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January 10th, 2013

I was worried last night that I was going to whine.

After I donated blood, I went to Beulahland, a bar and restaurant I like on NE 28th between Couch and Davis. I ate a cheap grilled-cheese sandwich, drank lots of water, and soaked up the loud ambiance (the bar was hosting a meet-up of people who called themselves "DMob": they had stickers and T-shirts, so you know they're serious). I then went over to the guy using the computer that's available for patrons and said "May I use that after you're done?" "Sure," he said. "Take your time," I said, and went away to sit. I read a bit from a bit, I read bits from the day's newspaper, and I did a crossword, because I was waiting longer and longer and the guy at the computer was still using it. And taking a while. And not showing any signs of wrapping up what he was doing.

He'd gone beyond "taking his time" by then. And I got annoyed. Is this going to be an issue? Am I going to ask him again to use it and this time he'll say "no"? Is he going to be rude about it? Am *I* going to get rude about it? I could picture myself saying "I asked to use it a while ago." And I could picture him this time saying "So?" And I could picture me arguing rudely with him, while he stayed on the computer.

I was letting drama breed in my head, assuming that the situation would escalate like a Seinfeld plot, only not funny. ("Seinfeld was never funny," I hear kradical say...) OK, Chris: you're an adult, don't be childish, and don't assume he'll be childish.

So I went up and asked him "Hey, how much longer do you think you'll need?" And he looked up and said "Whoa. I'm sorry. I spaced on you being there."

Okay. I could understand that. I've had space-out moments like that. He said he'd wrap up right then; I thanked him, and things were fine. And I hadn't had to whine. I also resisted asking why he'd forgotten, because while I was a little annoyed that he'd forgotten, I'd probably have expressed that a little rudely. Don't make the guy feel bad, Chris, if you don't need to.

See? I can be a mature adult. And if the guy had made an issue of it, had decided just to keep working, I hope I would've been a mature adult while saying Come on, man, not cool.

My hang-ups, ladies and gentlemen. I worry about arguing, that I'm going to do it badly and unfairly. Or in a whining way. And I do not like how I sound when I whine.

"Don't make me whiny. You wouldn't like me when I'm whiny." Not as good a line as Bill Bixby's, right?

Anyone else having this problem?

I'm seeing some of y'all's posts either disappear from my LJ Friends List after they'd first appeared (like this one from shadesong), or not posting at all to my Flist (like this one from elionwyr, which I didn't see until popfiend reposted it), though if I go to your own journals I see the entries then.

Anyone else having this? I wanted to ask before I send a help request to LJ Support.

(Now I'll hope that if you are having this problem, you're still able to see this on your Flist...)

Priorities

I've promoted grits in my kitchen to "foodstuffs with its their own special case."

I never tried grits until a few years ago -- at a Southern-ish diner in Seattle, for what it's worth -- but immediately liked it them. True, I never had it them beforehand, even when I lived near the South. (I clarify, as I've done before: I lived in Virginia Beach, which feels more influenced by the military than by Southern culture, and Northern Virginia, which with D.C. and the Maryland suburbs feels like its own little state. I've clarified.) But I'm only one person, wanting to keep my just-add-water-and-boil grits fresh, so for a while I was storing it them in a repurposed pickle jar. Two problems: 1) the jar wasn't big enough for the whole 40-ounce box of grits, so I'd pour most of the grits into the jar and first use what was left in the box, and 2) the jar's lid didn't want to twist on enough to make me feel safe handling it. If it fell, that'd be a lot of glass and grits to clean.

A snap-shut clear plastic container (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH TUPPERWARE OR RUBBERMAID OR ANY OTHER COPYRIGHTED TERM FOR THIS KIND OF CONTAINER) is now in a prominent place in my kitchen, and it is about half-full of what, when cooked, will become grits. I feel safer in my food prep. (Breaking plastic is really hard to do.)

Also I've cleaned more of my kitchen stuff than I'd cleaned for a bit, so it's even more orderly in there than usual. I feel accomplished.

Tonight, eat well! And hey, that could include GRITS...

7:42 p.m. edit: I did! Chicken breast cut into strips with onions and green peppers, all sauteed in Secret Aardvark's black bean sauce, and grits are now in my stomach, turning from food to fuel. You know more now.

Clean?

Tonight: loaded the washing machine, washed my clothes, dried my clothes, took some of the clothes out of the dryer early so they wouldn't get static-y dry, then took the rest of those clothes out of the dryer followed by looking at the detergent shelf in my building's laundry room and realizing I hadn't put in any detergent.

Um. Then knowledge (or at least a factoid) reappeared in my head: supposedly there can be enough detergent stuck inside clothes that, every once in a while, you can wash them and get them clean without detergent.

I'll hope that's true.