a wolf angel is not a good angel

I particularly hate when I spill coffee all over myself just after I left the house — but just far enough away that it’s not worth it to go home and change. I think I am incapable of drinking coffee without pouring it onto my shirt and pants (or skirt, on less windy days).

I also particularly hate when the ground is painfully slippery, so I walk very slowly (even worse than usual) terrified I will fall and break my legs. I have fallen in the past, and though I’ve gotten nasty bruises, I have never broken anything from slipping on the ice. But still, I am constantly paranoid about this. So I am in the cold and the wind even longer as I pick my way on the few ice-free sidewalk parts.

A quick hate shout-out to: people who congregate at the front of the bus, leaving lots of room at the back, and the bus drivers who let them do that and then drive by chilled and hopeful people waiting at bus stops despite there being room in the bus; people who stop on the wrong side of the escalator, especially if they were standing on the right side for half the stairs, then moved over to block everyone for the second half; people who drive into an obviously blocked intersection so they can be stuck there during the red light, especially those who do it over a crosswalk; people who forget to reset their alarm clocks so they cannot sleep in even though they carefully scheduled it so they could. I’m tired again today and I have only myself to blame.

It is somehow Creme Egg (and Caramilk Egg) time. I have the sneaking suspicion that the egg season has been slowly growing (though the end date cutoff seems unchanged at Easter), but I have no resentment about how the season is getting longer and longer, now it starts before Valentine’s Day — what’s next, red and green eggs for Christmas? No, I think: hurray! Overly sweet candy for an extra month!

I only need to be at the synagogue for 10 am and not 8:45 on Saturday. My current plan is to make an appearance, then discreetly hide in the bathroom with a book to preserve my refusal to go in synagogues where men and women are separated stance. It really depends on which family members I end up stuck near sitting with. I know, rude, etc, but I’ll show up for the speech.

Then I get my hair cut, ending my not so successful try with long layers. Not that it looked particularly bad, but the ends being all different lengths drove me nuts. They’re driving me more nuts every day, but I am holding off on cutting my own hair with blunt scissors, if just barely.

And then we take family photos, which will show an amusing clash of outfits: my mother in jeans and a winter shirt, me in jeans and a summer shirt, one sister in a fancy dress. Nothing says “awesome party” like “dress however you want”. (I may wear a long sleeved shirt underneath, if I can find a navy one.) I am dragging a friend, who will probably require something incredibly annoying in return. Still preferable than going solo. Someone to be mean with!

The NYT article called “At last, a $20,000 cup of coffee” amazes me. Were we all waiting for a coffee brewer that costs about one thousand times as much as a cheap one? Was it on anyone’s wishlist? Is there no way to make a good cup of brewed coffee for some intermediate price? Yes, I would totally go buy a cup of that coffee if I knew it were for sale nearby.

All I want to do, all day long, is sleep. (I fell asleep on the 15 minute bus ride today, woke up a few stops before mine, and kept dozing off as the bus moved very very slowly uphill. I really wanted to just stay on the bus and sleep.) All I want to do, all night long, is anything but sleep.

I was too tired to uncover my car this evening, and I know that tomorrow morning, I will bitterly regret having waited.

Matilda likes to sleep under the bathtub, and all the wet catfood in a can of her favourite kind of food won’t tempt her out. Perverse thing. She’ll appear at about 3 in the morning, because it’s best to be friendly in the inconvenient hours.

Last night I dreamed that I woke up early and made muffins. I had half planned to do this for real, but figured the chance that I would magically wake up before my alarm was low. And in fact I only woke up 5 minutes before my alarm, without a single muffin to console me. At least this time I realised it was a dream during the dream itself (though this was possibly the most boring lucid dream ever), so I wasn’t surprised when I woke up.

(I just made the muffins anyhow, as I woke up not very tired, though with strawberries instead of raspberries.)

Update: they turned out all raw on the inside. No muffins for me.

“Two tickets for Sweeney Todd, please.”
“Are you aware that it’s a musical?”
“…”
“The movie. Do you know it’s a musical? With songs.”

I got my period this week, which explains why I snapped at people Tues and Wed. But it didn’t come with its usual “wow, I think I should kill myself” introduction (or at least, not a serious one — I can’t believe I can rank the levels of premenstrual suicidal ideation), so I didn’t expect it, even though it’s exactly on schedule.

In other irritable person news, I overheard some woman yelling at someone on the phone. Apparently the person (guy, I think) had ditched her without notice, and she explained that it was ok if he called to let her know beforehand (I would agree, for reasonable amounts of beforehand, where reasonable is not “well, I tried to call you 45 minutes before but you didn’t pick up your cell”), but no one could screw her over twice! She’d forgive him this time, but no one screws her over twice! It’s ok if you have to cancel, but don’t screw her over, because no one does that twice!

She was wrong, though. This guy could totally make plans with her and blow her off, screwing her over twice. He wouldn’t, one presumes, have a chance to do it three times.

I’m reading the book ‘Girls of Riyadh’, which is fine, it’s fun, it’s Gossip Girl: Saudi Arabia.

We have the love trials of the wealthy girls (though with less sex than in the Upper East Side), we have the unnamed narrator, we have the focus on the narrator’s use of the internet.

I am enjoying the book, but I am reading it in Kristen Bell’s voice, which is causing some cognitive dissonance.

Among the dreams I had last night, I dreamed I slept late and then went to a museum. And lo and behold, I slept late. I am only just barely awake now, and I’m still late, and I’m online.

This is not the ideal morning plan.

So, to continue with my litany of illness-related woes, I have this sort of persistent not quite stomach ache. I don’t really know what it is, though it tends to be responsive to Advil (and not Tylenol). It doesn’t make me feel nauseated, though I think it makes me less hungry. It is unpleasant.

I would go to sleep now, but I’m all caught up in thinking about what this is or means, and pressing on various spots on my belly to see if it has an effect. It doesn’t.

I’m so tired lately that I wish — for once — that I took more photos, so I could put them up in lieu of content.

I will instead link to a short story I like, by James Alan Gardner, Three Hearings on the Existence of Snakes in the Human Bloodstream.

I read one of the books I was all excited about. It was good, but not great.