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Beloved went shopping last week. I say this with a due sense of dread - but since I was working every waking hour I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

It didn’t help that the fool man someone (who is probably not me. Maybe.) ridiculously quite understandably hasn’t been adding several obviously essential every day items easily forgotten trifles to the list. Because of his childlike inability to manage someone’s unfortunate but quite forgivable oversight many essentials were not bought. Like flour. And yeast. And milk. And butter. (Really, you’d think I wouldn’t even have to ADD such things to the list since they’re so patently obvious - so clearly his fault).

Of course, our shopping bill was the same. And why is that? Why that is because Beloved has all the impulse control of a ferret on crack. Which means we have things like the unbelievable selection of 8 squillion varieties of green tea. We don’t drink tea. Of any variety or colour. It tastes like someone spilled a kettle onto a herb rack and bottled the resulting run off. It tastes like someone steeped a bag of potpourri.

And then there’s the fruit. The most exotic, expensive fruit he can imagine. Things with inch thick rinds and waxy skin that taste like sugar dissolved in Benilyn. Really, do we need extra expensive fruit to rot in the bowl to pretend we’re doing the healthy eating thing?

I do not know what this chemical cleaner is supposed to clean. nor do I think I want to. Can I destroy it in a controlled explosion?

And yes, we use soured cream. It’s very useful stuff soured cream. 3 pints of soured cream? It’s going to be more than damn sour before we get round to using it all!

And of course we cannot forget the 3 bird roast. Really, one of these days he is going to learn that a household of 2 does not need roast birds that could feed a regiment - let alone three of them stuffed into each other.

I haven’t even looked in the freezer yet. I am expecting large bags all labelled “meat - misc” each containing enough meat for 4 meals - all frozen into one big lump.

And I don't know what THIS is but it isn't coffee. Ye gods, what monster would DO this to the noble coffee bean?
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It's possible, in shopping at the meat market today (hmmmm real butchers and farmers with yummy non-chemical meat!) that we may, just MAY, have allowed ourselves to be slightly carried away.

Some may argue that, even accepting visitors and going to my parents and Beloved's parents bringing dishes, we have bought a LITTLE too much food.

The Turkey crown covered in bacon is a must, of course (so covered in bacon it looks like a little hill of solid bacon)

The turduckens were great value - but we probably didn't need 2.

The apple covered pork joint? Probably unnecessary

The garlic and mint infused lamb joint looked too perfect to turn up.

2 joints of beef, however, were probably unneeded

And the pork chops. I don't even like chops that much (clearly Beloved's fault)

The sausages... yeah no-ones needs that many different types of sausages

We do need the bacon though. Even if it is a whole pig's worth. Because.

I think it's time to start cooking *ominous tones*

Now how do I blame this on Beloved
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Sparky is also considering carpeting the kitchen. Sparky is also reminded to never let the coffee machine in upstairs study run out of coffee again.

Sparky's Feet: *in bedroom* hmmmm thick warm carpet
Sparky's Feet: *in Landing* hmmm snugly carpet
Sparky's Feet: *downstairs to hallway* warm and soft hmmmmmm
Sparky's Feet: *in kitchen* AAARGH! ICEBERG ICEBERG! RUN AWAY!!!!
Sparky: *glares at tiles* *is unable to leave hallway* Tiles. Cold.
Beloved: *watches with interest*
Sparky: *touches one foot to tiles* Tiles. Still. Cold. *removes foot*
Beloved: *giggles* Morning brain is frozen.
Sparky: *tries again* Tiles. Still Cold.
Beloved: *pokes Sparky*
Sparky: *Tries to bite. Misses*
Beloved: *holds up slippers* Maybe try these?
Sparky: *ignores* *tries again* Cooooold.
Beloved: Simple answer! Right here! *waves slippers*
Sparky: Yes - Beloved make coffee *wanders off where the carpet is squishy and warm*
Beloved: *throws slippers*
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I say it every year, but it's always best to repeat it.

