Big Julie Is Going to Kill You
May. 27th, 2010 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueSleepy. Dallas public transit being what it is, a bus that usually only comes once an hour failed to show up at all not once but twice, which put Ciro at home just after midnight (and which would have been closer to one if he'd had to walk from the train station instead of having me to pick him up, since the late arrival meant he missed the last connecting bus).
I made cookies for an early-morning meeting with a writing client who is also a friend, but was tired enough that I messed up a measurement early in the process and had to improvise from there on out, which meant I wound up with small, sugary bread loaves rather than cookies per se, because I understand bread better than I understand cookies. Then we were stood up for the meeting (reasonable health concerns), which meant getting to bed late and waking up early for no reason.
(Pet peeve: People who think that only the lazy are not awake at 10:00 A.M., and rising then could not possibly be inconvenient for anyone. I can't think of any time in the history of the industrialized world when the majority of the population worked 9-5 Monday through Friday. We are not all bankers, nor have we ever been, sitcoms to the contrary. I am courteous enough not to call you when I get off work; be courteous enough not to call me when you leave for it. If I agree to wake up that early, it is equivalent to me asking you to wake up at 5 AM. Time, as they say, is relative to the observer. This observation is not targeted at this morning, so much as the frequency with which people propose a 9 AM start and expect me to be excited about it, or assume that if I'm up late it's because I'm some kind of decadent lush rather than, say, a janitor or nurse.)
Ciro's birthday is tomorrow. I have no plans. I am highly distressed by basically everything and don't feel like I have a space or time to relax in ever at all. I am going to burn out very soon, but there is nothing I can drop that I haven't already. I wish I had a better sense of when I was going to be free to move and where I was going to go, and I wish the script was already cast rather than about to begin casting. I hate casting.
C.Blacker's visit was very pleasant; he's one of the most influential friends I've ever had and vice versa, and we spent most of three days chatting and playing each other stuff we've made in the last ten years. There is something really special about being amazing to someone who you find amazing. It's almost stupid how great that is.
My desk at work smells strange and awful and I can't figure out why. I compensate by listening to the radio because when I focus on one sense the other ones fade a little.
I made cookies for an early-morning meeting with a writing client who is also a friend, but was tired enough that I messed up a measurement early in the process and had to improvise from there on out, which meant I wound up with small, sugary bread loaves rather than cookies per se, because I understand bread better than I understand cookies. Then we were stood up for the meeting (reasonable health concerns), which meant getting to bed late and waking up early for no reason.
(Pet peeve: People who think that only the lazy are not awake at 10:00 A.M., and rising then could not possibly be inconvenient for anyone. I can't think of any time in the history of the industrialized world when the majority of the population worked 9-5 Monday through Friday. We are not all bankers, nor have we ever been, sitcoms to the contrary. I am courteous enough not to call you when I get off work; be courteous enough not to call me when you leave for it. If I agree to wake up that early, it is equivalent to me asking you to wake up at 5 AM. Time, as they say, is relative to the observer. This observation is not targeted at this morning, so much as the frequency with which people propose a 9 AM start and expect me to be excited about it, or assume that if I'm up late it's because I'm some kind of decadent lush rather than, say, a janitor or nurse.)
Ciro's birthday is tomorrow. I have no plans. I am highly distressed by basically everything and don't feel like I have a space or time to relax in ever at all. I am going to burn out very soon, but there is nothing I can drop that I haven't already. I wish I had a better sense of when I was going to be free to move and where I was going to go, and I wish the script was already cast rather than about to begin casting. I hate casting.
C.Blacker's visit was very pleasant; he's one of the most influential friends I've ever had and vice versa, and we spent most of three days chatting and playing each other stuff we've made in the last ten years. There is something really special about being amazing to someone who you find amazing. It's almost stupid how great that is.
My desk at work smells strange and awful and I can't figure out why. I compensate by listening to the radio because when I focus on one sense the other ones fade a little.
