Stuff and that.

Stuff. And yeah. That

Month: March, 2016

Bandwagons.

Now, it appears the Fearless Purple Flylady is giving me the shits again – I am getting between 15 and 20 fly-posts a day (today was 30 I think) and in all seriousness, you’d be forgiven for thinking someone who’s been around as long as she has would have more than about 20 ‘stock’ posts that get regurgitated on a pretty much weekly basis. If I have to see one more post about how awesome those purple rags are or that fucking water bottle…

Yes. I have fallen into the aggressive phase of my passive-aggressive relationship with the Flylady. Maybe its the simplicity and minimalism of KonMari that’s completely turning me against her, and maybe it’s because Easter and she’s on the Jesus-train. Nowt wrong with that, just not down my throat tyvm. However, I will say easier to ignore on the Farcebook than her palaver cluttering up my inbox. I suspect that KM is not the only thing I can’t do ‘properly’ whilst working full time (or with childrens). I do have routines, but they’re pretty damn flexible. I do meal plan – if you consider writing a list of protein sources, proposed cooking methods and suggested days on a scrap of paper and sticking it on the fridge to be meal planning (there were two Thursdays this week. Interesting.) I also have a ‘shiny sink’ (tr: clear, wiped benches in the entire kitchen – who wants one wee oasis of clean in the middle of a schemozzle. The entire bench is clear before I go to bed); and whilst I do dress to shoes as soon as I get up because I walk the dog, that doesn’t count because they come off the millisecond after I walk in the door. However, my ‘dress to shoes’ is drying my hair properly and popping a face on, even if it’s just tinted moisturiser and mascara.

I’m not abandoning the KM train either – still wombling about in the crap carriage – two weeks of annual leave and I have two KM missions – the damn filing cabinet and the fucking laundry (it’s been shitting me for thirteen and a half years, so yeah. Something.) But more on that later. At least it’s getting cool enough for Reg to crank up the pot belly stove to burn all the crap when I deal with the filing cabinet. Definitely a win there.

Now, about 18 months ago, I had a dabble with Bullet Journaling. I stuck at it for about six months, then totally lost the book I was using. When I KM’d the crap out of my cupboard – whadderyouknow, found the wee fucker. I didn’t go find an alternative partly because the book I was using was NQR. It was a medium sized Moleskine square journal, and it was sort of too small but not for any real reason I can put my finger on (aside from my gigantic hand writing and equally gigantic man hands. They’re not that big, but yeah. I like a decent spread.) Bullet journaling is just a fancypants version of what I do on random bits of paper; and is pretty much how I operate at work (except that I use an A4 notebook, write on one side, and use the other side of the spread for notes etc). I started doing proper Bullet Journal stylie last week and fuck it’s good. I’m seriously tempted to do it hardcore when I go back to work – I’m managing two big projects with various deadlines, along with a couple of smaller ones. The two smaller projects I’m not even starting til May, but they’re on the list because oops, forgot. They’ve been off and on the list since oh – February. Anyway, I consulted Mr Google to refresh the whole bullet journal thing again.

Fuck. Me. Swinging.

When I first investigated bullet journaling, it was pretty low key – write a list in a book and index your lists so that you can find stuff you want to know about later, tailored to suit your needs, and no waste paper because just the days you use. Simples. In the last 18 months or so, it appears to have evolved. A lot. People have embraced the #bujo (it’s even got a fucking hashtag. Seriously.) and the Google is full of these beautiful and creative masterpieces that are enough to turn an inveterate list maker such as myself into a bit of a squeamish wussy-girl. (I am allowed to call myself a wussy-girl because yes. Both. Specially when it comes to flowers and stickers and shit. And Washi tape. Although that’s sorta fancy). There’s this whole community of “planner-addicts” who do these elaborate (and slightly insane) decorated planner pages (I double dare you to Google Erin Condren Planners and look at the images.

Now, rest assured I am not totally bagging you if you’re a fan of that sort of thing. What ever pops your cork. But I still think it’s nutty as. There’s also a whole lot of people who do this in their bullet journal. They have lists and list and lists and challenges (and still have get up, go to work, come home and play with journal as their entire to-do lists for the day. Sorry, I suspect I actually *am* bagging the journal/planner enthusiast. I really am sorry. I don’t like to bag people for their passions, no matter how weird. I don’t even bag bronies. Actually, I definitely bag bronies. Google them.)

