Thoughts Aborted
Nov. 26th, 2011 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blairmacgI finally painted my dining room and kitchen. I'd thought to put it off a little longer, but I simply couldn't look at those walls--and the stack of stuff that's intended to hang on the walls--another day. Other than balancing on the counter and stove to paint above the cabinets, it's been an easy job. I adore my new little edging tool.
Today has been easier than any day of the last week, mostly because we made it through Thanksgiving with more enjoyment and less anguish than we thought we would. We spent time over our Friday-Thanksgiving dinner talking of what Ron had helped us learn, understand, or do. Some were funny, some were sentimental, some led to stories that ended up being both. Dev had the chance to hear stories about his Dad that we hadn't brought up before. It was a good day.
On the drive home, I thought about omni writing and Shakespeare. I had intended to babble some of those thoughts here, but once I wrote them down, what seemed to be interesting suddenly became prosaic. My inner Hippolyta-Theseus started making fun of my workmen's show, and all I could hear was, "this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; this dog, my dog."
Then Scott Lynch turned into Gol-beron, and there was no way I could use Shakespeare as anything remotely serious for awhile. So I think I'll go have me some American Honey, watch some Firefly, and write a little later tonight.
Today has been easier than any day of the last week, mostly because we made it through Thanksgiving with more enjoyment and less anguish than we thought we would. We spent time over our Friday-Thanksgiving dinner talking of what Ron had helped us learn, understand, or do. Some were funny, some were sentimental, some led to stories that ended up being both. Dev had the chance to hear stories about his Dad that we hadn't brought up before. It was a good day.
On the drive home, I thought about omni writing and Shakespeare. I had intended to babble some of those thoughts here, but once I wrote them down, what seemed to be interesting suddenly became prosaic. My inner Hippolyta-Theseus started making fun of my workmen's show, and all I could hear was, "this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; this dog, my dog."
Then Scott Lynch turned into Gol-beron, and there was no way I could use Shakespeare as anything remotely serious for awhile. So I think I'll go have me some American Honey, watch some Firefly, and write a little later tonight.
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Date: 2011-11-27 02:15 am (UTC)Glad your thanksgiving went well.
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Date: 2011-11-27 02:41 am (UTC)