siriosa 2000

nothing to complain about.
nothing whatsoever. i've hit one of those periods where i can do what needs done (laundry, dishes, pay bills, tax paperwork), and i can do my sun salutes in the morning and evening. have my oatmeal and vitamins, and pay close attention to my teeth. and cook up liver for b.h.e.'s cat, who has learned to convey "feed me that yum stuff now, you moron" with body language and an especially pointed "meow." i can do what needs done, but i can't seem to launch a project.

maybe it's the prospect of pulling the living room carpet up. (when i did the dining room, i had no idea how physically demanding it was going to be. i just did it. this time i know. not always a bonus.)

or maybe it's some kind of sick again. first half of last year i was listless like this. part of it was ptsd from the tee debacle. and part of it was my gall bladder trying to kill me. i don't know. i don't think i'm sick, but i have a stupidly high pain threshold, so there's really no telling.

"nothing to complain about" is also one of the things i used to say to myself when i was clinically depressed, back in the 80s. it didn't help. what helped was going back to college, starting my new life. having a project that interested and engaged me.

i got plenty projects. want to make a movie out of the pictures of women i took in paris in 2005. want to gather up cara's costume jewelry and send it to her posthumous niece. it'd be fun to make a movie out of the milkshake sequence with cynthia. getting started is hard, and it's the only thing that really fixes stuff.

and then i chanced on a link (at making light, "which books would you require everybody to read?") to john scalzi's blog post being poor. and upwards of 600 comments, many of them expanding on the topic.

some of them i've lived. some i can imagine all too vividly. judge a civilization based on how it treats its most vulnerable members: this one's going to hell.

the home improvement projects: not so very pressing.