Ok, now I’ve confused myself and made myself feel all guilty for picking on people for decorating their diaries…  I’m not only doing a bullet journal again, I am using the duck’s guts of journals… the legendary Leuchtterm1917 in red. My dad always told me to use the best tools I could afford – the paper in this shits all over the Moleskine, so I should be able to use a gel ink pen. I do prefer to write with gel ink. And I may or may not have an interesting and extensive collection of colourful gel pens. This is why I should not bag people for doing fancy arse journals. I have colourful pens. MANY colourful pens.  I am slavishly following the set-up instructions then I am going to go fully sick. And I can write down my “to read” lists, and a list of meals the fussy buggers I live with will eat, and pretty much anything I can think of, as well as keeping track of the gigantic to-do list that I have rolling about in my head. But I’m not doing stickers. Probably. They’d have to be super cool. And not pictures of dinner.

 

 

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Reading stuff

Well, Reg was making me watch the footy, so I’ve been reading and fiddling about with my Kobo. It appears I can’t do what I want on the damn Kobo – I used to be able to sort books into reading lists on the old Sony e-reader I used to have – this was awesome, it meant I could have my to read selections in a virtual ‘pile’. Now I will have to try to remember what I want to read next, damn it. This annoys me inordinately. I am inordinately annoyed.

Ok, where was I… Right, reason why I was fiddling about with the Kobo is because I’ve read another book. This is is a minor miracle in itself, and facilitated by my spending about three hours on public transport today. Not that I could read for all of it – I’ve got to watch the train stations on the Metro to make sure I don’t get lost, and reading was not possible on the sardine can tram on the way back to Southern Cross. However, copious reading was done on the other trains I was on (five trains and a tram today. I am a legend at public transport.)

Still Midnight by Denise Mina is a Scottish police procedural. I wasn’t sure what I was reading and or why until I was about a third of the way through. The characters are all fairly abrasive and annoying (and stay that way for the entire book to be honest); and I felt as though I’d accidentally picked up book #3 in a series because there was Something going on with the interactions between the police characters that made me feel as though I was missing something (hence my desire to make folders so I can make sure I have the book in the series I am up to in one folder and move it over laters). However, something happened about a third of the way through that made me go “oh. That’s interesting.” The story was a bit whack, but hey – it was a suitably mindless diversion and I get to tick ‘read something’ off my {ahem} new habits check list. A lot of the abrasiveness of the main character becomes less murky about half way through, and clears up toward the end. As does the story. Which really is a bit peculiar. There were a couple of snorts of amusement (not actual laughs, per se – more Ha! than hahaha) when a couple of things happened. There was also a weirdarse Hallmark-y bit in it that was  – yeah. Nah. Bit like the Unicorns in Bladerunner. Anyway, I’ve popped book two on the Kobo so it wasn’t total garbage, and it was written well enough that I was interested in the characters (sort of) and the story (ditto). If I was the star giving type – probably three stars. Not shit.

Not sure what I am reading next – but as I’m actually on holidays for TWO WHOLE WEEKS and I have nowhere to be… The world of books is my oyster. There will be crime. There will be death. And maybe a history of Sydney.

Still tidying up

I’m beginning to realise that for someone such as my good self, I am not going to reach a point with KonMari Method where I can sit back and say “Yep. Done now.” any tine soonly. In fact, possibly ever. For starters, I live with three other people, and I work full time, so it’s not just *my* crap, it’s four people’s crap; and time is something I don’t have a lot of. I still have to do all the housework stuff that’s not cleaning and ironing (I outsource that bit) and buy food and all that palaver. We don’t have the space for putting everything in a giant pile for however long it will take me to go through it, either, so I am forced to do things in smaller chunks than is probably optimal.

While I am definitely on the KonMari Train, I’m not taking the Bullet Train. I’m on the stopping all stations go back to go forward definitely taking the scenic route train, which has the odd trip down into a siding for a bit of a detour.  So far, I have dealt with my clothes (twice through properly, plus odd picking), books and probably 50% of paper. I have now entered the carriage on the Slow Train that’s clearly labelled  “Crap” (technically, it’s called ‘komono’, which I am pretty sure is actually Japanese for crap.) Now, Crap at my house is the shit that’s shoved in every single fucking corner of every room of the house. Some of it is even mine (looking at you, side table with my journaling stuff and my crochet and hey there’s “Spark Joy”). There is rather a lot of it. I’m glad I started on the other shit first, because hello – Crap is fucking daunting (and making me very fucking SWEARY!!!!) Rather than working by category like I am supposed to (I am SUCH a rebel – and honestly, I find crap is something that needs to be dealt with in small small doses), I’ve got a bit of a list of crap locations based on what shits me the most and I am working through it. The list keeps growing, but things are getting crossed off – and Other People have noticed that one can just put ones hand into the drawer where all the pens live and {gasp} find a fucking pen when you want it.

