(no subject)

I think i'm feeling a little better: my main metric is that i feel enough motivation that i have done a tiny chore.

In cranky news: My glasses won't be ready for my travel. I have missed the frames, but i really miss the prescription. The glasses i have are tolerable, and then i have some more attractive frames with a less tolerable prescription (but i'll take both with me on the business trip).

The stalkery over-generous, over-sweet friend has sent (in the past month or so) two dozen roses, a case of crab cakes, and a Yule gift. "Stalkery" because her sense of boundaries is so peculiar. I'm torn about how to respond as i feel the onslaught of giftage is manipulative, but she claims it's just how she shares her joy. I'm leaning towards including her in my usual attempt at Yule or New Years card and acknowledging her generosity then. ( Mulling over this relationship, again. )

In joy news: cats! tea! blustery day!

I wonder if joy is actually harder to sort out and i really ought to focus on writing about it. It doesn't seem harder: when i think of the interactions with Greycie Loo this morning - her boings down the hall, scooping her up into my lap, singing to her, her leap to her warm lamp but her willingness to come cuddle with me - i don't need to untangle anything for myself. Instead i find myself thinking more of writing for an audience (YOU), than writing for myself.

Writing for you isn't unappealing: it's that suddenly all the other things i want to do for others clamor for balance. What about the appeal about the memorial meeting, the email from the friend who just bared her fears, the message from my grandfather's wife?