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May. 13th, 2016 04:00 pmThursday the 12th is usually worse than Friday the 13th. Yesterday, that manifested itself in the embroidery I had to keep tearing out. It didn't matter what I was trying to do, it was wrong. (And it's really frustrating when you get to a point where you realize that it's not working because you put in three stitches instead of two, ten minutes ago, and you have to go back and fix it, and you keep doing the same sort of thing over and over in different places.) But today is Friday, and I have to tear out a dozen backstitches and put in about ten, and then I'm down to about three hours of finishing and that one will be done. And then I can go on to the next project. And at least the only thing that really went wrong yesterday was embroidery.
I have different lists sprouting all over the place. There's the grocery list, the list of other errands, the list of stuff I have to do before Iceland, the list of stuff that would be nice to do before Iceland but won't keep me from going there, the list of information I have to track down for my finances, and one other one I can't remember at the moment. But at least I found my list of performance-review goals for this year, from last year. And lo, of the four of them, I've only made partial progress on one, because what I've actually been doing is more important. I'm so glad my boss hates performance review season as much as I do, because she doesn't care what's on the Forms, she cares whether the important stuff is getting done. Which it is, because I do know what's important. So there.
On to the weekend, however. And the grocery shopping and the laundry, and possibly the shopping for rain pants. And possibly the movies. And possibly even the wearing of shorts and the subsequent scaring of livestock and small children, because "pasty" just about describes the skin tone of my lower extremities. But if it's going to be 75 out tomorrow, I'm damn well wearing shorts. In public, even.
Part of the problem I'm having with weighing more than I want to is the problem with how my clothes fit. I keep having to remind myself that if nobody can tell what color my underwear is unless I tell them, I can go out in public and not get arrested, and it doesn't matter that my legs are pasty and my entire carcass weighs 20 lb more than I wish it did. Nobody's going to care any more than I do already.
I have different lists sprouting all over the place. There's the grocery list, the list of other errands, the list of stuff I have to do before Iceland, the list of stuff that would be nice to do before Iceland but won't keep me from going there, the list of information I have to track down for my finances, and one other one I can't remember at the moment. But at least I found my list of performance-review goals for this year, from last year. And lo, of the four of them, I've only made partial progress on one, because what I've actually been doing is more important. I'm so glad my boss hates performance review season as much as I do, because she doesn't care what's on the Forms, she cares whether the important stuff is getting done. Which it is, because I do know what's important. So there.
On to the weekend, however. And the grocery shopping and the laundry, and possibly the shopping for rain pants. And possibly the movies. And possibly even the wearing of shorts and the subsequent scaring of livestock and small children, because "pasty" just about describes the skin tone of my lower extremities. But if it's going to be 75 out tomorrow, I'm damn well wearing shorts. In public, even.
Part of the problem I'm having with weighing more than I want to is the problem with how my clothes fit. I keep having to remind myself that if nobody can tell what color my underwear is unless I tell them, I can go out in public and not get arrested, and it doesn't matter that my legs are pasty and my entire carcass weighs 20 lb more than I wish it did. Nobody's going to care any more than I do already.
