make up your mind you have stories to tell
It's a pale grey day out here. I have one thing I've committed to do, and two things I'm thinking about doing, and mercifully none of them conflict with each other. Today's low-level irritation is that something is irritating my scalp just enough to make the prospect of shaving a bad idea; I shall switch to a different soap, and see if that helps.
Tomorrow, Soren and I go to the physiologist, and will discuss scheduling another round of Botox for his leg, and possibly for his toes; Tuesday, Jane and I have a date to do some serious cleaning of the living room; Wednesday, I think I shall go back to the dueling pianos night at the gay bar up in Capitol Hill....
I realize that I have, in fact, experienced what's called the "Seattle Freeze," but that in some cases, I've managed to move through it, simply by not realizing it existed; in others, I've decided it wasn't worth the effort, and in at least two cases, I've made it past the freeze by showing up unexpectedly in other places (Purr, for example), proving that I'm not just a one-place sort of person. It's interesting.
(Wonder if I can get anyone to go with me to Burien to see The Wbo's Tommy in early March? Soren is exceedingly unthrilled with the idea, as he's not a fan of The Who to begin with, much less Tommy.)
Letter-writing continues apace, though I am two days behind. On the other hand, I've just gotten some lovely photo cards from a local photographer (who also sings karaoke at Changes), including some of snow geese. And I am, as ever, thinking about what are my stories, and what are Someone Else's Story, and what are Stories from the Land of Not My Problem. Those last are sometimes wistful-making, as I care about the people in them, but I suspect that any actions I take will have little to no positive effect. So it goes.
Tomorrow, Soren and I go to the physiologist, and will discuss scheduling another round of Botox for his leg, and possibly for his toes; Tuesday, Jane and I have a date to do some serious cleaning of the living room; Wednesday, I think I shall go back to the dueling pianos night at the gay bar up in Capitol Hill....
I realize that I have, in fact, experienced what's called the "Seattle Freeze," but that in some cases, I've managed to move through it, simply by not realizing it existed; in others, I've decided it wasn't worth the effort, and in at least two cases, I've made it past the freeze by showing up unexpectedly in other places (Purr, for example), proving that I'm not just a one-place sort of person. It's interesting.
(Wonder if I can get anyone to go with me to Burien to see The Wbo's Tommy in early March? Soren is exceedingly unthrilled with the idea, as he's not a fan of The Who to begin with, much less Tommy.)
Letter-writing continues apace, though I am two days behind. On the other hand, I've just gotten some lovely photo cards from a local photographer (who also sings karaoke at Changes), including some of snow geese. And I am, as ever, thinking about what are my stories, and what are Someone Else's Story, and what are Stories from the Land of Not My Problem. Those last are sometimes wistful-making, as I care about the people in them, but I suspect that any actions I take will have little to no positive effect. So it goes.