Yesterday I washed all my dishes. They really needed washing -- I was running out of them altogether. (Yes, yes, put me in a new environment and I celebrate by living in squalor.) I then tackled my bedroom and hung the ginormous mirror, the little wall shelves, and the pictures. It looks more like my room now.
This move has taken a lot out of me. It's been quite a month. I moved under extreme duress, had only ten days to get all my stuff out of the apartment and into the house, got it done, took no time off from work to do so, went to the Cayman Islands for Laura's (gorgeous, perfect) wedding which involved my first flights (and those out of the country too, fortunately to a laid-back English-speaking island, whee!), and then back home for much sleep and recovery.
So with all of that activity, I'm bushed on all life-facets. Physically, emotionally, mentally exhausted. I'm told that this pervasive fatigue is part of the job here, since this is, after all, my first full year working at the office, and the job's constant demands and high pace tend to drain your resources so that you're staggering around blearily by the year's end. Between Friday and Sunday I got 24 hours of sleep, and I'm still backpedaling.
Which makes me very, very glad for coffee. I stood in my sparkling kitchen yesterday vainly admiring my own coffee as it sat in the glass French press, so perfectly black that I couldn't see through it even when I held it up to the light. So strong that it banished caffeine deprivation headaches instantly, and woke the soul with the aroma of life.
I'm in charge of coffee-making at the office, too (I know what you're thinking. Don't even pretend you're not thinking it), and that mostly because I'm such an unforgivable elitist that I can't stand anyone else's coffee and have ground down (haHA) the system of the office drip-maker to pure perfection through careful trial and error. And when you hold the pot up to the bright window (or as bright as it gets here these gray November days when there are only like four hours of daylight), you can't see through the gorgeous liquid, so dark it blurs the lines that distinguish brown from black.
Ahh. Monday's best pacifier. Coffee.
Tonight I plan to drag my tired ass home, after finally working up the energy to trek to the stores in Mishawaka on my quest for home necessities like curtain-hanging hardware. And trash bags. It's so easy now to put off whatever I don't screamingly need, because I can get the absolute necessities at the teeny grocery store in town. It's so easy to live my whole life in Michigan just because I don't want to drive down to Indiana. But one must eventually break out of Hobbiton to get those modern goods.
I'm running out of nails, too. Lots of pictures have been hung. And my house is starting to look, a little bit, like home.
So with all of that activity, I'm bushed on all life-facets. Physically, emotionally, mentally exhausted. I'm told that this pervasive fatigue is part of the job here, since this is, after all, my first full year working at the office, and the job's constant demands and high pace tend to drain your resources so that you're staggering around blearily by the year's end. Between Friday and Sunday I got 24 hours of sleep, and I'm still backpedaling.
Which makes me very, very glad for coffee. I stood in my sparkling kitchen yesterday vainly admiring my own coffee as it sat in the glass French press, so perfectly black that I couldn't see through it even when I held it up to the light. So strong that it banished caffeine deprivation headaches instantly, and woke the soul with the aroma of life.
I'm in charge of coffee-making at the office, too (I know what you're thinking. Don't even pretend you're not thinking it), and that mostly because I'm such an unforgivable elitist that I can't stand anyone else's coffee and have ground down (haHA) the system of the office drip-maker to pure perfection through careful trial and error. And when you hold the pot up to the bright window (or as bright as it gets here these gray November days when there are only like four hours of daylight), you can't see through the gorgeous liquid, so dark it blurs the lines that distinguish brown from black.
Ahh. Monday's best pacifier. Coffee.
Tonight I plan to drag my tired ass home, after finally working up the energy to trek to the stores in Mishawaka on my quest for home necessities like curtain-hanging hardware. And trash bags. It's so easy now to put off whatever I don't screamingly need, because I can get the absolute necessities at the teeny grocery store in town. It's so easy to live my whole life in Michigan just because I don't want to drive down to Indiana. But one must eventually break out of Hobbiton to get those modern goods.
I'm running out of nails, too. Lots of pictures have been hung. And my house is starting to look, a little bit, like home.
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