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Monday, Nov. 18, 2002 / 11:39 a.m. ~The Life of a Procrastinating Perfectionist Packrat~ Just sittin�, just listenin� to my new favoritest CD. �The Antidote�, by the Wiseguys. It�s old, from �99. But it�s still new to me. This is my third listen in three days. It�s SOOOOOOOOO good. Really. Try it, you�ll like it, unless you don�t like music, then you might not. It has elements of a lot of different styles, some rap, mostly hip hop, some lounge, some trance, some dance, it�s just fun, it�ll make your head bob up and down, I almost guarantee. The �new boy� has kennel cough. And a brand new buzz cut. I turned to look to see if Kukla is here, it�s so fookin� quiet it�s spooky, at least it was when I turned, and there was the �new boy�, his hair all shorn, it was weird. I said, �OH MY GOD!� I couldn�t help it. It had been really long, you understand, but he had been shaving the underside, so he could pull it up and put it in a ponytail, sort of a reverse mullet! He was told he couldn�t wear it up here at work, and I figured it was because he looked too much like a Nazi skinhead when he did. But now it�s all Army regulation, flat top, buzz cut, you could set stuff on his head and it could stay there, whole trays of things, it sticks straight up. It�s wild, I�m not kidding. 9:42 a.m., cubicle time. I really would prefer to be at home, finishing up my kitchen project, tackling a new project, continuing to clean, to organize my place. I�m just in the right frame to do it now, and now is not convenient. I got so much done yesterday! Now I like to go in there just to look. Just to ogle. I removed things from counters, cleaned the counters (all sparkly and nice) and put everything back, in a new way, with more things added. It looks really good. I even cleaned the stove top. All my bottles on the bar, everything. It looks so good. (I�m tempted to take pictures and post them like I did after I cleaned my bathroom!) I guess I should buy food now and actually cook in there, but now I�m really not going to want to mess anything up. I�ll be obsessively cleaning behind myself. I don�t even want dirty dishes to sit in the sink. I�ve been washing plates and utensils as soon as I set them down empty. I wonder how long it will last? I�m so sentimentally attached to the silliest things. Like the revolving spice rack Dave bought for me our first Christmas together. It was never what I wanted. I wanted a rack to put my existing spices in, but he got me this wooden thing that spins, that sits on a counter, that�s filled with cheap spices. I never used it, but I always had it on whatever counter in whatever kitchen. For 15 years now. Yeah, you read that right. Our first Christmas together was in 1987. Yesterday I cleaned it, but I didn�t put it back on the counter. This was a major thing for me. With major implications. Of course now I don�t know what to do with it. I should just take it to Salvation Army or something, along with the stupid cat cookie jar, made of plastic, the kind with the head that you take off and it meows when you do, if you have batteries in it, that my sister in law gave me. Another gift I could never believe she actually purchased for me, but one I always assumed she received and passed along to me, thinking I�d get a kick out of it. I keep shit people give me. I�m horribly sentimental. You go to the trouble to give me something and I�m likely to hang on to it forever. Or one day yank it and take it to Salvation Army. They have a drop box. Drop and run. So now the kitty cookie jar with the removable meowing head, and the revolving spice rack filled with old spices, and minus one jar which broke during one of my moves, are sitting on the floor amidst piles of catalogs I need to recycle, in the library. Fun. Really all I did was put things in different places yesterday. Everything is still in the apartment, just in a different place. And many things are cleaner. Which is always nice. Stacks of round tins on the floor in the dining room. Square tins on the counters. My little soy sauce bottle, from Chinatown in San Francisco is now on the counter too. It�s really just a pouring bottle, with a spout, made of porcelain, enameled in yellow and green and red maybe (I don�t know, I�m at work, I�m guessing), but it�s elaborate and beautiful. Those things were in that box for seven years. No shit. It�s making me think of all the crap in my storage locker and how freaked out I�ll be when I go and get it, unpack it all. If and when. Ah, the life of a procrastinating perfectionist packrat. Oh, Norma threw up a few times yesterday, like she was unable to keep her food in her stomach. Not that that�s diary worthy info, but one time she was up on her scratch post/tree thing, the one I�m always trying to replace, but they�re so FUCKING expensive, and this one Dave built for my old, dear departed and previous cats, anyway, she projectile vomited from atop the post/platform thing. It ran down the sliding glass door and to the floor below, some food lodging in the track for the doors. It was cool! Okay, it wasn�t, but she�d never done that before, like never in her 12 years of being alive never, and it was funny, different, a pain to clean, but she was back up there later, looking out the window. And she finally managed to keep her dinner down too. Poor thing, I know. She must have a hairball trying to work its way up. We�ll try to push it down and out with extra Vaseline for her little paw. My little grrrrr. I love her. (yeah, grrrr is the new nickname, in lieu of girl, I�m weird, you know that) Cost of the War in Iraq
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