caerula's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- my subconscious scares me Damn. Left work yesterday thinking I was going to get to head up a nifty project to catalog 18th and 19th century titles in the periodicals index, and come in this morning to find out they think they've found another source of the records. Good for the company; the product will get out that much faster; bad for me as I'm therefore back to doing boring grunt work. Sigh. Should have known. Didn't find my cross-stitch pattern or finish any more quilt blocks last night, but I did get a lot of the books organized and more entered in my inventory. So that's good. YMB apparently did fine at the dentist; the first thing he told me when I got home was that he was "soooooo brave." Good for him. We all had soup for dinner, since he's on soft foods for 48 hours and it seemed cruel to stick him with soup or Kraft dinner while we ate pizza or something. We've embarked on our new after-school routine with him and it seems to be working so far � various homework-type activities, depending on what was sent home that day, a few minutes to sit down with us and discuss our respective days and air any problems or grievances, reading and spelling time, play time, dinner, a choice of tv, or a game, or other approved activities, and then reading out-loud time and bed. YMB really seems to thrive on a schedule; the problem is getting ourselves to remember to stick to it. We're currently reading Charmed Life, by Diana Wynne Jones, and YMB has declared it "as good as Harry Potter" which is highest marks for him. He's much more cooperative getting ready for bed when bedtime reading is a book he's dying to hear more of. Yay! Paycheck. Whew. Now we can get groceries this weekend. Not much else, since the house payment comes out of this check and the damn bank fees ate up some of it before it was even in my possessions, but at least we don't have a negative balance any more. Talk about a wake-up call. This week has definitely been that for us, financially. Sherman's M&M dispenser is apparently taking a vacation in my cubicle. The green guy has been perched on my shelf next to Bobble-head Darren for the last couple of days. I think he's trying to score play-off tickets in exchange for melt-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hand chocolatey goodness. Except the M&M's that the green guy produces are bigger than Darren's head, so I doubt it's a fair tradeoff. Oh my god, that reminds me. I had a dream last night about work, and it was all the same work people (Sherman, Jewish Mom, GB, Pierced Girl, and a few others I haven't nommed), but there was definite sex stuff involved. Aaaahhhh. I'm trying to block the details. Now I'll feel all weird when I talk to these people today. Especially Sherman. Oh dear. I hate that. I don't want to have sex dreams about people I don't want to have sex with in real life. Or people I don't want to see having sex with other people. Why can't I have nice sex dream about Spike? Or Harrison Ford? Or any one of a number of people I don't see on a daily basis in a professional capacity? Oh dear. 10:05 a.m. - February 07, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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