I don't do Holiday cards. Actually, I don't do cards of any kind. I don't send them, I don't return them and I'd prefer not to receive them, to tell the truth (not that I'd throw them back in your face or anything, obviously). The only cards I send are to some rather dessicated relatives who would be SHOCKED and APPALLED if I did otherwise.

I understand cards - or what cards were. Cards were nice little letters you sent people you didn't see very often to remind them that you still considered them a friend and still thought of them. They were a way to keep in touch - especially at a time when telephone usage was not unduly common.

Now we have the internet. I'm in touch with absolutely everyone I want to be in touch with (and a fair few others at that - family should not share my email!) If I have fallen out of touch with old school friends or whatever, there's a REASON.

I find it ridiculous to send a card to someone to wish them a Happy Holiday when I see them on a weekly basis, communicate with them several times a week or even share the same house with them (Beloved, you can stop your pouting right now). It'd be like sending them a letter - very very silly.

Furthermore, the waste of the whole greetings card system appalls me. Most of them are GROSSLY overpriced - I'd much rather everyone send their card money to a deserving charity (like Médecins san frontières or Water Aid) than waste it on a lot of paper. Paper, which, of course, does NOTHING for our environment since even recycling it won't 100% make up for the vast number of trees we kill to send an empty message with all the true sincerity of an insurance agent.

So, I will not be sending cards this year, nor do I expect them.
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At the market, Beloved and I got separated largely due to my sleep deprived state (he totally abandoned me! ABANDONED ME!!!! *wails*).

I usually avoid this. Beloved cannot be allowed to shop unattended. He will end up buying a whole sheep or something. Quite possibly still alive. It is known. He cannot be trusted to shop. I should have at least taken his money off him. I am far more sensible

Of course

It is known.

So I wandered around looking for him, occasionally making very SENSIBLE and REASONABLE purchases for I am the sensible, reasonable one. Yes yes I am.

So I caught up with him and, yes, he had bought ridiculous fruit wines and a truly unnatural amount of German sausages. And really how much venison and game birds? Gross waste of money! Unacceptable! Shameful! Inexcusable and I told him so most surely and a length so he couldn’t get a word in edgeways! Of course... that can’t be maintained forever

Beloved: What ARE you wearing?
Sparky: Don’t change the subject! *back to Necessary Stern Lecture*
Beloved: Is that a cloak?
Sparky: It‘s cold!.
Beloved: You bought a cloak. Oh that’s perfect!
Sparky: It’s a shiny cloak!
Beloved: Haha I have the moral highground! I have the moral highground!
Sparky: I blame sleep deprivation *desperate plea for sympathy)
Beloved: No excuses! I can buy anything now for, like a month and you can’t say anything!
Sparky: Only if you don’t buy a cloak as well...
Beloved:... damn. Can I use your cloak?
Sparky: Not without losing the moral highground.
Beloved: Damn damn damn damn... Well I have the moral highground until I get one
Sparky: Yes, enjoy it while you can *pats*

Even sleep deprived and at a grave disadvantage, I always win :)
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Sparky has had some damn weird few days. It has also become apparent that the schedule I could keep at, say 19, is suddenly infinitely harder at 28. I feel old.

On Monday was working extra hours and flat our because work load is freaking huge (and had been for a while)

On Tuesday I was on call and, naturally, stayed up most of the night, burning down my to-do list. Then I have my moment of pure horror. Looming deadline, work undone. Reason? Work is boring and other work is interesting.

After much consideration I decided that the Senior Partners would not accept that as an excuse. I considered briefly training the cat to gnaw paper but recall the memo that clearly states that “The firm will not accept that any work has been bitten, gnawed, clawed, scratched, consumed or otherwise defaced or destroyed by felines, canines, any other mammal, birds, reptiles, amphibians, fish, flesh eating bacteria, man eating plants or other, unknown life forms whether they be extra-terrestrial, mythological, extinct or otherwise.” It was a very thorough memo. And shows they know us very well.

So Wednesday was an INFAMOUS ALL NIGHTER finishing this file in record time AND trying not to let the other work fall behind. No actual sleep was had - deadline was met. I rejoiced and was hailed as a god!

