Everyone loves a good wrench.

My car decided that I should stay home tonight. And there's not many who can disagree with a car that won't start. This meant that instead of a night of productive sewing at a friend's, turned into many hours in front of the computer screen. Again.

Somewhere after eleven, I decided I needed to have a talk with myself, Havi style.
Negotiator Me: Hey, so this non-productivity thing... What's going on here?
Little Me*: *lots of flailing* Too much! TOO MUCH!!!
Negotiator Me: I agree. There's definitely too much stuff in this room. It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it. How can we make you feel better about this?
Little Me: *blink blink* I want the candy. (grabbing at a couple pieces of Christmas left-overs)
Negotiator Me: Sure. Go right ahead. Would you mind picking up that wrapper that just fell on the floor, too, and putting it in the trash? Oh, and make sure to grab your self a glass of water. And why don't you take the leftovers Tupperware down to the kitchen with you when you get the water.
Little Me: *runs off on errands eagerly*

Managed to get a few things picked up after that, though there's still the clean laundry to be put away. It's getting late. I need to sleep some time.

Little Me was right though. The sheer amount of stuff contained in my room is kind of overwhelming, not to mention the process of organizing whatever I want to keep. I keep looking at pictures of other people's houses and I sometimes long for all that space that others seem to just have lying around. Yet, space comes with it's own set of anxieties (which is a whole 'nother kettle of worms).

One day at a time, girlfriend, one day at a time.



*Apparently a three-year old prone to violent acts of non-verbal communication. ie crying, screaming, and much flailing.

There's an H in 'orchata.

My housemates are frequently both the blessing and bane of my existence. Often at the same time. For example, Horchata. As in the yummy yummy homemade rice milk with cinnamon and sugar that I hold in my hands right now. Seriously goodness in a cup and all that is comforting in a drink that is not hot. Example two, coming home tonight after, literally, nine hours on my feet-dealing-with-customers-and-inventory-all-day shift, to find that there was hardly any dinner left. Tuesdays are my looong days and I never feel like cooking. Which makes it all to the better that we have organized dinners where in we take turns cooking. (Well, I actually clean the first floor this time around instead of cooking.)

Except that dinner is always at seven, and I don't get home until just after 7:30. And I have twenty-five housemates. Which means that unless the cook really really really plans well, there's never very much left when I get home. Even when I make my self a really good lunch and snack all day, this seems to leave me at turns wanting to break something or cry. Sometimes both.

Somehow today I managed to get there in time for the last of the taco meat, and found more tortillas and cheese, which meant I didn't have to do too much. But it was enough to set me on edge and make me want to cry. Arrrrggg! I get sooooo frustrated just by feeling so frustrated! And I totally wanted to punch three people in the face by the time I finished cleaning up my dinner dishes.

But I didn't. [Insert secret smile here.]

I tried very hard to calmly explain that I was feeling stressed and very much not okay, and that little things were making me feel upset that normally wouldn't. And some expressed concern. Which was very nice. It's nice to know that people want you to have a better day tomorrow, and so on.

It's also nice to have a BIIIG cup of Horchata.