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My room is fantastically clean. Like, I actually vacuumed, which I'm not sure I've ever done since moving in a year and a half ago. The desk is cleaned off. I straightened the storage/crafts corner. There is one small load of laundry in the dryer and the rest is all hung up and put away. I made the bed.
It's really quite brilliant, and one of the most striking examples of the "my room is a metaphor for my life" observation I've been putting together for a few months now. Because, see, my room is clean and organized and livable and homey and lovely and happy.
Things are feeling _really_ good just now. K and Tamra1 have been visiting, and I've gotten lots of really lovely time with them, with just heaps of good compersion feels. My work life is tough but not awful, and there are some students who are making it actively delightful. I passed my candidate class exams. Balticon and Pinewoods are coming up, and even though this summer's going to be money-tight and probably stressful, it's also going to be a lot of fun.
Everything feels like it's working out correctly, and I feel like my baseline mood has stepped up a few degrees closer to happy.
And so gosh-darnit, I gave myself over to the Spider Monarch this morning (aided by awaking mysteriously early) and left myself in their control from approximately 8:30am to 3:45. You can get a _fuckton_ done if you're properly motivated and have seven hours to spare. I feel really good about it.
And because I did so well, they let me go guilt-free off to PorchFest, where I hung out with some lovely friends (Stephen, my dance-brother, was playing pipes and half of Dance House was there to hear him) and then hung out with some different lovely friends (There is a quite lovely girl I know, and she found a quite lovely boy she knew, and I got to have *all* the voyeur feels and gosh but it was nice.
Eventually I wandered home, where I gathered up my hippies and we all went off to dinner and to the rest of the evening. All that was quite good too.
But damn, nothing is hitting me quite as satisfyingly as the fact that my room is super clean.
~Sor
MOOP!
1: K is a partner from Seattle, Tamra is his home/partner.
It's really quite brilliant, and one of the most striking examples of the "my room is a metaphor for my life" observation I've been putting together for a few months now. Because, see, my room is clean and organized and livable and homey and lovely and happy.
Things are feeling _really_ good just now. K and Tamra1 have been visiting, and I've gotten lots of really lovely time with them, with just heaps of good compersion feels. My work life is tough but not awful, and there are some students who are making it actively delightful. I passed my candidate class exams. Balticon and Pinewoods are coming up, and even though this summer's going to be money-tight and probably stressful, it's also going to be a lot of fun.
Everything feels like it's working out correctly, and I feel like my baseline mood has stepped up a few degrees closer to happy.
And so gosh-darnit, I gave myself over to the Spider Monarch this morning (aided by awaking mysteriously early) and left myself in their control from approximately 8:30am to 3:45. You can get a _fuckton_ done if you're properly motivated and have seven hours to spare. I feel really good about it.
And because I did so well, they let me go guilt-free off to PorchFest, where I hung out with some lovely friends (Stephen, my dance-brother, was playing pipes and half of Dance House was there to hear him) and then hung out with some different lovely friends (There is a quite lovely girl I know, and she found a quite lovely boy she knew, and I got to have *all* the voyeur feels and gosh but it was nice.
Eventually I wandered home, where I gathered up my hippies and we all went off to dinner and to the rest of the evening. All that was quite good too.
But damn, nothing is hitting me quite as satisfyingly as the fact that my room is super clean.
~Sor
MOOP!
1: K is a partner from Seattle, Tamra is his home/partner.