Just got back from Target, where I replenished my frame situation (Dave had taken all of my topo frames for some old posters, which was fine since the topo frames were Way Too Big for the maps), picked up some cat-bath-wipes (she stiiiinks, or she did), a shelf for beside/behind the couch, a lamp for Dave, some new pillowcases, and a french memo board for the kitchen. I still feel like Ick though, and if you don’t want to read about Female Things, then don’t click to read more.
It is midnight. I have watched Old School, eaten 2 slices of pizza, and laughed riotously. All of those are things I’ve done before (well, not watch Old School, but you know what I mean) and yet, I’ve never felt icky afterward.
I’m going to bed. Not that I’ll sleep, necessarily, but I can sure as hell try.
My body is saying “oooohhhhh, icky” and my brain is saying “IS this it? IS THIS IT? Or did Domino’s give us bad mushrooms??”
Sigh. Who knows, eh?
Ahh, typepad. Your easy layout design, your simple photo album configuration, and your low, low price (compared to the webhost and dland fees of yore) are making me very happy. I’m a lovin’ the typepad.
And, while I would ultimately love to have a domain name again, the whole crumple debacle has me just ready to be DONE with that, and this UI is so much more conducive to someone who doesn’t have the time to fuck around with html and ftp and crap.
So, I will be ending my dland presence almost exactly three years after I started. 621 posts, translating to 788 pages of PDF (going to have to do TWO cafepress books to get it published for myself, it’s that big) are going to die the slow dland death. First, my supergold will run out, and my images will disappear. Then, months later, the purple error page will appear. And it will be all gone. Oh well.
Of course, I started at dland when I was still living alone, on elm street. (I know, I know, of COURSE the horror movie freak ended up marrying me! It’s like the LAW or something.) Dland saw me through dating dave, returning to the university, moving in with dave, marrying dave, graduating from university, getting my first teaching job, and buying my first house. As we move into the conception arena, it’s only fitting that I make a new start with my online journal. Dland was there for 9/11, having my wisdom teeth out, trying to have an IUD in, gaining weight from quitting smoking, losing weight from gaining it, and occasional rants againts humanity, society, or really fucking annoying people. I love writing most days, even if it’s just a boring, random post, it keeps me in check. I love that I have almost 800 pages of journal to document all of that, as it was a huge period of growth.
In the event that I have to password again (at this point, I’m opting to hide in plain sight by having it be a sub-blog (god, I hate the word blog) of a more public, innocent one. I don’t plan on waxing poetic all the time. I’m not THAT old, ferfuckssake.
I am 29. I am no longer a seriously poor-ass college student with debts. I can afford such luxuries as TypePad, and I’m going to.
SO there.
Hmmm….
So, for slightly more money per month, I could have a public diary (I just can’t take myself seriously if I use the word ‘blog’) AND a private snarkfest passworded diary, and a random third diary here on TypePad. I still have 84 days left of my trial period, and I’d still like to have a new domain with MT, but this might be a good solution.
If I park here for awhile, I could sort of come out of the closet with my online writing habit, keep snarking in a job-safe/family-safe way, AND post random pictures of my cat?!
DAMN.
In other news, the Sewing Room is now a lovely shade of granny smith apple green. I can’t wait to peel off the blue tape and mop the floors and move more crap in there so that I can take on the guest room, which will end up a celadon color, I’m thinking.
Once I can reveal the true nature of the Sewing Room, I’m thinking of painting bugs on the walls. Ladybugs, dragonflies, spiders . . . I just don’t get into the fluffy bunny world, you know. A later project, for sure (as well as painting the doors a red color, from the SherwinWilliams palette I’m using in that room “Provencal Primaries”) to be done in a fit of boredom with a quart of paint. Painting that doesn’t require incapacitating a functional room for an indefinite amount of time? YAY.
Time for bed. This unsleeping is not good.
Our house has three bedrooms. One is our room, another is obviously an office space (and will also house a guest bed, once it has been painted) and the third is “the sewing room.”
