Hello, world. Hello, Saturday. Hello, snow.
Shawshank locked me in the bedroom this morning, which sounds a lot worse than reality. He used Hardy Boys-level fuckery to move a weight against the inside of the bedroom door in order to Podrick from opening it from the hallway. And, to be clear, I asked him to do it last night, with the hope that I might sleep in without having to pull a cat off the window screen. I dozed in the bed, stretching out to my full size like a fat, hairless flying squirrel.
Night #2 of streaming from the bean was just as comfortable as the first. I didn’t stay on as long as I wanted, because it was the slow kind of Friday. I’ve found that my mood really dips if I stay on the struggle bus for more than an hour without a good burst of tipping. When my mood drops, the room vibe drops, making it less likely I’ll get any good traffic. More importantly, it’s not fun for me to sit there being watched, but not interacted with.
I also took note of the boundaries of my “set”– now I can brainstorm ideas to make it look more like a set and less like I’m streaming from a beanbag beside my dresser. Ideally, I’d like to mask the dresser, because I feel like it’s the least “professional” aspect.
We mostly have the weekend off. Once Shawshank comes home, after lunch, we don’t need to do anything for a full 24 hours. For now, I’m cuddling my ginger boy.
