Miscellaneous housewifery

Whitney says, "Okay, I go out and do errands."
Tesla [oneironaut] says, "Good hunting."
Whitney says, "I need material for a Brighid's cross, and laundry detergent, and more boxes. And the severed heads of my enemies on a string, but I don't think I'm going to get that, especially since my prime enemy of the moment is the washing machine, and that doesn't have a head."
Tesla says, "You could put a head on it, then remove the head again."
Whitney says, "I'll consider it."
Whitney says, "I nockered the washing machine."
Whitney says, "It wouldn't work. I stomped upstairs, complained about it, and then stomped back down to give it a what-for, at which point it meekly began to function."
Whitney idles.
[...]
Whitney semi-idles for Cranky Pagan Craft Hour.

Spent much of the afternoon in a state of "Argh, I don't think any housework got done last week." House still a mess, but there are clean dishes, sheets, and other misc laundry. Ran out of detergent. Still hate the washing machine. Still have more laundry to do.

Emotionally cycling between quiet contentment and dealing-with-hidden-pain is bad enough when not tired.

I still haven't watched a Sox game this year that they've won, not even one where I caught five minutes in a restaurant or something. I didn't turn today's on, though, which means it's not my damn fault. Maybe I can listen on EEI safely.

I want a portable hole.

If I had a portable hole, I could put the boxes I've filled into it and get them out of my way.

I could put the furniture from upstairs that I'm dreading trying to maneuver out and around and out of the house in it and move it efficiently.

I found my bracers while cleaning and packing, and packed them and my garb away. Yes, I want to get back into doing a little SCA stuff. No, it's not happening right now. Thus, I don't need this, and can pack it away. Away, away, away, but not into a portable hole. That tub is in the upstairs hallway.

The more stuff I do in the house at the moment, the more frustrated I get with the state of the house. Packing is making a godawful mess. I dug up some boxes to clear off some rickety shelving into and now I've got miscellaneous packing material everywhere. Which, eventually, will be partially cycled into packing material for statues and other fragile things, when I'm done sitting here and feeling sorry for myself.

Too much stuff that I can't do a damn thing to fix, and the stuff that I can do just makes me feel discouraged.

I want the power to fold space and time.

Or a portable hole.