another bad night, of which I really do not wish to speak…which seems entirely counterproductive in a diary, I’ll admit, but I have never made claims towards being wholly sensible nor logical, and nor shall I. not today at least. I will just note down that over and over, I’m very surprised at my own MacGuyvering skills. if something breaks, and I have a screwdriver and drawer of miscellanea at hand…I can probably rig up a fix for it, or at least a temporary one until its replacement gets here. it almost seems a waste that I don’t have, nor do I want, children. oh, the toys that would go on endlessly with Mama’s knack for repair~
a grey and rainy day to match my low mood. I wished to move some items from my residence into the storage shed yesterday (which I could not due to pain keeping me abed yet again…); luckily I got them out of the way this morning just before the deluge started. I jest, really — it’s not a light rain, but it isn’t a roaring bucketing-down like yesterday. I am thankful for that, for my head’s sake if nothing else. Poets who write reams about how romantic the sound of rain on a tin roof is honestly don’t seem to have spent that long under one while it’s happening, I have to say — there comes a point where your brain simply cannot interpret it as white noise no matter how hard it tries…
(thank all that’s good and pure for noise-cancelling headphones!)