Scarlett Letters

Signs indicate I'm stressed out. What signs? I've been clumsy the last two days. Yesterday started with me pouring orange juice instead of milk into my bowl of cereal. Then I spilled soda all over the kitchen table (some of which hit both the computer and the cell phone; I'm experimenting to discover the extent of any damage). This morning, I spilled orange juice all over the kitchen counter and floor. Thank goodness that cheap plastic cups aren't breakable otherwise there would be glass everywhere.

::sigh::

I need to get the hand x-rayed this week to see where we're at. I am functioning fairly well, wearing the splint about halftime now when the hand gets tired or painful. But my ring and pinky fingers aren't really functioning, I still can't make a fist, and I'm getting pain in my palm, and my middle and pointer fingers. Ow.

This is, however, minor stuff. The stuff of everyday living. In the grand scheme, it's nothing. I have health, kitties, an income, and the love of family and friends (not listed in priority order, mind you). This is the stuff that counts.

So, this morning around 8:30 AM, thinking, "Hey, it's Cyber Monday, I should post more stuff to my Etsy shop," I went out on the balcony with some jewelry to photograph--best light there. Sophie comes running out onto the balcony behind me. I still don't trust her not to do something stupid out there, like lean too far out and fall off. I scooped her up threw her back inside and shut the balcony door behind me.

And then I hear knock. I turn around to discover that the security bar has fallen into the track of the sliding door. I'm trapped on the balcony--no coat, no phone.

I tried everything before I started calling for help--dislodging the bar (no luck), shifting the door (too heavy), opening a window (locked). Finally, I start to call for help in earnest. My next door neighbor's step-son stepped out on their balcony and I explained my predicament. He called his mom and she called our management company. Fifteen minutes later they arrive and we discover their key to my front door, for some reason, didn't work.

We eventually had to call a locksmith. So there I am, on the balcony, in jeans, shoes and a sweater, and it's 49 degrees out, waiting for a locksmith. I try to remember all the words to "American Pie" (it's the first thing I do when I'm in a situation like this; it's a great distraction). I sing "Thunder Road." I pace back and forth to keep warm. Neighbor's stepson pops out onto the balcony to check on me. Locksmith arrives.

The door locks on this building, it turns out, are very, very good. They're so good that the locksmith has to remove the lock entirely, cut a new key, replace the lock and open the door. Neighbor's step-son comes in and removes the security bar. He is not the least bit teasy about it, just very sweet and kind. $120 to the locksmith later, I'm in the house warm and comfortable again. I've lost two hours to this escapade.

All of which is to say that I'll be posting new stuff to my Etsy shop within the next half hour or so, pretty Christmas tree-themed earrings. I'll note it when the stuff is up.

::sigh::

It's Monday, which means I'm up and at 'em, out of the house between 8:20 and 8:25 AM come hell or high water. Sophie's finding ways to entertain herself this AM.

Spanky watches impassively, still unhappy with her presence, growling and hissing and keeping a pointed distance. This, however, was the scene this morning at kitty breakfast:

Spanky growled but made no move against her. Really, the fiercest he's been toward her has been the hissing and the ears laid back. He hasn't, however, swiped at her or made any move to actually hurt her. He's just been extra cranky. Some of it is unfamiliarity. Some of it is asserting dominance. Interestingly, while Sophie is clearly cowed, she's been getting her courage up, as evidenced by the photo. She's trying to approach him. Maybe she'll find a way to charm Spank in spite of himself. Well, one way or another, today's going to be a turning point with me absent for so long.

It really is like living with a newborn (because, well, even at 9ish weeks, she's still a newborn): odd hours, regular attention, neediness and so on. We're adjusting, all of us.

In other news, some digging has turned up extra house, mailbox, and bicycle keys. There may also be a duplicate to the downstairs common area where my storage unit is located. This is a goodness. Today, I'll be pulling my VIN and getting in touch with Ford about replacing my car key. It feels weird to have a car and not be able to use it. I'll also be calling Seattle Center, the Space Needle and Metro to see if my keys turned up. ::fingers crossed::

Financially, things are tight. Despite my turning in an invoice, there was no check on Friday, which makes me nervous. I'll be needing to ask around today about when I might expect my first paycheck. I need to do simple things like grocery shopping--no shopping without money. I'm feeling pretty hamstrung.

That's the scoop from House o' Kitties this morning. Now, off to the rest of the day...

Today's first was me coloring my own hair. When I'm employed, I kinda splurge on the cutting and coloring at a pricey salon on the Eastside. Now, less expensive indulgences have to do.

As I always do before I attempt something new that comes with an insertful of directions, I read through the directions before starting. I have to say that this may be the first time I've ever applied anything to my body that carried the following warning:

Contact between contents and eyes may cause blindness.

Blindness.

Let me just take a moment to reflect on the fact that I'm pretty myopic. I have nice glasses. I didn't wish them to be damaged in this process. In order to avoid damage, they had to come off. As a result, I could neither read the directions unless I held them very close, nor could I actually see what I was doing very well.

Don't think I didn't go into this process without trepidation.

The next thing that I wondered about was:

Apply product onto dry, unwashed hair until hair is completely saturated and color mixture is evenly distributed.

How does one tell if color is evenly distributed? Seriously. I can figure out the saturated bit, but it's not like I've got a meter. And, lest we forget, I'm not wearing my glasses so I'm a big, pink and brown blur in the bathroom mirror. Gloppiness will out, I guess.

Pile hair loosely on top of head...

...from which it kept falling. ::sigh::

Anyway, it's done now, and my silver is no longer visible--at least for the nonce. I have black splotches in places where I must have gotten some of the color on me, including a spot in the middle of my back that I just can't reach. Lessons have been learned for the next time. In the meanwhile, I feel like I look like myself again. Yay!

It's a sign of the level of crabbiness I'm feeling today that when someone on the Doctor Who forum on Live Journal proposed that John Kovalic create a Doctor Who version of the game Munchkin, that I chimed in that it was a licensing issue and it would probably cost way more to buy the license than the game would ultimately make.