a protesting cat-ten into the crate, and run away from home.  A night at [personal profile] joyce and [personal profile] madgenius's is just what I need.

And - I have all but three slides for my defense presentation filled in.  Of course the ones remaining are the three hardest (analyses and results, essentially), but it is good to have made some progress. I'm trying to put less on the slides so I have more to talk about, like I would teaching.  During my proposal meeting everything I wanted to say was already projected up on the wall, which made for a boring presentation. These people scare the hell out of me, but I am a good teacher, dammit, and am going to try and channel some of that spark into my defense meeting.

I hope you are having a good Friday, and that you get to do something fun tonight.
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I think the universe must have decided it owed me one this weekend.  I got to spend three days in the company of several of my favorite people, watch a truly amazing show, take dance classes from the stars of the tribal world, make serious progress on the knitting front (it is now possible, nay, likely, that I will have my sweater done in time to seam it together in class), and come home to happy animals and an email letting me know that the thesis "looks good [and] . . . is ready to go to the committee."

I am tired but happy, and very, very grateful.
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My books are unpacked. Just because it is a small room does not mean I gave up one inch of shelving - I still have three tall bookcases.  Since I ditched a bunch of books in preparation for the move there are even a few gaps.

I also put three milk crates of files into their drawers; dealt with the garbage bag of pillows, etc.; set up my fancy Ikea lamp, and generally put away everything still on the floor.

My room looks great, which makes me feel good.  Of course, it only looks great until you look in the closet (where everything is mounded two or three feet deep) or the bathroom, which is heaped high with many, many boxes.  

The bad news is that there are several bits and pieces I would like to keep but do not have space to include.  Several people have suggested a storage unit, but the idea of paying rent for my belongings to exist outside my life rubs me wrong. 

I need curtains.  I grew up in houses without them, but living in civilization uncurtained windows in rooms lit at night make me paranoid.

And I like it here - the moving part is very frustrating, but the house has good energy and I am still grateful to be free of my old house.
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Yesterday was a bad day.

I had a bad attitude.

My hipboots leaked, despite the patching I did.

I managed to get my foot stuck in the weir, which hurt.  And I couldn't get it out, so I had to sit down - in the middle of the river - and take the boot off to get free.  Then it took me several minutes of tugging to extract the boot, which was completely full of water.  Didn't matter much though, since having sat down in the middle of the river none of me was dry.

I branded a line into my left thumb, trying to get our stupid coffeepot off the stove.

And, later on, I was wearing my chest waders and drying my boots.  The waders are a pain to get in and out of and sort of clumsy-making, and I managed to step on a slippery boulder and fall-down-go-boom.  The lucky bit was that I didn't manage to break my right wrist, but the palm of my right hand, where the wrist and palm meet below the thumb, has a blue indent.  And my right thigh looks like someone hit me with a baseball bat.  It is truly a remarkable bruise - it looks like the special effects crew spent half an hour on me getting that perfect fade from black to blue, with the vein visible and a hefty, swollen redness underlying the whole thing.  If I can figure out how to get a picture of it (which is not a picture of my butt) I may even show it to you - I think it is actually sort of cool (in an, 'if I had my druthers I wouldn't have done it' sort of way).

Today has been sort of better. I sent out an email giving people my new address and my mom sent back a message that said, "I miss you already, and you are still here."  That is sort of how I feel too - I know it is silly but I miss my life here, already.  I am going to take Wednesday, after I get off work, to do a little prep (mail myself another box or two, figure out what goes and what stays) for departure and then take my very own best-of-Homer tour and sort of take my leave for another year.  My heart is here, and not with any person.  It is here with the waves crashing, eagles soaring, and mountains jutting above a peaceful little town full of Shiverring Gypsies, brisket sandwiches, and joy. I will be back.
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I was chatting with Adam tonight, when he started to tease me about something (I cant even remember what, which shows you how cruel he was not being :).  My immediate response in light of my earlier conversation today was to say, "Stop! I am not accepting that I have any flaws today.  Like Mary Poppins, I am practically perfect in every way!"

This is what happens when you pick up your philosophy of life listenning to a CD your two year old cousin picks out on the way to the zoo (Mary P. was my favorite as a little girl too).
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This is the holiday I campaigned to have off, and I am enjoying it.

Most of today was spent on a graveling beach, in the sun, fileting salmon and doing crafts.  It was a good day and I am feeling the perfect mix of sun and wind burned, tired, and appreciative for the blessings in my life.
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Writing this feels wrong, especially since I have five legs of plane flights coming up and tend to think I am more likely to die in a fiery crash if I admit to being very happy, very unhappy, etc. My life pegs the irony-meter often enough, that putting that sort of thing on (virtual) paper feels like an unnecessary risk factor.

But yeah, I am not happy.

I got almost twelve hours of sleep last night, went to what should have been a pleasant evening pouring wine at one of KM's shop's gigs, then cried exhausted tears on the way home.

I am overwhelmed. Mad at my roommates. Tired. And kind of sad.

But I know this is a temporary state, and soon I will be happyish again . . .


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