Thursday appointments ALL FREAKING DAY and clients take exception to you collapsing and drooling on them. Trust me, we know. I complain bitterly and my dear secretary presents me with multiple memos of my repeatedly putting off appointments because I was busy/tired/lazy/didn’t like the person in question/having an impromptu karaoke competition that may or may not have involved dodgy music videos on the CCTV. I thanked her kindly for reminding me of these incidents. Repeatedly. At length. And did not in any way express any desire for her to die in fire. No, no I did not. Not even when she sent me a message every 15 minutes entitled “TICK TOCK!!!” Ah office humour - and then they complain when we bring in melee weapons!

But I go home confident that I have stemmed the tide and prepare to sleep. Beloved had, amazingly, cooked a steak and kidney pie which was edible, tasty AND didn’t do irreparable damage to the kitchen or any great structural damage to the house or leave suspicious and un-removable stains on the counters. I was impressed. Of course I believe this means that the meat in said pie was probably the remains of one of the neighbours since cannibalism would nicely counterbalance his unusual competence. Still, it was tasty *eyes neighbours in a speculative fashion*

And then my brother rings. As ever, I despair of my genetics. It appears he found a kitten and it is sick and he... well he did many things involving vets and RSPCA and needed to know what to do and was generally flailing around in panic. You wouldn’t believe he was 26 would you? So my sleep time turned into talking him down and informing him that he is not, repeat, NOT to adopt said kitten.

Finally settling in for some damn sleep and Beloved tells me he’ll look for other days for York’s most excellent Christmas Market that we intended to go to today...

Except, I knew we’d not really have chance another day, especially if we want to go to Hawes (for cheese. Trust me, so worth it) at the same time. And Beloved has had this on his “ZOMG YES!” to do list for some time because he ALWAYS misses the market and has to listen to me describe it. And he won’t go alone.

In other words, there was no way in hell I was not going even if Beloved had to carry me. (Full report incoming). Which meant working last night, getting up early to blitz work this morning so I could go slacking this afternoon.

So, Sparky is now... rather tired. I am going to hunker down tonight and try to address some of my email backlog. Expect a more functional Sparky tomorrow.


Nov. 14th, 2009 12:57 pm
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Beloved has mangoes.

He likes mangoes (never really seen the attraction myself. I mean their nice and all, but if it was a choice between a mango and 90% of other fruit, I‘ll pass on the mango. It‘s like being mad keen on apples.) and has managed to get fresh mangoes (in November? Well, I suppose - can’t say I know when mangoes grow). This should be a simple and easy thing.

Of course, nothing is ever easy round here.

We knew there was a problem when the knife rebounded. I suggested that maybe, just maybe, the mango may, possibly be SLIGHTLY under ripe and perhaps, JUST PERHAPS, letting it ripen a little may be ideal.

Beloved scoffed mightily at my most unreasonable suggestion and found a SHARPER knife. This snapped. I quickly decided to put 999 on speed dial.

He found a bigger knife... this bounced. I dialled the first 2 9s to be ready as soon as possible

Then things escalated. There were knives all over the kitchen, knives with every kind of blade imaginable lying discarded across the counter. (3 ambulances, a blood bank and a ranting old man screaming from Revelations were already prepared and on standby at this point)

(It should be noted at this point that there was a brief time out while Beloved, obviously becoming quite unreasonable with his frustration, quite unfairly pointed out that losing/breaking ONE knife from a knife block or set shouldn’t really mean that we buy an entire new set or block. I have decided that the Infernal Mango has damaged his brain otherwise he clearly wouldn’t say such silly things. Of course you need a new block - or it wouldn’t have been a SET. This Is Important. Right?)

At some point in the operations Beloved found a large cleaver ... Of course we also both found the rum. It was very nice rum. We may have mixed it with the miscellaneous clear stuff that should have been lemonade but clearly wasn‘t. It MAY have been sambuca. I think it was - but neither of us are actually sure what sambuca IS (in retrospect, it‘s probably not a good idea to drink said unidentified liquid if there is this much uncertainty concerning it. Ah the benefits of sober hindsight).

