work

Busier than a one-armed paper-hanger on a unicycle in a hurricane. (And no FEMA in sight.)

/ wvfurandroot / 1 Comment

I don’t think I’ve ever been as busy as I am now.  And Lord knows, I’ve led a busy life.  But if something doesn’t give soon, I’m going to collapse in a quivering heap of twitchy woman.

I’d list it all, but it’s too depressing.  But no matter what it is I’m doing at any given time, somebody wants me doing something else.  If everything is urgent, then nothing is.  Ya know?

Word!

I’m too tired to lean over and drink the glass of wine I poured 3 hours ago.  Ain’t that sad?

It was recently suggested that I needed a hobby to help reduce stress in my life.  So, I’ve taken up “artisan bread” baking.  (Doesn’t that just sound pretentious?)  I was having fun (and gaining weight) with the breadmaking, but I’ve been too busy to do any baking for more than a week.  There’s something very satisfying about kneading bread when you start out preferring primal scream therapy.

But a friend sent me a 14-year-old South African sourdough starter (and a bodacious copper tea kettle!) and I’ve been busy (ahem) cultivating starter for my first attempt at sourdough bread.

This bread thing is addictive.  First of all, I’ve always had a thing for for kitchen toys and I’ve now acquired a baking stone, a lame` thingie, dough scraper/cutter thingie, thermometer, bowls, breadboard,bowl scraper etc. etc.  (This “artisan” thing requires accoutrements.)

I’ve also always had a thing for cookbooks.  Boy howdy, y’all probably don’t know how many bread books there are out there.  It’s probably a good thing Borders closed.

So.  There you have it.  Me.  Whining again.

(I think I’ll be drinking that wine now.)

Oozing to Van Morrison

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Drove in (very, very late) with Van Morrison to Job #1 which is now the only job. And now I’m going to lunch. It’s nearly 60 outside, the daffodils are up, the grass in greenin’ and there are lots of signs that this winter (and those past) of my discontent is coming to an end. It’s a good day to be me.

And that’s just what they did.

/ wvfurandroot / 9 Comments

I wore my spiffy semi-new-ish boots to work tonight.  I didn’t plant them in anyone’s crotch though I wanted to.  I did, however, walk.

Tom Robbins, love his heart, said;

You’ve heard of people calling in sick. You may have called in sick a few times yourself. But have you ever thought about calling in well?

It’d go like this: You’d get the boss on the line and say, “Listen, I’ve been sick ever since I started working here, but today I’m well and I won’t be in anymore.” Call in well.

(Yee Haw! Bet you never expected Tom Robbins and Nancy Sinatra in the same post.)