I’m in a gloomy mood today, which I hadn’t really noticed until Kevin pointed it out, since normally the suggestion we move to Kenya would send me off into dreams of keeping pet water buffalo,* and instead I’m contemplating the questionable power grid and the inability to get printer ink.
The ink thing is on my mind since I just ran out for the second time this week. It should be in tomorrow, but I’ve got outstanding orders that were supposed to go out today, so now I’m grumpy. Christ, how much cyan do I USE?
Also, I had convoluted nightmares last night. It’s pre-con stress, I know, but knowing that doesn’t help particularly. I’m mildly annoyed that I’m still having dreams where I get mad at my ex. I’ve mentioned this before, and various readers have told me that they have them for YEARS, which helps a lot, I just…I dunno. It makes me feel all…issue-ish. I guess it’s just that it’s a crazy I haven’t made peace with. (I have made peace with most of my crazy by now. This one’s new enough, though, that it still nags at me.)
I begin to suspect that part of the problem is that my relationship with Kevin is so damn awesome that it throws the short-comings of my marriage into rather stark relief. So I get irked at both of us retroactively, him for…well, a lot of the things that were lousy, and me for just taking it, and not even realizing that it was lousy. Which isn’t really useful, anyway, and I suspect you kinda need to experience the bad so that you can appreciate just how good the good is, and it seems counter-productive to continue being annoyed about it, since I generally wouldn’t change how things worked out.
And yet I continue to be annoyed, and to have dreams where he’s a spectacular ass. Apparently that’s my stress dream now. I think I preferred the ones where I was attacked by zombie possums, since zombie possums are entirely straightforward and there are no complex emotions attached to stomping on their nasty little heads.
I dunno. Con prep has gone well, anyway, I’m nearly done, except for one or two last minute quickies and a piece to be dropped off at the con. Although I’m never sure if I’m really DONE or if my give-a-shit meter has simply filled and I simply don’t care if I’m done or not now. I’ve done enough of these, I’ve got it down to a science, and watching Kevin pack the Con Box for mailing is epic, you’d think I’d be able to prep for a con without stress these days…
*I will name him Bob, and he will name me Squeaky-Thing-Stuck-To-My-Hoof-After-Trampling. We will be great friends.