Did everything correctly to make coffee this morning EXCEPT put the coffee in the Moka pot.
In my defense, the insomnia is pretty bad lately, and between holiday stress and vicious deep embarrassment I’m not surprised little things like “actually put the fuckin’ grounds in the basket” are slipping through the cracks. But I realized my error when I started to pour a liquid that was definitely not coffee into my cup, so there was only the problem of cooling the Moka pot down and then restarting the whole damn process.
Back to square one, in more ways than one.
I’m also in the doldrums of “intent doesn’t matter, the harm caused matters.” I’m really glad I was finally told there was a problem, I’m angry with myself that I didn’t know, and I’m sad it took months for the news to reach me. I should have known that enjoying myself to the extent that I did meant something was wrong, but I was so happy and excited I wasn’t looking. In any case, the problem is now visible and a fix is in process, and I’m really glad someone finally said something to me about it. Embarrassment is valuable; it means I won’t do it again. And that’s all that needs to be said about that.
Boxnoggin is Very Excited; I think he senses today we’re going to try running again. I’m going to have to switch him to my right side where Miss B usually ran, which means I need to make a sharp division between “walkies time”–he and Miss B on their usual sides–and “running time,” where he’ll be on my right. That will make sure he doesn’t go through me when startled by a bus again. All the scabs from last time seem to have mostly healed; I don’t need a new crop.
At least, that’s the plan. Dogs do not like change, and initially I thought it would be better to just keep him on one side for walkies and running. Patience and coaxing, along with several rounds of “you’re such a good boy,” will mean we probably don’t run far or fast, but that’s all right. We’re going to be doing this together for a long time, we can start slowly.
At least burying myself in work to escape from stress means I’m drawing nearer the end of Black God’s Heart. Book One is almost at its crisis point–the ride on a big black horse to a well under a cherry tree, thank you, KT Tunstall–and once the zero is finished it’ll be time to turn all my engines to HOOD‘s Season Three and deciding which serial to do next.
A surfeit of work is better than a paucity, amen.
But first I’ve to finish the coffee (finally), walk the dogs, and brace myself to get through another day. I can already tell it’s going to be a dilly, but at least everything is funny instead of heartbreaking now. If I’m laughing, I’m fine–they’ll probably put that on my urn.
See you ’round, beloveds.