They are rarely conducive to working for me. Well, I don't like working on my better days, why should I like it on Tuesdays? I'm so tired today, too, it's just...it's sort of like I've been running all morning, even though I haven't. So I think today I'll blog and maybe look up new titles to work on for pay. Since I've monetized my blog, that counts as 'work', doesn't it?
On the knitting front, I've been working on my cowl:
Doesn't look like I've done anything, does it? But I have. I've finished the green stripe, inserted my garter ridge of brown and gotten a third of the way through the white stripe, all while being soothed by the dulcet tones of Richard Armitage reading A Convenient Marriage by Georgette Heyer. He's got such a nice voice, and he's a good storyteller, too--I can actually listen to his audiobooks. Usually I fall asleep when listening to an audiobook, which is annoying and the primary reason I won't listen to one in my car (you're welcome.) There is a difference in his delivery to that of most other audiobook narrators. Most of them are reading to you, he's telling the story. Small but vital difference. One makes me sleepy, the other engages me.
Anyway, I have all three of the Heyer books he's read (alas, I think he's going to be too busy this year to record another...yet. I have hopes), so I'm going back to re-listen to Sylvester while I finish up. It's only something like four hours long so I might not completely finish the cowl before the happy ending, but I will get closer. And then I've still got Venetia to listen to again. Rather liked that one, I must say. It won't hurt me much to listen to it again.
I've also updated my desk area:
That computer cart was driving me nuts. I couldn't find a desk that I could a) afford or b) get to my house timely, so I caved in and got a folding table instead. Hey, it works. If I could cut down the amount of crap on top of my table, I'd even have space to, you know, write. Long hand. Like an old lady. It's sort of sad I can't actually work out there because it's too bright, but there are plans on tap to fix that problem, too.
Home at last. Ironically, he weighs about the same in the box as he did when he first moved in with us. The tags are his iconic 'Scratch My Butt' and the crystal he wore to show his Pagan faith (I'm supposing; he pulled the St. Francis tags off his collar repeatedly but left that stupid little $5 tchotchke alone--we never did get around to discussing religious affiliation; I guess in the grand scheme of things, it was unimportant to us) and I propped the Gefilte Fish on top because he enjoyed it so much in his last month as a pillow. Seemed a fitting tribute.
Weirdly, I am amused and comforted no end by the fact that they sent his cyborg bits back, too. When I picked up the box, it was in a gift bag (slightly squicky, and I'll never look at a birthday gift in the same way again) complete with tissue paper and all. I removed the tissue paper, the packet of papers that included a 'death certificate' and how to grieve manual (I think I'm figuring that out on my own, thank you) and the box. I was pleased by how nice the box was, considering. Very high end, although considering what it cost it should be. Anyway, left in the gift bag after all else was removed was a small velvet bag with the cremation company's name and logo embroidered on it. Curious, I opened it and found a small bag of hardware--his hardware. They'd put the pins and plates from his knee surgeries in a separate bag; I guess in case you decide to scatter the ashes somewhere and don't want to inadvertently litter. They are now in the box with his other bits, locked in with the tag. And for some reason, I have the most amusing mental film playing of his cyborg bits rebuilding him, like something out of a Terminator movie. It's a testimony to his good nature that I can see him finding that image amusing, too.
Oddly enough I feel at total peace with the whole thing now. I'm sure it will come rushing back up at inopportune times--the sadness, the crying--but for now, I'm at peace. It helps I had a dream about him. In the dream, I was in my living room and my mom came in and said something about 'He's fine! Look!' and in he walked, just like he used to be able to when he was younger, before the knees went out and the chronic pain started. He completely ignored me, too, just like he used to do. :-) So even though I miss him terribly, I'm not as sad as I was. We had a lot of good times, we did. We were really very lucky to have had each other.
Now since my eyes are heavy and tired, I think I'll abrogate my responsibilities for the day (like that word? That's what comes of the 'word of the day' emails I get from Dictionary.com--I use words like abrogate in public--woe betide you should I figure out how to use dithyrambic or autoschediastical in a sentence, although both are very nice words and properly spelled, no matter that Blogger's autospellcheckamajiggie doesn't recognize them.) Perhaps I'll watch the DVD I have to take back to the library today. Maybe I'll bodge up the notebooks for the swap I'm doing (badly). Or maybe I'll listen to some Sylvester and get a few more rows of knitting in. Or in a fit of crazy, overly scheduled optimism, I could try for all three.
Even when skivving off, I'm an overachiever.