September 22nd, 2004

wombat

Halfway to nowhere in particular

Went home early yesterday, since I'd taken half a day of PTO for the podiatrist and showed up in the office at 1230. Unfortunately for me, I had taken the train downtown along with half the population of Minnesota, and so had been forced to park out in the abandoned ruins of Fort Snelling. There are dozens of abandoned buildings out there, wood and brick relics of the days when Snelling was what Camp Ripley is now, the main training facility for the Guard and Reserve. Now they're just convenient landmarks for commuters who got aced out of the paved spots closer to the station. Anyway, it meant a good half-mile walk in the drizzle, which did my lungs and throat no good.

Stopped at Cub, got squash & baking potatoes and soup and lunchmeat and bread and yogurt and some other things that were on sale for a buck such as frozen chicken breast meals and bagged salads. Got home, did a light dinner of soup and salad, and crashed early. Much tossing and turning, ended by a pair of generic NyQuil capsules around 0100. I feel a little better this morning despite driving in, but if this persists I'm not going anywhere for any reason this weekend. Well, maybe to the laundry room.
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wombat

Designing a personal pleasure dome

Yesterday chebutykin threw up a post describing her personal Xanadu (not to be confused with Shangri-La, which is a horse of a completely different color) and asked her friends what theirs would look like. I thought about dashing off a response and actually got a good ways through it before I stopped and started to really think about it.

Further musings follow.
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    The Soundtrack of Our Lives: Broken Imaginary Time
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wombat

The wages of sin

Ecclesiastes says it's death , but in this case the wages of sloth and indolence were losing stuff. We had dragged our feet about clearing out our old storage area (mainly because I'd misplaced the keys) and apparently the management got tired of waiting for us to move it into the new storage area and heaved all of it out in the trash...including most of a futon bed/sofa, Christmas ornaments (some of which dated back to Melody's second birthday, and is she ever pissed off) and perhaps worst of all, a couple of boxes' worth of Diversicon T-shirts we'd been keeping for them. I'm not looking forward to explaining that to Eric.

There is the possibility that the kids just looked in the wrong locker, but since Melody was reading off a letter left in the storage area, I don't think that's too likely. The stuff is gone, we now have a big empty storage area, and life goes on.
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    The Soundtrack Of Our Lives: Mind The Gap