Last night, I dreamed about grammar.
I need to find a life. Or at least a hobby.
I need to find a life. Or at least a hobby.
The Hub is in bed because he’s unwell.
Spud is in bed because he’s a teenager.
I thought I’d take advantage of the peace and update my poem folders. I had a list of roughly 1500 poems which needed to be categorised. I did that with the hard copies months ago but never got around to updating it on the computer. The title of this post will tell you why.
I moved all the As last week; then the Bs to Rs. I still have the Ss to Zs to move and I can’t put it off any longer.
Once that’s complete, I’ll avoid matching the hard copy folders to the computer folders for as long as I can, but it will have to be done eventually.
Go here for more Six Word Saturdays. I recommend that you do – they’ve got to be more interesting than this post.
I meant to write this post yesterday but the P Diddy/Downton thing was more fun. By the way, if you can’t see the video, just Google/You Tube it. It’s worth a watch.
It has been three months since my last update of 101 tasks in 1001 days. I haven’t done much, apart from the aforementioned thing I’ve never done before, though I did complete three tasks:
Make thirty submissions to competitions or publishers (31/30)
I was a runner-up in the last competition I entered, and the poem will be coming out with others in an e-book. I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.
Find 26 unfamiliar words, one for each letter of the alphabet. (Words: 26/26)
Then use them in a post a day for 26 days.
I did skip a day by accident (I forgot) but I used all 26 words, each of which I have already forgotten. We had fun with that one, didn’t we?
Learn the names of all twelve disciples.
That was more complicated than I expected – thirteen are named, though there are only twelve. Thaddeus/Judas may or may not be the same person. Can’t believe I’ve been reading the Bible for 36 years and never noticed that before.
Then came the something I’ve never done before – it’s a biggy!
Expose myself to twenty new experiences (14/20)
I have already told you about twelve in earlier 101/1001 posts.
I also told you about number 13: I asked a stranger for a favour. That was the whole email-an-author-to-talk-to-us-for-free thing. Feeling pleased about that one: Stockport Writers were still raving about her at our last meeting.
14. I changed a toilet seat by myself!
How impressive am I??
I decorated the bathroom the other weekend. Everything looked clean and fresh apart from the grotty toilet seat (never knew a bum could cause such wear and tear). We bought a new toilet seat and it sat there and sat there and sat there, waiting for the Hub to feel well enough to change it. Use me, it cried; Pee on me, please…well, not on me, of course, between me…through me…?
The toilet seat was obviously having some sort of existentialist crisis so I asked the Hub, If I remove the old seat and clean the loo in the parts where I normally can’t reach, do you feel well enough to put on the new one?
Urggh, he grunted from his sick bed, which I took to mean ‘Yes’.
I’ll be honest: taking off the old toilet seat was the yuckiest, grossest, most revolting job I’ve ever done; and I say that as a woman who fed prunes to her babies. It was disgusting with a capital disgusting. However, some rubber gloves helped, as did turning my face away so I couldn’t see what I was doing (though I had to explain to the Hub why I had unscrewed the pedestal from the floor).
Turns out it was my imagination: what I thought was +++ (fill in the blank; this is a family blog so I’m not going to be poo graphic), turned out to be rust from the old screws. I know this because I had to snap them off when first Vaseline and then WD40 didn’t work enough to allow me to turn them.
Ahem…that’s not quite true: I did manage to turn them, but the wrong way, so I tightened the old screws. I wasn’t strong enough to loosen them but there was nothing a good kick in the old cistern couldn’t fix.
Having removed the old seat and cleaned the rusty holes, I had to see how the new seat would look. It looked really easy to attach, so I tried attaching it. And succeeded!
Okay, the Hub had to remove it again to adjust it so we wouldn’t trap flesh and dangly bits between the seat and base but, hey! I replaced a toilet seat! I’m fifty this year and I replaced a toilet seat for the first time in my life. Am I cool or what?
It was worth doing this 101/1001 thing for that alone. I replaced a toilet seat!
A note of caution: if you intend to visit me in the next few weeks, be advised – upon arrival, all guests will immediately be taken on a tour of my new toilet seat, which I replaced, all by myself!
It’s been a while since I participated in Six Word Saturday and it’s been a while since I went
I’m going to walk up to church with my dogs and spend money I don’t really have on stuff I don’t really need. A pleasant way to spend Saturday.