We call it the sewing room to others. We put it in quotes when we talk about amongst ourselves. But really, the sewing room is the room that will be a nursery, when the time comes. Which is why we are painting if green.
So, today, I primed the three walls that will be painted. The fourth will get beadboard installed, soon, but for now I can be painting. I was actually surprised at how quickly a coat of primer went up, considering how much time I have spent getting the wallpaper off. Well, not completely off, hence the beadboard wall, but to think it may possible be Dancing Green! By tonight! HOLY COW!!
Once the Sewing Room is painted, I can reintall the shelving unit, set up the machine, and make the curtains for the living room. I can also pull random crates of unpacked books and office-y materials into that room while I strip and paint the Guest Room/Office, then we can finally buy the bed for that room and set up the shelves with all of the books that are still in boxes around the house.
WIth a guest room in place, we can tackle the master bedroom, and once that’s done, the hall can be taken on. I am prepared for the guest room to be fairly easy — I think that the previous owners may have done what I did, started with the smallest room, realized it sucked, so made the rest of the rooms easier to deal with by priming over the old 1954 wallpaper (Pink with roses, from some archaeological information obtained near the heat duct) and then sizing it before adding another two layers of wallpaper. Beadboard in The Sewing Room (wink wink) will look nice, I’m thinking we’ll paint it white to have the green be not too overwhelming, and bright green and white are great colors for the AYUHK. (As Yet Unconceived Hypothetical Kid.)
And, I feel like such a slacker, but I taped off 75 percent of the trim, and found on the 25 percent I didn’t tape off, that it didn’t make much of a difference, anyway, amazing what powerful control I wield over a paintbrush!
After painting, though, I felt ill. I had a bit of a headache and had some granola bars and water and took a brief nap. Now, sure, it’s water-based paint, but it’s still paint, and I’m SURE that’s what made me feel weird. But tell that to the other voices in my head, that are overanalyzing every tiny thing my body does/feels/smells. Ugh. Waiting.
Last night, I couldn’t sleep. Not at all.
I laid in bed for almost two hours before giving up; I drank water and IMed with Emma for a while and saw Conan at this regular time for the first time in ages. I tried to come up with a domain name, to no avail, and I found that if I am on my way to being pregnant, a ball of 16 cells would have been dropping into my uterus yesterday. Thanks, pregnancycalendar.com!
Then, I dreamt of babies and pregnancy tests. I dreamt that yam was pregnant, and I worried for her, hoping it wasn’t ectopic, on account of her IUD. I dreamt that I was pregnant, and that I called BG to talk about it, and she was telling me that BabyBG had learned how to push buttons on something. And she said, “It’s weird, being educated and intelligent, and getting SO excited that my kid can push a button!” And I laughed, and looked at my pregnancy test again. It was still two pink lines, and I set it down and went to go somewhere, and when I came back, all of my bathroom stuff was in the toilet — my hairbrush, face cream, everything, including the pregnancy test. And I didn’t want to spend money on another one, but I was trying to think of how I could prove it to Dave without having the two lines to show up.
Then I woke up, with heartburn.
I talked to Amy today, and the first thing out of her mouth was “GRETCHEN! You’re PREGNANT, aren’t you!” Of course, she said the same thing yesterday, she swears I “sound pregnant” now, but I have no way of knowing if there are 16 cells descending, multiplying from 16 to 32 to 64 to 128 to 256 to 512 to MORE THAN A GIG. And BEYOND.
But, maybe I am? I know that when Dave sensed my absence last night, he woke up from a deep sleep to come find me, and groggy at the top of the stairs he asked “Do you feel okay?”
I sort of giggled to myself, said “I’m fine, just can’t sleep….” and as he staggered back to bed I translated his words to his thoughts, which had to have been “Are you suffering from fertilized ova sickness?”
As I said to Emma last night, with most everything else in my life, I have been able to achieve big things by working hard and sacrificing when necessary. But with this, quite possible the biggest thing, ever, I have no real control over the situation beyond well timed sex and blind faith.
And that’s fucking nervewracking.
Testing123