simple pulse

weekend morning peace– hanging in the quiet kitchen with the wee beastie snoozing at the foot of my stool, chimes singing away through the open balcony door. following a few days of clogged kitchen sink drain, maintenance maestro snaking it out yesterday, this morning I’ve done loads of dishes and somewhat mastered the workspace chaos– though a big bucket of fetid-smelling drainwater remains shut up in the under-sink cupboard, which I’m choosing to leave for the tending of the manly man before I can put back away all the cleaners and whatnot that reside down yonder.

spent yestderday in the south burbs with the fella’s fam, pre-cousin-wedding-ing, introducing small monster to puppy grandparents, whose dogs generously tolerated his utmost sass, and returned home laden with a panoply of jewel-bright rubber chewables. surely human offspring would bring tenfold welcome.

work is work is schmerk. home organization drifts and lags, though thanks to heroic cohabitant we’re now equipped with plentiful bathroom shelfage. bit by bit. the days spin by. at night I feel my forties and find a dozen hundred larger, more meaningful accomplishments I wish I’d made yet. evenings are tough in the sathead, mornings kinder, weekends best of all– though the weight to make large changes swaggers in then with all its impatient bravado and sunday eve descends like a wicked clunker.

summer swelter has arrived after a full-on july reprieve, and we’re running the ginormous a.c. unit in the front rooms for the first time since the move– dim and cool in there with a small lake forming on the sidewalks below.

requesting suggestions for sanity please!!!!

what do you do when you’re feeling incredibly frustrated and irritable in the middle of your working day?

ordinarily, if I were at home, I’d go walk it off– but here I have to keep sitting at my stoopid desk surrounded by all the same stoopid stuff that’s tweaking me out.


p.s. you know it’s bad when you add an agenda item to your google calendar that reads “filled with murderous rage”. hell, it could be hormonally compounded for all I know– but I totally just don’t want to be here today.

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