September 10th, 2006

trust, best friends forever, snot-nosed brats

Vows of Love

My best friend's mother hollered in the direction of the phone that I should teach him how to clean. She's been trying for 27 years and it hasn't worked yet. My response: "And you're looking at me why?" I then declared: "I solemnly promise to never inflict housecleaning lessons on you." Which leaves me in the clear if I ever have a method that he wants me to teach him, but I never want to find myself demonstrating something to him while he's going "la la I'm not listening" with his fingers in his ears. (Or his sword out, which is more likely.)

I find it intensely amusing that his mother assumes that I am, or will be, in a position to teach him to clean. I rather fear that this friendship is going to do the thing that some friendships just do, and keep stretching in the direction of happily ever after, but might not ever get there. Well, the joy's in the journey. This story isn't ending after the princess gets married, because that is very sinister.

The conversation didn't last particularly long, but long enough to establish that my current least favorite part of work is, to no one's surprise, Leftover Leftovers Guy. We also established that this weekend was Not Good for visiting, as he was Cleaning House today (thus his mom's remarks at the end of the conversation) and going to see a friend in need of a friendly face tomorrow.

After taking a good long look at the space I have available, I decided that two of the shelves I'd gotten was one too many, and went out to IKEA to return the spare one. Since I was out there, I stopped by Lee Lee's.

Then I went over in the general direction of Darkside's, figuring that I was in the neighborhood anyway, the cleaning was probably over by this time, and I might be before bedtime. I saw the silhouette of a shirtless Darkside wandering into the kitchen, so I rang the bell.

The Darkside was distinctly grouchy. I pointed out that I knew I deserved whatever snarling-at I got. He pointed out that if he says that this weekend isn't a good time for dropping by, then not dropping by would be good. I reiterated the "Yo. Snarl away!" bit. He apologized and decompressed. (I wish I'd had strawberries to cheer him up with.) I told him that I had to go away before he told me to go away, and very carefully did not even ask for a hug.

Feeling very good & smug about having "gotten away with" seeing him. I know that even though I was barging in, he does feel better after he's seen me, and he tells me things in person that he won't admit to being worried about when we're on the phone. He probably wouldn't say some of this stuff to his own mom. I think he did need that.

Next time I see him, though, it's so very hug time.
  • Current Mood
    content content
ui, pastede

Images and silly!

The Bed Construction Project, with attendant mess.

Also:
A Support FAQ Listing... sort of.

I am told that I'm going to have to go into the most recent fun with the new notification/subscription system and summarize. If other things don't drive me mad, I might do that...
running, bomb tech

Things that suck:

In un-fun/happy/cool news, my sleep schedule flaked out on me. When that goes, my agoraphobia spikes. The combination means that even if I'm awake, I don't leave the apartment until sunset or after. That meant that work on Saturday? Ha. By the time I was coherent and ready to venture out, there would have been no one left there.

Tonight is not looking like a good night either, given that I'm still up. Fortunately Sunday is an all-day shift, and while I had planned to come in early crack of dawn and that's my base schedule, since I am not being depended on for immediate time-sensitive stuff, I can come in somewhat later. Which means I can stay asleep until I'm actually OK to be woken up.

Was it the coffee I had at work on Friday? I don't know. I do know that if it's still happening from time to time, then it's not under control. And Bitchy Witchy Week is probably due any time in the next two to three weeks.

It's excuses all the way down until you hit the rock-bottom layer of crying hysterical "I don't wanna I don't wanna". And then there's stuff. There's plenty of stuff. It's ordinarily something that adult!self can deal with, can rationalize around, can soothe inner brat into accepting temporarily. But not when irrationality is so close to the surface, it doesn't work like that anymore...