While in San Jose last weekend for a taiko workshop, I picked up a few things at the Japanese grocery store. One of them was powdered iced green tea. I could make my own iced tea, I thought, and save myself four bucks every weekday morning. I mixed up a glass today, and, alas, it tastes like Tums and is disconcertingly opaque.

The picture on the box promises a substance that’s at least translucent, if not refreshing. Guess I’ll be keeping the local tea place in business yet.

Oh, and for the sake of continuity with the previous post, I suppose I should note that I was in fact not eaten by mountain lions, though one did visit our camp in the middle of the night. Seriously. I still don’t understand why some people are so stoked to leave perfectly decent civilization (read: TOILETS) behind and go sleep among the beasts of the wild, abandoning all of humanity’s innovations of the last ten thousand years, save Gore-Tex and strike-anywhere matches. Boggles the mind.

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* I should simply say “thrift”, shouldn’t I, and save the trouble of turning a noun into an adjective and back again. But “thrift” to me connotes “shopping at a thrift store.” So the extra letters can stay, but not without this note to indicate that yes! I am aware!

Going backpacking in Big Bend for the next five days. Probably not much internet out there. I’ll be back around Thanksgiving if the mountain lions don’t get me.

Today at work I stumbled across this convenient rule of interpretation in the Texas Tax Code:

§ 101.005. GRAMMATICAL ERRORS: PUNCTUATION.
  (a) A grammatical error does not vitiate a law, and when a sentence or clause is without meaning, words and clauses may be transposed to determine the intended meaning.
  (b) The punctuation of a sentence does not control or affect the intention of the legislature in the enactment of this title.

No need to bother learning to write clearly, dear legislators. Just throw in whatever punctuation tickles your fancy, and we’ll divine your true intent. Swirl some tea leaves around or something.

I don’t think Samson likes my new job. He seems especially sad in the mornings now, and the outpouring of joy when I come home doesn’t quite make up for the guilt I feel in leaving him alone all day. It’s worst when I have to feed him, walk him, and head right back out the door for taiko.

As much as he claims to miss me, though, when I’m home, he doesn’t ever want to snuggle with me. He will ask for and accept belly scratches, but if I’m sitting on the bed, he’ll head for the couch, and vice versa. I guess he just wants me . . . around.

Even less close than the first time I missed it. Damn.

Every day I try to unpack one box, and slowly my back room is looking less and less like a hoarder’s. It’ll probably be two or three more weeks until I’m completely moved in. I tried to get rid of stuff before I moved, but there is still SO MUCH STUFF.

It’s amazing how much I’ve managed to hang on to when ninety percent of what I use on a daily basis is my laptop, some clothes, the furniture, a small fraction of my toiletries, and a few kitchen things. And yet, discounting the furniture, the greater volume of stuff in my apartment falls into the category of things I touch a few times a year, at most. It’s sentimental, archival, seasonal, or used for a specialized purpose, like wrapping paper or sewing tools. Or it’s junk; there’s plenty of that, too.

When I see each tchotchke or scrap of paper individually, I think about what it means to me, what amazing project I’ll use it for in the future, or how I want to show it to my grandchildren. When I see everything like up together, filling boxes and spilling out of bookshelves, I want the throw the whole lot on a bonfire.

In other news, the weather is fantastic here in Houston. I put on a jacket to walk the dog tonight, but only because my shorts didn’t have pockets.

Today I did not cruise the aisles of the bedazzled, oddly sacrilegious Nutcracker Market as I have in years past. Instead I went to my friends’ wedding and then hauled ass to College Station to make it just in time to perform a little taiko. I was sad to have to leave the reception minutes before the entrees came out (and long before the cake, *tear*), but the waiter was nice enough to pack my whole pork chop and mashed potatoes into a giant to-go bag. Yum.

When your emotions are already on edge, do not go to a wedding rehearsal and then listen to a lot of country music alone in your apartment. I mean, do go to the rehearsal, but skip the other part. After all, you still have to go to the wedding tomorrow, and you don’t want to show up all puffy-eyed like this before the thing even starts.

Oh noes! If I only I’d gotten to my computer two minutes earlier.

Today I worked my first full eight-hour day at my new job. During lunch I spent twenty minutes walking to and from a post office that, oddly, doesn’t accept mail or sell postage.

This morning Samson ate some other dog’s poop and threw it up on my carpet. Of all the kinds of vomit, poop vomit is near the top in terms of horrible smelliness.

And now I’m home. Working all day means that, well, not much else happens all day. I’m sure the rest of you have figured this out already. Makes for boring blog posts. Sorry about that.