This is quite the miracle, because I swear that before I tidied that drawer, we had NO pens, NO pencils, NO calculators, NO rubbers and definitely NO rulers.  Prior to going through it and removing  toy cars, nerf gun bullets, several marbles, assorted lanyards, eleventy bazillion glue sticks and who knows what else, I bought a packet of ten ballpoint pens and a packet of pencils and a couple more erasers because homework cannot be done without them. I could have saved myself $10 at Officeworks because yeah – underneath all the Crap that was shoved in the damn drawer – more pens,pencils, rubbers, calculators and rulers than you can poke a stick at. It’s all nicely sorted into appropriately sized boxes (Reject Shop gift boxes for the win – under $6 and I used the box lids in another cupboard!) I also need to back away from the Kikki.K pens. Bag of rubbish from two drawers. Ahem.

Then I embarked on the top of my wardrobe – there are three main categories of stuff in my wardrobe (aside from clothes – der):

  1. General crap I’ve shoved in the wardrobe to deal with later
  2. Archive-y stuff
  3. Sentimental hoo-ha

Now, the archive-y stuff is things like a 150+ year old photo album full of pictures of Ye Olde Dead Uns. Some of whom I’ve identified, most of whom… not so much. Hence my desire to go through some slightly more recent (like, you know, 50 – 70 year old pictures) with people who were alive when they were taken. And a clock. It’s old. It’s been painted poo brown and needs restoring. I need to find someone to do it (while it don’t do much for me, it does spark joy for other members of the household). Also, there may or may not be a couple of old journals that I’ve filed under the category “archive”. (They funny as fuck. Teenage and twenty-something girls are weird. It’s all dating pre-mobile phone. Lordy. The angst level is positively baronial. And I’ve actually toned down with the swears. No. I have. I don’t pepper my prose with c words any more.)

As I mentioned well above, there’s not a chance in hell that this train will ever reach its destination – because seriously, Joy is transient, and stuff you love right now will undoubtedly shit you later on (just look at old pictures of yourself – the really old ones when you’re feeling hip and totes funky and all in your best outfit. While the picture will spark joy (of the tears of laughter kind), the outfit itself? Eh, not so much. And if you think about it – you get yourself all minimalist now, and never go through anything again – up to your armpits in komono again before you know it. And nerf gun bullets.

Prime example of transient joy inducing clothing – I’ve just released the last FOUR out of four t-shirts I bought.

  1. Shirt #1 – A case of Needs Must – I desperately needed a white top to wear to a meeting because I forgot the ironing fairy wouldn’t get back in time for me to use one I already had. I bought one, and I was suss on it from the start. I was right, it didn’t wash well, and even being nice to it, it lost its shape by the third wash. Gone.
  2. Shirt #2 and #3 – This time, it was a case of inappropriate packing. I packed for the weather at home, not at my destination. I needed short sleeves. I grabbed two t-shirts in my size, tried them on and eh, they’ll do. Except I loathed the cut of both of them and spent the entire time I wore them picking at them. Gone.
  3. Shirt #4. I know not what I was thinking. It was a cranky purchase, I think. The fabric is shit, it has the same cut as #2 and#3 (which I loathe) and the colour is not flattering. It’s a beige-y pale blue. Permission granted to evict.

So, yeah – still need two white t-shirts. And I am going to make damn sure that whatever I buy fucking well sparks something that’s not “it’ll do” before I buy anything new. We’re embarking on some kind of epic budget shit thing starting April and I don’t reckon spending $100 on shirts to donate to the op shop three months later is really going to be an awesome line item. I tell you what, that winter coat I need will be a very discerning purchase.

