Lots of exciting things going on. Not with me, mind, but in general. My horizon is currently limited to the deck of the HQ. We're free for the night, and it being a nice afternoon since I woke up from my nap, I'm going to do a little painting outside. We're stuck in the corner of a container terminal in Newark, so there's no shore access, anyhow, but that's OK, as I can't spend money here.
Or can I?
Unfortunately, the day after I make my second mortage payment on my new house, the fridge dies. As it came with the house and is 10 years old, it's not worth trying to fix, as the compressor and possibly the coils are smoked. Either way, it's not a fun time to have to buy a fridge.
So, $2000 and a consult with Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife later, and I have a new fridge on order and my tickets home for the end of this trip.
So, that was a serious dick punch, but not much I can do about it. I had hoped to avoid being house poor, but between my (concrete) house being attacked by a retarded woodpecker with a stucco fetish, some dry rotted trim pieces under my roof and the fridge, as well as interior decorating, there's a squeeze on. So it goes.No overtime available in my scheduled time off, which was also a bit of a surprise.
So, I spent yesterday pretty bummed out, as I expected hiccups when I moved, but they exceeded expectations and I couldn't work extra to tread water. I spent the watch looking through shit-colored glasses, I guess, finding negatives and wallowing in them.
Today, well, I bit the bullet, bought my fridge and tickets, and when I get home that woodpecker is going to have hisself an accident. I will now have time to oppress him thoroughly. And since I am not going to miss a week of my time off, I have time to get things done now. And yeah, that damn fridge, but no use crying over spilled credit. I can work on my tan, swim, and get shit done in the house.
Painting or needle-gunning is my go-to stress relief activity at work. So I've got something like 15,000 square feet of empty deck space, piping, and 8 million trip hazards that I can paint. I'll find peace before I run out of shit to paint, for sure.
In a funny parallel, here's how a real writer handles real stress, not the 'oh, wah,' variety that shuts me down, and sends me looking for pearls to clutch.