Of course rum and sharp things shouldn’t go together - but then, alcohol and common sense are rarely companions anyway. (Like common sense has any place in our home). So instead of more *ahem* conventional fruit peeling we had:

Beloved: Chi THUNK del THUNKgit- THUNK -a- THUNK-no i gi- THUNKorni THUNK abel- THUNK -la?

The full chorus. Damn that mango was tough... Why do we use kevlar in bullet proof vests? Why don’t strap a dozen mangos to them? Or would the calypso look not work for the armed forces?

(I’m pretty certain he only did this to prove that both his Italian and his singing voice are better than mine, by the way. Yes yes he did. I shall have to plot revenge.)

Then came the electric carving knife. BUZZZZZZZZZZZ! I believe that at this point several of the standby EMTs fainted

So we have mango. So does the walls and the floor. The cat. The circling emergency services. The neighbours. A large proportion of the town.

It was at this point that Beloved conceded that maybe, just maybe, I could be right about the Mangos. And they may, just MAY, be a tad under ripe. Personally I’m contacting the military, these things could be used to break open tanks!
sparkindarkness: (Default)
It raged massively through the house.

There were preliminary blows last night with offensive use of ear worms and 80s music.

It began with an aggressive making of sandwiches (even bacon ones!), drinks etc without offering any to the other.

It was escalated by the wilful using of The Last Slice of Bread and the Last of the Coffee without getting/making fresh.

There was a brief, but bloody tussle over the central heating thermostat. And there was much freezing and baking by all.

There was an installing of annoying software on my computer. That Made Noise!

Which was countered by the dastardly disappearance of remotes throughout the house. Including one being installed in the cat’s tray.

There was the horrendous pyrrhic victory of moving essential commodities to high shelves which, in hindsight of both sides, was foolish since neither of us was tall enough to easily retrieve them

There was a hoovering while television was being watched.

There was the stereo when telephone calls where being made.

It was ugly.

Until the threat of Rule 34 was invoked. And yes, even the ability to listen - and sing along to - hours of Aqua. Truly, it has come to desperate measures that such WMD be invoked.

But peace has been offered and graciously accepted.

I have a full pot of coffee all to myself. Our finest, most ludicrously expensive coffee. With cinnamon and chicory and baileys and double cream and whipped cream and just a little Demerera sugar. Victory is mine.

So is take away pizza. The size of a dustbin lid. Life is good :)
sparkindarkness: (Default)
So, today was our traditional Friday collaborative dinner.

When Beloved and I cook together and find something huge and complicated, usually with 9 courses of fiddly feasting, with enough food to feed a regiment and people within 3 counties stacking up sand bags and checking the fire extinguishers.

Because it is fun and we both get off from work early (well, officially I don't. But the whole legal profession shuts down in this city on Friday afternoon. You want a quick legal decision? Schedule Friday afternoon - guilty, not guilty - we'll flip a coin, damn it. We wanna go home!). And if we drink all the "cooking wine" (and yes, we do need 4 bottles of wine to cook with. And the cider. And the spirits. And definitely the ale. Yes yes we do) and it doesn't matter if it all goes wrong and we don't end up eating until 11:00 and if worst comes to worst the takeaways are open late.

And we have the fire brigade on speed dial (see? fully prepared). It also leaves us all Saturday to rebuild decontaminate exorcise clean the kitchen.

So all was going swimmingly, there had been NO FIRES AT ALL!! (shock!) when I spotted it. A cup. By the kettle.

It had tea in it.

Beloved had a cup of tea and HAD NOT MADE ME ONE!

Beloved made some noises about it having been made before I got home (which means... gather yourselves dear people for the news is traumatic - that he has LET IT GET COLD. He has WASTED TEA! A thousand British ancestors scream in outrage. Well, tut in an irritated fashion in outrage. Possibly with an exclaimed "well I never!")

