Funny about Money

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. ―Edmund Burke

Monday, Monday

Another week gone by in a blink. How can it be Monday again? It was Tuesday yesterday, I’m sure of it…

This Holy Week seemed unusually hectic in the singing department. In addition to the usual Wednesday rehearsal, we had Maundy Thursday and then Good Friday with the Stations of the Cross followed by the Chamber Choir singing the amazingly lovely Seven Last Words by Bern Herbolsheimer followed by us — the Senior Choir — singing Lizst’s Via Crucis (yes, in Latin and in German). Then Saturday the Great Vigil with a baptism and a religious service. Then the Easter Day shebang, complete with brass and percussion.

Very beautiful music was performed. High religious emotion was felt. All in all, a pretty busy week.

And all in all, kind of tiring. I’ve been too exhausted to function, most of the time. Pup wakes up around 4 or 4:30 a.m., and once I’m awake, I don’t usually get back to sleep. Since it’s been 11:30 or midnight before I’ve stumbled into bed, that means I’ve been running on fumes most of the week. What little I have gotten done hasn’t been done very well.

This morning, it’s off to the vet for Ruby-Doo’s last set of puppy shots. I should drag Cassie with me, since the eye drops the vet gave me a couple of weeks ago haven’t helped much.

The whole week has been spent in a haze of fatigue. Struggled, usually without luck, to finish writing the current chapter of the latest novel, but I swear, every time I sat down to write, some damnfool interruption came up. Matter of fact, at one point I became convinced that I was being interrupted every 30 seconds, no matter what I tried to do.

The pool system is running OK, I’m told, despite the fact that it’s running at 20 PSI. The water, not having been changed out last winter because of my overall laziness, is infested with phosphates. To fix that, I’ll  have to dump in the better part of a container of an expensive chemical called Phos-Free. This damn stuff clogs the filter. I just had the filter cleaned, to the tune of $150 plus another $85 to have a pool guy come and tell me that it was just fine at 20 PSI, when I happen to know it’s supposed to run at 10 PSI when it’s clean.

So that will be another $150 or $200 (I forget how much the Phos-Free is, but it’s a lot).

The alternative is to scrub algae off the pool walls, all summer long. To do that efficiently requires me to get into the pool, since the best way to clean the stuff off is to wash the walls down with the hose and a high-pressure spray nozzle. Brushing doesn’t seem to work very well — it’s a particularly stubborn variety of green algae, and I can brush until I turn green without getting it all off the walls.

The pool water is warming up (that’s why the algae is growing), but it’s still a little chilly for actual swimming.

Which brings us to the fact that in the haze of fatigue I haven’t felt like or been able to break loose enough time for the regular walking routine. And that means the fat has been sneaking back. It was up to 132.9 the other day, far in excess of the 128.5 I’d like. Then down to 130.8, and now today, after eating a whole lot of oversalted restaurant food at a friend’s yesterday (they ordered dinner from Boston Market, which IMHO makes the absolute best down-home comfort food of any restaurant around here — certainly the best offering of any chain restaurant, and pretty darned good in comparison with even real, local eateries). Today the scale claims I weigh 130.4: two pounds overweight, by my lights.

So there’s another something that needs to be attended to.

Spent way too much time trying to format the adjunct rant for print-on-demand, following CreateSpace’s Word template. Time-consuming hassle, involving the usual Wyrd catastrophic crash with attendant loss of data in all open files, much redoing of work already done, much cursing, much tearing of hair. And after all that, the designer said it’ll never work.

And…OMG. Wish you could be here to see this!

Puppy has just found a new game here on the back  porch:

Waterbowl Frolics!

She’s got her little front feet in there and is splashing and digging around, apparently trying to catch tiny bits of dry leaves floating around in there. But better yet, she’s learned she can make bubbles in her water bowl! She sticks her schnozz in and blows out through her mouth and nose — just like a little kid playing in the pool — and goes burbleburbleburbleburbleburbleThat is SO HILARIOUS!

She is now, of course, soaking wet, so she’s gone off to find some dust to lay in,  the better to coat herself with mud. This may not be so hilarious in another 40 minutes, when I have to pack her into the car for her vet-schlep.

So much to have to do, and so little of it getting done: get the adjunct thing online; get the diet guide/cookbook online; finish editing the novel and get that thing going. And I just don’t seem to be able to break free time to do that, at least not when I’ve got the mental wherewithal to focus on those jobs.

Just when a spot of time opens up, some client or the job presents a new chunk of paying work, which of course has to be prioritized over all this other stuff. Finished up with one client’s project last weekend, with depressing results. Two sets of papers incoming from the maga-writing students; finished those at 10:30 last night. And just as I was about to pop a muscle relaxant in an effort to beat back the latest back pain incursion enough so as I might manage to limp down the hall to the refrigerator, in came another iteration of another paying client’s book. He’s entered major rewrites and wants me to go through the ENTIRE damn thing AGAIN from beginning to end, line by line and character by character.

Oh God. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve read that book.

But I can’t complain. He pays well. And, bless him, he’s smart as a whip, a good writer, and in possession of some truly interesting subject matter.

I can’t complain, assuming I don’t care a whit about my own projects. {sigh}

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Author: funny

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One Comment

  1. You have no idea how much I want to come play with your puppy 🙂