Woke up to thunderstorms, so that nixed downloading the server updates. I have less than 6 hours till I pick Bunny up for an appointment, plus stuff I need to do in town when we go in. I had a rock solid plan to sling rugs and curtains into the wash this morning while I sparkle the kitchen floor back to unicorn status, and nothing in brain or body this morning is remembering that was a plan. The gung ho is gone. >=l After a weekend blitzing puke bedding (thank you, Bunny) and nearly everything else washable in this house at the tail end of 2 very long weeks of back to back viruses heavily laced with Hulked up seasonal allergies (yes, allergies in the winter, who's with me on evergreen trees pollinating?), I just don't feel like caring. Because the fail is happening this morning, I have peeled all the rest down in my brain to nothing else gets done till THAT gets done, and we all know how I dread things piling up, which is why I'm a washaholic, so I'm focusing on imaging how delighted I'll be when the floor really is done vs wandering off to do something else. Like blog...
At least I'm documenting whining about it.
Still coughing. Still surfing on antihistamines around the clock. Came this close to hitting my prednisone backstock yesterday but finally kicked the cough for a bit with extra benadryl. I feel like a dried out pickle. What's grosser than a limp dried out pickle.
Meanwhile. Ok, there is no meanwhile. There is nothing but a downpour outside and my body actually protesting coffee this morning because coffee makes the dried up pickle feeling grosser.
Now it's 5 hours. I was updating new link html elsewhere, not associated with Pinky. Guys, I have met my match. I have found people who literally live in the matrix and work nearly nonstop because they're addicted to it. If I manage to keep up with them, I'll be uber conquering if I can also manage to keep my fleet going.
Oh, yeah, THAT is what the weekly/monthly lists were for. Gotcha.
Doesn't make me want to do the floor, though. I may hafta pounce and wrangle myself into force mopping. It's not pretty, but it works. Ah, just scared the minions, now they're begging for chocolate to make up for it. I know what they're doing, they think that will soothe big bad me back down into distraction, so NO WAY! Ha.
Yes, I am that cruel, I torture my own self.
*getting the chocolate chips*
Meh.
I might've misread that. As soon as I got up to get those, I felt like doing stuff. Nothing like a double agent slick move there. I can't keep up with all that stuff in my head. Whatever.
I've got a floor to clean. A friend of mine in Brazil just charted in English book sales after translation from Portuguese and I'm still sitting here fighting with myself...