So Beloved stands accused of the dual crimes of a) making a hot beverage without making me one and b) allowing said beverage to go cold - with the most severe aggravating factor of it being tea.

Naturally, I have declared war. As is fitting and reasonable.

So I has plottin' to do
sparkindarkness: (Default)
We’re painting the kitchen ceiling and door frames.

So, naturally, we covered the tiled floor in newspapers (where we get these newspapers from, I don’t know. We don’t actually get any kind of newspaper but the cupboard always have newspapers ready for recycling. I think Beloved must operate an underground press. Either that or they're breeding in a great incestuous illicit orgy in the cupboard under the stairs).

So upon raiding the kitchen for home made biscuits (Yorkshire Gingernuts. Nom nom nom) I glance down and see a crossword and the answer pops into my head (hey, glasses are working!!)

Fast forward 20 minutes to Beloved coming in

Beloved: Why are you laying on the floor?
Me: There’s a crossword here!
Beloved: Couldn’t you just take the paper? Hey Sodoku!

There then follows much crawling around on the floor hunting down sodokus and crosswords. And then Beloved was totally hogging all of the sodokus (how grossly unfair) so we had to discuss this which turned into having to wrestle over it (sodoku was ripped. Poor Sodoku)

I think I’ve plastered paint all over one of my good shirts, damn it.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
that can compare with the scourge of...


I am afflicted. So low have I been brought that lepers weep in pity for me. The shades of those who have fallen to the black death swirl around my bedside gasping a wailing at the suffering I must endure. Truly no-one in the history of mankind has ever suffered so poignlently, has ever endured so gracefully or has ever stoicly withstood such horrendous affliction

However, I am comforted by the knowledge that I rest in the warm and tender affections of my loving partner in this time of trial

Beloved: AARGH you're SICK?! Get away! Get away! *runs to bathroom and starts scrubbing* UNCLEAN UNCLEAN! Stay away from me! Take the sheets out into the garden and burn them! Without touching anything!

Really, in the face of such overhwelmingly sympathetic love and support, what am I to do?

Clearly, I must work on being more pitiful *practices feeble groan* getting better, just need a little more failty.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
It’s important to remember that. He is well regarded in his profession for his ability to do things to computers that should be illegal and make me wonder if he is cheating on me with a PC. His abilities with maths give me a migraine trying to follow them. He is practical on a level I can never grasp, able to take broken appliances, technology, ANYTHING, tinker with them for a few minutes and make them work again (of course, he’d never USE them again because they’re OBSOLETE and he needs the newest model shredder. Gods forbid we have an OUTDATED paper cutter!)

Sooooo when he does something stupid my violent reaction is totally justified, right? Because he must be doing it on purpose. To torture me. Clearly.

So I go hunting in the freezer for dinner - defrost a corpse for the tasty nummy meat within. I worry a little because Beloved packed the freezer and his labels require... creative interpretations at times. But no, every label looks right, everything looks fine until... I find the MINCE.

Yes, lean beef MINCE. He has happily labelled it, correctly and clearly.

All 5lbs of it.

In one bag.

ONE bag.

So, I have 2 questions I need people to answer for me.

1) Exactly what, in the name of all that is holy, am I supposed to do with many many meal’s worth of meat frozen into one huge lump?

2) Would I be justified in heaving the giant mass of meat at his head?


Oct. 2nd, 2009 10:39 pm
sparkindarkness: (Default)
Sparky is drunk

Very drunk. There was wine. There was cidre. Or possibly cider. Maybe both. There was coffee liqeuer which may or may not be spelled correctly. We may need another "e". Or 1 less. There was a nice cocktail called "Low Blow" that caused Beloved and I no small amount of fun both in the giggly way and in the naughty way (Beloved remains gorgeous, sexy and insanely cute. Honestly, I know I'm unsuited to the polyamorous lifestyle simply because I am so in to this guy. (But I'd totally still do Elijah Wood and Orlando Bloom. Just because).

