…and tired always followed sick.

Thanks a lot, Oberon. Little fart ran out of the house around this time last night, and I had to get something/anything on to go outside and fish him out from under the side deck, again. This time Xena was no help at all – she thought me wallowing around in the snow on the ground was a sign that it was playtime, and wound up scaring Obi back under the deck repeatedly. The result? I woke up this morning feeling like death warmed over, and not even properly warmed over, but like someone kinda half-ass read the microwave instructions for warming death over and forgot to peel the film back on one corner of death and didn’t stir death halfway through, so the applesauce is still frozen and the melted cheese hasn’t melted over anything that it was actually supposed to melt over. (In fact, half of it is in the applesauce.) I must really love that little dipwad because that’s the second time in a week I’ve had to go retrieve him before he wanders too far off, and the second time with snow on the ground.
The wife was unbelievably happy that I made Jello for her tonight, like it’s the most remarkable thing anyone’s ever done for her. Erm…okay. Maybe I need to make Jello more often. It’s a kitchen challenge that taxes my cooking skills to their very limits, and maybe someday I’ll be ready to move up to Jello Pudding! Not that there’s anything wrong with making her happy, especially when she’s lugging my two-headed mutant love child around in her belly, but I’m just gonna chalk this one up to the hormones. 😆
I’ve been munching on some Reese’s chocolate dipped peanut butter cookies lately and wondering why it is that no one outside of the Girl Scouts can seem to nail down the perfect balance between peanut butter, chocolate and cookie that we mere mortals know only as Tagalongs. Then again, if Tagalongs were available more than once a year, I’d probably be hovering closer to 350 pounds than 250. The terrifying thought also just occurred to me that, no longer working at the station, I can’t order my usual annual forklift pallet of Tagalongs from Donna anymore. Holy crap, my source has dried up! I’m going to start having tremors somewhere around Easter weekend.
Without even really deliberately setting out to do it, I embarked on something of an exploration of electronic music today, from Raymond Scott’s 50s and 60s experiments to the non-Doctor Who repertoire of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop to Hot Butter to Jarre to Art of Noise to early Juno Reactor and Christopher Franke. (And some other stuff in between that I’m probably forgetting.) I need to hurry up and get a USB MIDI cable extra soonish because I’m feeling the music-making bug chewing away at the edge of my consciousness almost around the clock right now. Maybe it’s inspiration from recent events, but I’ve had some lyrics that were very vague suddenly swim right into focus, along with a lot of other stuff, and I’m charting out arrangements as best someone can when they can’t actually read or write music, working out and practicing guitar parts, that sort of thing. I’ve got one humdinger that I’ll probably use as my first experiment, but it’s a bit daunting, what with some rather specific instrument sounds that I’m gonna have to coax outta Cubase, and at least 8 part harmonies on the vocals. (Yeah, fair warning, I’m probably finally going to sing.) (Gee, I wonder who could’ve inspired me to pile that many vocals on something?) But it’s the one piece that’s just burning a hole in the back of my brain, so challenging or not, that’s probably the one that needs to come out of my head first. I’m not sure what’s flipped a switch in my head that’s made me feel like actually exposing the rest of the world to my singing voice, aside from the possibility that I’ll be having to sing to someone a lot here in a few months.
You have been warned.