What went before: I worked on taxes yesterday, which was more challenging than I had expected. It’s not like Steve did the taxes, after all. But, in a normal year, this is the place where I would have started nagging him to get me those items and expenses that I did not have through doing the general house and business accounting. This would have gone on for . . . a while — there was some math involved in how long he would put me off before he believed that I was serious — and then the info would appear.
It just feels really wrong that I — have all that information in hand. Right now, and can proceed with adding/subtracting and filling in the blanks.
Onward!
Wednesday. Sunlight an orange glow behind the trees -9F/-23C. Weatherbeans calling for a high of 18F/-8C.
I’m evaluating my need to go out today. I don’t need anything from the grocery store that can’t wait until tomorrow, and while I really *do* need a haircut, I’ll not be receiving today. I haven’t been to the post office in almost two weeks, but I’m not expecting anything urgent, and the post office lobby, where the mailboxes are, is toasty warm, comparatively. On the other hand, tomorrow’s high of 25F/-4 isn’t going to be *that* much warmer. And on the gripping hand! I do *have* a Big Coat. Heck, I have TWO Big Coats — Steve’s parka, and my knee-length puffer coat.
It may come down to a coin flip at 10 am.
But, first! Breakfast. Which was! Cottage cheese with a side of muffin. And tea. Lunch will be leftover split pea, lentil, and ham soup. Kettle on for second cup of tea.
Cat search update: Three inquiries written; 1 answer in the negative received.
I feel — well, and am theoretically TNC (Theoretically Not Contagious). Hoping to stay that way. Though I will be masking when I go out.
If I don’t go out and do errands, then I’ll finish what I can of the taxes with the information in-house, after which it will be the long game of waiting for other people to get their acts together and send me paperwork.
If I do venture out into The Elements to accomplish my errands, then I’ll possibly take the rest of the day off, or maybe see if I can discover that last scene for the story that’s been in progress far too long so I can put it up on Splinter Universe.
. . . one of the things that’s been coming around on the guitar, as the vernacular has it, is the realization that I have wanted to be a writer since I was aware of “wanting to be” something. This predates Steve and cats, and I got to wondering how common that is, that people have known for their whole lives what they “wanted to be.”
So, I’m throwing it out to y’all — when did you (if you did) realize what you “wanted to be”?
Today’s blog post brought to you by Bill Morrissey, “Birches”
Rook joined me for breakfast. Not that he had any of my breakfast; he likes to sit on my lap while I finish my tea, and take a bath, because, yanno, bellies don’t clean themselves.
In answer to the question put to your readers: I “thought” I knew what I wanted to be while I was in high school. I loved learning French, and I dreamed of being a teacher of English in France. That dream went down the tubes when I hit my first French class in college. From there I transitioned over to wanting to be a costume or make-up designer for the theater. I got my Bachelor’s in Theater Arts and then never did anything with it. After marriage and children, when I had to find a “real” job, I was hired as an editor for achievement tests. *That’s* where I found what I wanted to be. I fit right in: here was a whole group of people who cared about the precise use of language and strove mightily, not for any personal advancement or recognition, but for accuracy and the best possible version of what the writers/developers had intended. I have been doing this kind of work ever since, way past supposed “retirement age,” with every intention of going on indefinitely.
Heh, over 5 decades have passed through the glass and I STILL don’t know what I wanna be when I “grow up”…
When I was in first grade I wanted to be a teacher. I continued to want to teach until I did student teaching, when I discovered that I am really bad at it. Once I have explained something, if you don’t get it, I have no alternatives to offer you. I might have struggled to get better, but I had *also* wanted to be a librarian, also since first grade. So there you go. (I got my MLS, enjoying every moment, and then no one wanted to hire a perpetually sick woman, which in a very roundabout way led me to working with dogs and cats for more than thirty years now, and like Ed8r above, I have no intention of retiring as long as I can stagger around. I’m 72. One of my coworkers is 86.)