And there's STILL rum. Rum and orange juice, rum and coke, rum and red bull, rum and... green stuff? Pretty green stuff. Is shiny. I like the green stuff. And apple sours. Which looks like the green stuff but are different. Very different. They almost hurt but are oh-so-good which means they are KINKY booze. Which is good. And it needs ice. But not the booze ice in the sexy shapes. The other ice. Shiny.

And this is because I am 28 on Sunday. I don't do birthdays and don't do well on them. No, no I don't. I would angst but there's these shiny apple sour thingies that want to play. With the ice. The non-sexy-but-shiny ice. And they are nommy. And Beloved has filled my glass again.

And I'm totally going to hit him because he's pouring me a drink for every grey hair he can find. Which is bad, but means much booze. Which is good. Silly Beloved, he confuses me.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
There escalated a minor war recently, revolving mainly around who has a duty to eat the Poisonous Stir Fry of Doom (and it’s disturbing sequel - the tasteless yet peppery stir fry of doom). Things were done that were... amusing but regrettable. This, naturally, escalated. Because maturity is boring and has no place in our house.

Until Beloved threatened to use his nuke - endless looping ear worms knowing that I would then have Magical Trevor stuck in my head for freaking weeks.

So I think I was quite justified in using rule 34 against him. He doesn’t know rule 34. Dear, innocent, Beloved. He is head and shoulders better with computers than me, but his internet-fu is waaay weaker than mine. He didn’t see how simple bad porn could be a weapon.

*evil grin*

Beloved: *running with hands on ears* I’m not listening! I’m not lisssstening!
Me: But you’ve got to hear the rest of this Carebear BDSM porn! Tenderheart Bear...
Beloved: NO!!!
Me: Awww, I haven’t even TOUCHED Harry Potter fandom yet..
Beloved: Ok! You win you win! No ear worms!
Me: And I didn’t even have to resort to lava lamps.

See? See? I knew there would be some advantage to all the desperate, brain-bleach mandatory fic I’ve been subjected to over the years!
sparkindarkness: (Default)
I'm actually reassesing my cooking skills and habits with a a considerable nod towards removing some mental baggage that needs to be cut away asap. More musings later.

Anyway, tonight was spicey chilli garlic chicken chow mein (home made noodles. Nom) which is, unsurprisingly, a spicy meal (as in it has lots of flavours mingling together for spicy nomminess. NOT it's so hot that it's physically impossible to taste anything. What is the point? I mean, I like spicy - but hot for the sake of hotness? Food that actually HURTS? What is this madness?)

The phone rings - which, during a stir fry, is annoying. I leave Beloved to take over. I come back, taste and...

Me: AAARGH *chokes on inedibleness* what did you do?
Beloved: NOTHING! *innocent look. So you know he's guilty*
Me: You had to add one ingredient! ONE.
Beloved: And I did! 1 tablespoon of black pepper.
Me: A PINCH of black pepper. And that's a desert spoon.
Beloved: Well I can't read your writing
Me: Why would ANY recipe have a tablespoon of black pepper in it? *boggles* What are you making? Torquemada's Confession Confection?
Beloved: *sulks*

The black pepper may have been redeemable (unlikely). But black pepper, garlic, chillies and chilli sauce? *sigh*

Of course, I can't bring myself to throw away a wok full of stir fry. I hate wasting food. So it's there, in the fridge, being completely inedible. It will stay there until it rots enough for me too feel less guilty about throwing it away. Because this is SENSIBLE. Yes, yes it is.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
And choosing between closing my windows despite the blistering, damp, horrendous heat and incredible humidity or listening to the strains of Abba and Michael Jackson - complete with 14 year old girl sing-along - being emitted by my neighbours is certainly one of them.

Oh gods. Elvis. Someone dies for this.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
I have been ordered not to complain about the heat in summer. The last time I did we woke up to record rain falls and water merrily lapping its way through our neighbour's ground floor

But enough! It is not only painfully, ridiculously hot here, but it is RAINING. Thge air is so thick and damp and wet I am almost DROWNING breathing it in. Gah, must find air conditioning!

