Got my letter sent off to my landlady about midnight last night; found a response from her in my snailmail box when I got back from work. I figure to put off reading it 'til noon; while it's *possible* it contains an apology and an agreement on terms, I rather doubt it. I hope to be surprised, but in the meantime I've got work to do.
Write Case Information Statement for divorce attorney
Mail credit report to bankruptcy attorney
Write Gabe (#2 Son) about his dance career
Write Zack (#1 Son) about careers in general, and the Art of Living.
Get a haircut
Call DSI about a possible day job, which I might be needing soon.
Call Walden and find out if I'm admitted to grad school
Take Gabe to his dance class
Edit: Add Call MacCare about the laptop not booting
Fall down go boom.
(Does anyone know if it's possible, and if so, how, to have an *entry* be public, but have the LJ-cut be Friends Only?)
The thing I hate most about the Boosh Era is that the assumption that might makes right and money makes right have become endemic values in the popular culture. My landlady's a good example; she's an ex-civil-rights activist, and has a lifelong history of being on the side of the Little People until she became a landlady. Now, suddenly, everything is about "her" money, whether it's actually hers or not.
The problem of my own I most need to work on is the rage fits. I haven't *opened* the letter from the landlady; there's no need or reason to get upset about it before I know what it says, and I can't keep myself from pounding my head in anticipated frustration anyway. Breathing exercises work, but only for as long as I'm doing them, plus a minute or two if I keep 'em up long enough. I need to find a way to make the rage Not Happen.
And I need to go be useful. Encouragement would be appreciated; send pictures of dogs doing circus tricks if you've got any. Or pictures of yourself doing circus tricks, for that matter. Or a kind word, or a mixed salad.
Joel. With raspberry vinaigrette dressing.