(no subject)

The interesting side of the stressful existence is, of course, the dreams. I gave myself choices of dreams last night, by working on my dissertation, starting to write a book review and by watching Heroes.

My actual dreams were long and convoluted about preparing to attend a rather superior SF convention and being nervous of the guest (who was supposed to be on the same Melbourne tram as me and that tram had three hours of journeying, as Melbourne trams... don't - forty-five minutes is what it will take to reach Continuum by tram in June). I sat in a corner in the tram and wrote up note on three books and then ran out of work, for my netbook had been stolen. I finally decided I had to regain my courage and introduce myself to the guest, who knew people I knew. I had not met her by the time I woke up.

Not the most fascinating dream ever, but, since I'm doomed to have vivid dreams for a bit, at least it was a SFnal vivid dream. The writer I was scared of was Laura Anne Gilman, who indeeed, I have not met, either online or in normal existence, so the tram was daft, but the writerly stuff entirely correct. For the record, my draft reviews were all of pulp fiction. For the record, there were two robustly negative ones and one rather positive. It wasn't a lucid dream, but it was a dream where I could read words on a page and so I carefully wrote out my notes and spelled them to myself as if I were about eight. For this is how a Gillian reads actual words in a dream. I do not know why.

This morning I woke up to one of my email interviews, a review that needs finishing, Chapter Six of my dissertation, no netbook (still) and the realisation that the only food I have left for breakfast is chocolate. I have goat's cheese and chummous and capsicum for lunch. After that it's Pesach all the way. My waking life is possibly more interesting than my dream. In my dream, however, I ran out of work, which is something to be envied.

I need to get started on some of the many things I must do, but I want to go back to bed and see what else I can dream. It's either that or tackle the sixteen things on my today's list, most of which are big items and one of which is washing my kitchen floor, which means working out how and why my mop fell to pieces yesterday and puzzling it back together.

Instead of all this, I shall have my breakfast chocolate, and also a cuppa and maybe make a start on the next stage of Chapter Six.

(no subject)

I feel extraordinarily clever. My dissertation is actually only three days work from where it should have been by today. Given the amount of time I lost in March, I think this is cause for smugness. My reviewing is only about three days behind, too. It's about to get a lot more behind, as more assignments come in, but that's reviewing and expected.

Where I can't be smug yet are the other articles I promised - they're uniformly three weeks behind.

It usually amuses me when people say I work hard, because in my mind there are vast tracts of laziness in between small amounts of work, but at times like this I realise that I must work reasonably hard, for it I didn't, there would be nothing to fall behind on.

My aim this Passover is to catch up on almost everything. I have eight days, starting after the seder.

This isn't overwork, let me say this and reassure worried friends. This is me not letting the thief, my eyes and other interesting life events (of which there are far too many, most of which I couldn't be bothered reporting) ruin the things I love doing. It's like letting chronic illness rule my emotions rather than working out ways round it, or like letting the bad career luck I've been prone to send me into unhappiness. I get joy from research, and also from keeping promises. I get to do both this week. Also, each stack of papers that's sorted and each bit of work that's finished sends that burglary further into the past.

(no subject)

Gaaaah!

Sorry. I just needed to vent. All done. I feel better for it.

It's almost impossible to get things properly ready for Passover when I haven't finished working through the remnants of the burglar's mess. I've been doing things in order of importance (identifying stuff for police and insurance, teaching, meeting other deadlines, putting the worst of the mess away then finally checking my tax records and my study notes) but there's still a lot undone. I've done a vague clean for Passover, but I still haven't crawled on my knees to find lost beads from the necklace the burglar broke and spread everywhere so I can't vacuum the bedroom, and I can't do all the flat surfaces - in eight days, yes, but now, no - and there are just a couple of areas that still require close attention but the income-earning thing got in the way last week (imagine, having to buy groceries and pay bills!). And when I get too tired*, that spider leaps across my right eye - it will probably be a signal of fatigue and stress for the rest of my born existence. The spider is dancing wildly across my vision at this very moment. Hence the venting.

It got to me because I am not yet at an end of things. I will be. I *will* catch up. But not everyone is equally sensible in how they explain the last few weeks back to me. Someone called the last few weeks 'drama' - it wasn't drama, it was just a total, total pain. Too much time in medical places and on the phone to the insurance people and tidying the layers of personal possessions that were spread everywhere. Drama has less tedium and more results.

I've done a bare sufficiency, but it just didn't feel like enough for a moment. Spider and 'drama' made me have to go 'gaaaah!" which I have, and I've sat down for a moment and I can now get back to doing what must be done.

Now it's time to finish the kitchen, so that I can grate apples for my wine-free charoset.





* which is now, for all the usual chronic health problems apply and have applied throughout the last few weeks and are creeping up and hurting

(no subject)

I am all slowed down.

I have slashed through the list of things I wanted to do and reduced my list to the kitchen floor being (vaguely) washed* and charoset made. This is because I took a look at my next week's calendar and realised that one of the reasons for the meltdown was three half days of appointments and another of meetings and a half day of teaching over three days. And I don't know how to get to J's 60th while teaching. And I still have to do all the things I was doing before. Except now I've melted down, I've realised I will just have to minimise on housework because it's either that or forget how to sleep.

The truth is that the stuff that's happened over the last few weeks has happened at one of my two very busy times of year. And of course there is the burning off. So I have to slow down. I shall sit for a few minutes before I wash that last floor and then for a few minutes more before I do the seder plate stuff. The world won't end if my place is a mess and if I can't do everything instantly. It may not be my family tradition for Passover, but life got in the way of this being a family Passover ages ago and I should just accept it. And if Elijah comes, then he can drink grape juice.. Maybe he'll appreciate it.

In other news, to cheer myself up for the festive season, I'm wearing slinky harem pants. You quite possibly don't want to see them. Slinky harem pants on a nearly fifty-one year old is subversive.



*since I was just reminded by the state of my lungs that vigorous washing is beyond my capacities

(no subject)

I have done the bare minimum of everything and I'm ready so much in time that I can sit down for twenty minutes. The lack of alcohol has changed the flavour of things, but they still taste good.

It's a very strange Pesach, but Pesach it is - this is better than I did for Purim. In fact, one of the cleaning things I did for Pesach was to give up on the medlar liqueur I had taken out for Purim before I was forced to cancel it (the nice wine I was going to feed friends then didn't need giving up on, cos it was the three bottles the thief took) and I put it away. If you need to drop in in, say, a week or so, there is much medlar liqueur that needs drinking. Now, though, there is no wine for eight days, which is *so* wrong. But if the only wine I could get was a close relative of bad vinegar, then I am a grape juice person for this festival.

I logged on to wish you all a happy weekend, however you spend it. Eat Easter eggs and hot cross buns for me if you're having them, please. I promise to do the dieting afterwards!

Now I go to admire my seder plate and sit down for 20 minutes. Rachel and Mia are my family for this minimalist seder and it will be an early night, for we're all tired.

Have a lovely festive season, or long weekend, or time out from idiots, or, for some of you, all of the above.