Okay, what urge am I supposed to resist this week? I hope it's not the urge to consume frozen yogurt, because I'm off the sugar (mostly) but the frozen yogurt just ain't going away no matter what I do. Probably because it's summer, it's hot, it's dry and frozen yogurt is Just That Summer Kind of Thing, if you can't eat ice cream. This here's a lactose-intolerant household, but for some reason frozen yogurt makes the cut. (Hey, don't look at me. Talk to Joan's weird metabolism.)
Lately there's also been the urge to scream bloody murder from the depths of my cube. One of my friends at work gave notice, and as often happens when somebody gives notice, the Powers That Be say, "Hey, thanks for giving notice, you can leave, uh, now." There's somebody new starting but not until September, and the first week or so that anybody spends with us practically always involves sitting down with the assistant manager and getting to know a nifty computer program we use that basically runs the whole office. So my dearly departed colleague's cases (most of them) landed in my lap, and I've been frantically trying to figure them all out while keeping my own cases rolling. This is a recipe for insanity, or at least large quantities of stress. So far no screaming has happened, but I've been spending serious quality time with my stuffed fishy. (Yes, I have a stuffed fishy on my desk at work. Everyone else can have a cute li'l stress ball if they want one; I'm a stuffed fishy kind of gal.)
Let's see what else: I've been resisting the urge to buy a new car with money I don't have. There's a reality check waiting for me out there, but in the meantime I have a Serious Handling Issue and I've been through several rounds of "Let's try this and see if it fixes it." So far none of them have. I do have a solid diagnosis now, though; a bent wheel. Unfortunately, a diagnosis is not a cure. It was suggested that I look for a replacement wheel on -- get this -- E-Bay. Apparently it's not as easy to find a new wheel for a '98 Corolla as one might expect.
Yes, I drive a '98 Corolla. Hey, that car and I have been places together. Including Tombstone, Arizona and a little place outside New Mexico called Willcox.
I've also had a mad urge to buy a new washing machine, and for that I might actually have the money, provided it's a floor model and I'm getting it from an outlet store. Seems that right around the time my wheel decided that bending was a good idea, my washing machine thought it would be a great time to go kablooey, in the middle of a load of towels, of course. Chaos and mayhem ensued while the towels were hauled out to the line, hosed down (yes, with an actual hose) and left to dry in the unbelievably harsh Texas sun. Then there was to drain the washer, which was its own version of fun. Then there was to call a repair guy. Then there was to realize we couldn't afford a repair guy until after the car thing was taken care of. Then there was to reschedule the repair guy to right around my next pay check. It's possible that the silly thing can still be fixed. If so, I'm just out the money for the service call. It's also possible that after only seven years, the washer has lost its last sock. In which case I'm out the service call and the cost of the new washer. Meanwhile, I'm out quarters, by the roll, as I haul our stuff down to the Tom Landry Laundry and reacquaint myself with that denizen of my pre-homeowner years, the coin-op washer. How nice to see you again, machine. NOT.
Last and not least, I'm resisting the urge to write about all this in blog format and publish it on the Internet for all the world to see. God knows it'd be the most writing I've done in a week. I'm having this other mad urge to throw out everything I've ever written -- all of it, even the
completed manuscripts--and just start all over with the word "The". But then, that would be stupid. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid.
Book O'the Decade Alert! Joe Hill's Horns, in which an ordinary guy wakes up one morning with an extraordinary growth on his head, should be checked out by all who are not faint of heart nor hairless of chest. Warning, this is a violent and often shocking tale
that upset me greatly, and one scene in particular has carved a great big screaming red furrow in my brain that I'll probably never get rid of (thanks a lot, Joe), but that said, a terrific read from the man who would be King.
Oops, I said the K word.