I am such a winter person.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
Beloved and I just had an argument. I’m not quite sure what started it, because the silly quickly overtook. I think it was about housework and escalated to the Silly Extreme.

See, I like things to be clean. I can’t stand things that are dirty. But I don’t care where those clean things ARE. Beloved wants things tidy, they can be crusted in fungus but so long as they’re in the right place, he’s happy. We had a debate about this.

Now, I think he was the one who deliberately scattered pastry crumbs from his plate around, but he claims it was me scattering papers on the coffee table. But then he put coffee rings on EVERY flat surface from his dripping cup and SOMEHOW about 20 of my books got placed completely at random. And he deliberately and maliciously spilled with intent. And somehow, quite innocently I may have scattered post around the room...

Argument called on account of giggling

The living room is now a mess. And it is totally his fault.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
Beloved is away for a few days with work. Alas, my work would not allow me to spend 5 days in Birmingham with him. Not that I tried very hard - Birmingham is not exactly top of my “favourite cities” list. In fact, every time I’ve been I’ve been sorely tempted to lay about me with a flamethrower - I think I can’t think of any city I dislike more and I’ve been to Sheffield AND Newcastle!

I’m totally going to be killed by Geordies now aren’t I? And I suppose someone born and bred in my home city shouldn’t throw stones

Anyway, I digress. He left Monday and will be back on Saturday. Now my first instinct from my hermit brain was: YES!!!! Aloooone! Blisssssfully allooooone! 6 days of just my own company. YAY! Yes, I’m an anti-social hermit who should live in a cave somewhere. Sue me.

And then, reality check hit. I’m trying to think, in all the years we’ve cohabited and all the years we’ve cohabited-but-called-it-housemates-because-of-my-crazy-space-issues (maybe not that surprising given that we technically cohabited before we started dating which is weird and we will not go there) when the last time was that I spent 5 nights together not in his bed.

3 years? 4 years? 5? Ummmm... I’m not entirely sure. I probably shouldn’t poke it or my hermit issues will rise.

Last night was... hard. (In more ways than one. Bad libido, why kick in to overdrive NOW you contrary lust instinct, you?) I managed to nearly strangle myself in my own sheets trying to wrestle them from a cover hog that wasn’t actually there. You’d have thought not having to sleep next to someone who apparently needs 11 acres of sheets ALL TO THEMSELVES would be restful. But noooooo, I’m so used to the battle it seems that I don’t know how to sleep without fighting it. And that’s aside from the nagging feeling that the bed’s too big or too cold.

And then the cat decides to go on a nocturnal wander and knock over the fire irons downstairs. To which the Hypeactive Imagination decides to join Libido and Subconscious in keeping me awake (clearly it was human-abducting serial killer aliens riding velociraptors. It is known) and it’s all made even worse by the (sensible) front brain yelling “oh please, TELL me you’re not afraid of sleeping alone because that would be just too pathetic.”

All in all, it was not a restful night. I am going to be a basket-case by the end of the week. I’m also irritated. Damn it, I’m a hermit. I like being a hermit. I like my herming! You cannot be a feeble co-dependent hermit. Anti-social and co-dependent cannot cannot cannot exist at the same time. It’s just wrong.

Grrr. Stupid brain. At least it gives me time to get some writing done
sparkindarkness: (Default)
Funny, I work well with them at work, but get me away from work and I fail at to do lists.

Give me a list of things I should do - even things I want to do - and I will find ANYTHING to distract me from that list. Even things I don't want to do - even things that bore me. The mere fact they're not on the to-do list will make them infinitely more attractive to me.

So currently I have 6 lj posts to make (which I enjoy) forums to catch up on (which I enjoy) car insurance to sort out (which I really DON'T enjoy and usually go with the bulldog because he vaguely amuses me), sort out my dreamwidth thingy and at some point I really should do some work....

So I find myself reading webcomic archives.

This? Is not constructive.

10 more minutes. Then I'll work. I swear


sparkindarkness: (Default)

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