3 months later and the accidental hole I put in the ceiling with my foot is still not entirely fixed. Meaning it's patched, but still doesn't look right, and I'm beginning to fear it never will. I've taped and compounded and sanded and re-compounded and re-sanded and sanded and sanded. I've tried that ceiling texture in a can which is remarkably and simultaneously frightening and really super fun to use. but it doesn't match up all that well. Plus then there was a visable border where the plastic was push-pinned to the ceiling. Now, I've used a wire brush to blur the border, but the texture is still not right. plus, I just noticed, there's one spot where the tape seems to be bubbling. awesome. mostly though, I've been just ignoring it. I completely over-hauled my master bathroom instead, done in taupe and terra cotta and accented with BRIGHT lime green. Love it. Though the previous owners of the house painted over wallpaper that they hung without priming the drywall...that my friend, was a really really shitty thing to do to a girl like me, and it took weeks to tear down the paper, at which time big hunks of the drywall would randomly peel off, needing to then be patched and then more sanding and more mess, and I finally decided that it would never be actually smooth, so instead of working on it for another year I decided to put up suede paint to hide the "imperfections" of the walls...now I'm desperately seeking paint colors for the living room/hallway. And feeling guilty that I haven't finished the ceiling.

In other news...I hate my doctor. I've had a whole slew of medical issues crop up in the last year...his response? Here, take some lexapro and you'll probably feel better. Don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that I lean a little toward crazy, but I've been like that for all of my life, so I'm pretty sure that your little happy pill is not going to suddenly solve all my trouble. More likely I just won't care anymore, which, hey, I'm totally fine with denial on a regular basis, but not at the expense of finding the actual cause of the symptoms, and, potentially, a cure. I hate him. The only thing missing from his pathetic patronizing, was a pat on my wee little head.

Also, drywall repair on a ceiling conveniently positioned over the top four steps of a stairway? Sucks ass. Not even finished yet and still sucking major ass.

Somebody please tell me there's some major life lesson I'm learning here, aside from the obvious "don't fall through the drywall when walking in the attic".

I have somewhere between 17 and eleventy-thousand small metal splinters in my hand. Thanks, in part, to my incredible prowess with a screw gun and my equally admirable lack of patience and concentration. Most of the annoyingly painful little buggers are wedged firmly and deeply into my left thumb. Leading me to the following epiphany...I use my left thumb a hella lot. All those poor opposeable thumb-less creatures just don't know what they're missing.

If I were a bettin' man, I'd put 10 million dollars down on me, at some point today, becoming so totally obsessed with these little shards of torture that I end up with some dirty box knife and a pair of dull point tweezers in a vain attempt to extract the damn things while still leaving most of the skin and nerves intact. And also, if I had 10 million dollars.

But I don't, so most likely, I'll end up doing it for free. There will be blood. Let's not fool ourselves.

this weekend:
moved 6, 80# bags of rock. dug & installed french drain. re-worked two large flower beds. (gardening in Jan= crazy? It was almost 60, give me a break). Moved8 bags of dirt. Laid 50 cubic feet of mulch. carried countless pieces of wood to attic. began cross-bracing attic floor and laying plywood pieces. cut my finger wide open. smacked my head three times on attic rafter. scraped my chin on random piece of attic wood. took all the skin off a 3" patch of skin on my back when I didn't duck far enough through the attic opening. smashed another finger. stepped backwards onto a unfortunately placed pipe. lost my balance. stepped onto un-braced section of attic. watched in horror as drywall gave and I began to plummet toward the floor. luckily (?) my left pelvis bone landed squarely on one joist and my right shoulder smashed solidly against another, keeping me from dropping completely through the ceiling and, due to the placement of the new ceiling vent, not only to the floor below, but to the stairs leading to the first level of the house, no doubt resulting in many fractures and much much pain. leaving only my right leg dangling through the ceiling, and 4 hysterically laughing children finding much joy in mommy's latest mishap.

I'm a fucking walking disaster.

goal for today: google "repair ceiling drywall". visit local home improvement store and purchase several hundred dollars of repair product. try to refrain from the plummet to my death while repairing hole. drink heavily upon completion.

Dreamt about back fat last night. I'm no dreamologist, but that simply can't be good.

On the advice of skwigg, I asked Santa for this book. Normally it's something I'd read in a day, but I'm trying to ABSORB it and follow the directions, including the action plans at the end of each chapter. 1st one? Notice in a day, how many times I found myself thinking about either weight/body issues, finances, or feeling lonely. Final number for the day? Fucking disturbing.

Action plan for today is to make a list of things that make me feel full. Aside from a pound of fudge and a large chocolate milkshake. Emotionally full, she means, and I like how she explains that first you have to recognize "the difference between your natural longing for a more fulfilling life (essential emptiness) and the tormenting craving for something to fill up up right this minute." IE: food. clothes. cocktails.

2nd part of action plan...from the list, pick one thing and do it by "this time tomorrow". So that gives me till about 9:00 tonight to make a list, make a choice, and take an action.

Too much pressure. I need a snickers.