Eh. Where was I…

Farmer Wants a Root is finished for 2016, so let me see…

  1. Reading (that’s why we’re here, yes?) reading has been a bit more excite than the books about tidying up (more on that later, you know you want me to!) I finished The Magician’s Land this morning  –  I actually really enjoyed the trilogy. It’s – well, it’s not all Hogwarts meets Narnia with sexy times – although, that’s a pretty damn good summary if I say so myself. There is more to it than that. Not much more to it, to be honest, but enough that it was a pleasurable read. Quentin grew on me in the end. He was still a massive dick, but any bloke who woos a lady with bacon (a little crispy) and champagne is probably alright. Apparently it’s on the telly. Might be worth a watch.
  2. Knee – well, I know you want an update on that. It’s been um seven months now. The nice bit is my patella tendon is now speaking to the rest of my body and I no longer have a slightly numb patch on the front of my shin. This is a win. The knee bone is still not really talking to me – however, will tolerate my weight on it when I crawl into bed. No more throwing myself into bed like I’m five. Although it’s fun. I might just do it occasionally.
  3. Watching the telly. Why yes, yes I have been. I have been watching Farmers try and get laid (various degrees of success would be my guess. The bloke that looked like a good looking version of Austin Powers hooked up with a girlie that looked just like him. They’ll be at it like. Assorted farm animals, probably.) Plus, this is the time of the year that all the shows I like are on the television, so I am recording loads of things. Right now, I am liking:
    1. Jack Irish (don’t normally like Guy Pearce, long story, I am old. He’s good in this.) I am an episode behind. No spoilers plz.
    2. Wanted. Well, I’m actually hate watching that. It shits me to tears. It’s so fucked up. Couple episodes behind now, not sure if I’ll catch up.
    3. The X-Files. DISAPPOINTED. Not saying any more. I haven’t watched the last couple of episodes. I really don’t know that I can watch the rest.
    4. Elementary – It’s pseudo Sherlock Holmes. It’s trashy and I like it.
    5. No Offence. It’s British police procedural stuff and it’s on after Jack Irish. Piss funny and pretty good.
    6. Accidentally watched a lot of the second half of “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here”. I was pretty sure I knew who’d come in the top two and I was right.
    7. Wallander (on the Netflix) I watched all three series. I liked it. It’s sort of mildly depressing but soothing at the same time. Very Scandinavian.
    8. VERY EXCITED that series two of Daredevil is out on Friday. I *hope* they’ll dump the whole lot again.
    9. Blacklist is recording again, but I’m not sure if it’s new episodes.
  4. I went to see a movie! Chaos wanted to see Deadpool desperately. He’s 13. It’s MA15+ so I wasn’t going to let him go on his own or with his mates. I may be a Bad Mother, but I do have some limits. We loved it! It’s very funny and meta and the gratuitous sexy times are vaguely comic-book and not too harsh for a 13 year old boy who still thinks boobies are gross, man. I am definitely NOT a Bad Mother – there was a little kid in the cinema as well, and by little, I mean under seven. Maybe five or six. Ahem.
  5. I’ve started crocheting again. I stopped for a while because it’s been so fucking hot – sweaty hands are not good for crocheting. I have four squares to go and a hell of a lot of ends to do.
  6. AND I HAVE BEEN OUT LIKE A YOUNG PERSON TWO DAYS IN A ROW. Yes. I’ve had a wee social life. I went out on Saturday night and drank the equivalent of about three months worth of beer and watched some bands. Some were awesome, some were crap. Some may have been more awesome because of the quantity of beer consumed. Having consulted Mr Google, I suspect some were in fact rather good. I went back again on Sunday. I didn’t have beer. I found more ace bands and more meh ones. I had donuts. Mmm jammy donuts are good for slightly hungover people. I didn’t spew. It was a good night and day. And you have no idea how pleased I am that today was a day off.
  7. OOH, I nearly forgot. I’ve been Complaining. I am such an Old Person. So far, I have received free sausages and a $15 voucher for a packet of dodgy taco shells. No wonder old people complain!
  8. Diet – going ok until this last week, when I hurt my back again (picking up the fucking BATHMAT of all things. Bloody hell.) so I have been s-l-o-w walking, and the whole parking close to work thing because when you’re walking like a geriatric cowboy with a foot long carrot up your clack, walking 1.5km to and from the car is best described as out of the fucking question. So, slow walking, beer and jam donuts are not conducive to weight loss. I am not expecting great things. However, today is another day and there’s been more fucking donuts because donuts are awesome. Ahem. Tomorrow.

That’s about it, really. I’ve also been doing some more tidying but separate post for that, and I have two weeks off in two weeks. I am most pleased. I have told the kiddies to come up with a couple of things they’d really like to do in the holidays. What I’d like to do is re-paint the laundry. Weird, hey. And finish all the squares for my blanket.