Ngah.

1044 words, which finishes section 103 (1052 total). Will probably get more done later, if I can sort out what 104 has to be. Oh, that's what it has to be, yeah.

Will probably try to clean the bathtub.

Too much blasted stuff in my head. I haven't been posting about my angst, because my angst bores me. Or something. I don't quite want to talk about it; just . . . trying to navigate my way through these shoals of damaged relationship stuff is a lot more than I can handle readily. I'm mostly coping by not thinking about it except when I'm actually working on it, though that backfired recently in a messy way that's been sort of addressed as much as it can be right now. So that's all I'm going to say.

Had a meeting with Rev. Sedgwick today about how the New Members' Class is going to actually finish up; we put together a working plan that may function. Which gets the stress about that somewhat out of my head.

Two weeks, I'm going to Cali, if I'm reading this note about my reservations right. Two weeks, and I feel utterly unprepared, and that's getting into the part of time that I can process as real time, possibly even imminent time. I need to deal with my PantheaCon registration.

I need to write to BU. Or go down to campus and harass them personally. Or call them, but ngah. NGAH. Hate the damn phones. Which means I need to figure out how to sound like a real, coherent human being, and I need to remember to send out of the mindspring address, which uses my quote-unquote real name. Ngah.

I'll be twenty-six in a week, apparently. Which isn't weighing on me or anything, it's just there occasionally as something to schedule and stare at.

*ponders at her mood* Hey, I remember some of the minor arcana without having to look them up. Cool. I think.

I'm sure there's something I'm missing that I need to be doing. Aside from the bathtub.

And onwards.

Section 104: Perturbing me in its precise four hundred wordsness. Done.

Have not cleaned bathtub, due to catastrophic lack of paper towelage. Am fairly certain there is no paper towelage in the house at all at this point, which is severely impeding my already limited housewifery capabilities as well as my ability to compensate for things like cleverly pouring milk down my chest yesterday while trying to take my pills. (teinedreugan: next we grocerise, remind me about the paper towels and the big whacking jug of corn oil.)

Cord on my religious confusion broke while I was showering; have repaired, or at least tied another knot in it. Pondering whether I might be able to pick up a Kemetic pendant and a Sacred Chao to add to it at PantheaCon, at which point I will have five symbols and feel satisfied with my numerology.

Hm. This would be what we call a "headache". Take pills, go bed, yes.


Unt here ist Bach! Bababa, bababa . . .

Ngar.

I. Am never. Answering. The telephone. Again.