But first, I’m going to take a shower: it’s been a while.
I caught myself saying the following yesterday:
My dogs vilipend me at every opportunity; brought on, no doubt, by my habit of being mush in their adorable little paws.
What daft things do you say to your pets?
Note for those of you who Know Who You Are: You needn’t bother telling me that that’s why you don’t have dogs; I know it!
The previous two words:
Tacent: rapt attention in an audience, more flattering than applause. What my dogs show me when I’m eating.
Usageaster: a self-styled authority on language usage. What I become when I see an apostrophe in the wrong place and a misspelled word in the public domain.
For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.
Particular apologies to new subscribers if
Yesterday’s word was lyard: to be streaked or spotted with gray or white. Or grey, if you’re not American.
If that’s the case, why did you 100 people look at them, then?
Is there any other kind?
So many errors; so little time…
Um, and why did you end up here?
That’s just not funny
Could you be a little more specific?
I went into the spare room at the first throat tickle and avoided all contact with the Hub and it seems to have worked: his compromised immune system didn’t cave at the first sneeze spray like it usually does.
However, my rotten germs needed to go somewhere. Suddenly, the TV is showing wavy lines; the fridge freezer has a blockage; the PC demanded a new power supply and the dishwasher gave up the ghost.
Coincidence? I think not.
I’m frustrated and I’m snotty and that’s not a good combination. Prepare for a grumpy post.
Last week, I didn’t visit your blogs because I was unwell.
This week, I won’t visit your blogs because WordPress is unwell. Every time I click your links, whether in my email inbox, blog roll, from your comments, or even my own previews, I get a 502 or 504 message: basically, we’re not letting you in in WordPress-speak. It took many hours yesterday to comment on about twenty blogs.
I’m getting 400-600 spam comments in my spam box every day and my stats have gone down quite dramatically (for those of you who remember the chart, that’s Brit-speak for ‘way more than I like and if it carries on I’m giving the whole thing up for good’, not Rest-of-the-world-speak for ‘dropped a little dramatically but not more than I can handle’).
I wonder if the spam thing is related to the stats thing, because they happened around the same time; or is it just coincidence?
If you’re not getting comments from me on many of your posts, it’s WordPress’s
fault. I’m sorry, I can’t do anything about it.
One of last week’s prompts was: Tell us about something you know you should do . . . but don’t. It was entitled, Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda.
I shoulda stopped blogging before I thumped my laptop and I woulda stopped blogging if I coulda, because my perfect blood pressure caused by my even temper is about to be a thing of the past, but I can’t because they sucked me in with their ridiculous prompts and their world-wide network of people who say nice things in the comments section. They’ve sucked me in so deep I may never get out.
I’m going to kick the Hub now, because we don’t have a cat.
For less irritable Six Word Saturdays, go here.
I turn fifty this year; I need to take my health seriously. I know this because I have received an invitation to attend a health check at my doctor’s surgery. They would like to test for my risk of developing diabetes, heart disease, stroke and kidney failure.
I suppose the thinking is:
I have never smoked, barely drink, don’t have the energy for late nights and walk every day…but I do like to eat. ‘Being overweight’ is the top risk factor, according to the leaflet that accompanied the diktat to comply and book an appointment, stat!
Rather like over-filling the car at the petrol pump* and the gas station* exploding because someone belched last night’s spicy curry, I’m a walking time bomb.
*Also half-Brit, half-Yank, apparently: what would that make me? A Yit/Brank/Bank/Brink/Kit/Yurt?
The only reason I hesitate is this: the letter sending my orders to report to base is signed by (you’ll like this, Dianne) the Patient Demographics Officer. My Doctor doesn’t care enough to send a personal (it doesn’t have to be embossed) invitation to an event that might save my life. Huh.
Let’s do a pros and cons list to decide if I should embark on a regime that will take over my life but prolong it:
The cons have it: no diet.
Just small things, like getting my own writing space (am I boring you yet?) and the sun is out this morning (am I amazing you yet?).
Small things count; and I count every one of them.
Have a lovely weekend!
Her Bad Hare Days
A frustrated writer, who is her own worst enemy
Don't get mad; get writing
a blog about small beautiful things