Until It Stops Working

Macro Monday So far this morning I’ve run 6k, finished the huge pile of shredding I had to do, and polished off the last of the cocoanut bonbons.

Yesterday I knocked off fifty pages of revisions and got my filing cabinet cleaned out and under control. (Hence the shredding.) I discovered that working in twenty-minute increments, shifting back and forth between those two tasks, made me a lot more productive than just sitting down and finishing one. thing. at. a. time. I’m sure this strategy only has limited uses, but I’m going to stick with it until it stops working.

Also in the category of things I’m going to stick with until it stops working: I’m going to a Transcendental Meditation talk this upcoming weekend. If it isn’t heavy on the cult vibe, I may even pay for the training. Or, maybe–maybe–ask for the people who know my birthday to contribute toward the course fee for said birthday next year.

I should probably explain why this is a big deal: I LOATHE my birthday. I don’t hate getting older, far from. Each year I get older is another year away from the helplessness and pain of my childhood, and that’s a good thing. I hate it because every year I would get panicked and nervous for weeks beforehand wondering what explosion would occur if things didn’t go “perfectly” according to someone else on that day. That sort of stress, year after year, has a habit of echoing. I’m happiest when that day passes in routine, with nothing special to mark it at all. I love other people’s birthdays, I just find the thought of presents or anything else on my own so stressful I’d rather lock myself in a cave during it, and for about a week on either side.

According to the few people who do know about my birthday, maybe I should learn to relax a little bit. So, I might take the plunge.


Anyway, I’d stay and report about the pictures I got of Josephine!Squirrel at the birdfeeder outside the kitchen window, not to mention the grazing Odd Trundles is doing for stray hay and bits of shredded paper on the office floor. (Seriously, it looks like fucking Mardi Gras in here, except no tits.) But my time for blogging is up, and I must dive into these revisions so my editor doesn’t come hunting me down with an axe.

Go on, laugh. I did too, at first.

*winks* Over and out.

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martian moon crab
martian moon crab

it would be cool to reclaim your birthday. It is after all, Yours.

Have an interesting time at the TM intro, will be interested in hearing what you think of it.