shadesofmauve (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadesofmauve) wrote2004-11-21 02:11 pm
shadesofmauve) wrote2004-11-21 02:11 pm
I'm a little red tugboat.
Tugboats don't cut through the water. They aren't hydrodynamic. They just push, and all that white foaming water spills up in front of them and gets shoved out of the way. There's a foss tugboat which only has a little speed reduction when it stops going forwards and starts going straight sideways. They are dependable, super strong, and slow as mud, and in my much-loved home town of Olympia we race them every year.
I'm not sure if at the moment I feel more like the tugboat (pushing through work in a slow and determined fashion) or like a tugboat race (a lot of stress and power and $50 barrels of crude being harnesed to do absolutley nothing). I'd say I smell better than a tugboat, but being a water-child born and bred I actually really like the smell of clean paint, saltwater, and tar. My Daddy loves tugboats - maybe I should tell him he has one.
Last night I went contra-dancing. There was an almost salacious hip thing, and a whip cream incident - what more could one ask for? I couldn't actually dance much thanks to my cantakerous physical form, but I got to chat with people, enjoyed the pot-luck before hand, and went to Archer's with Virginia, Marlin, and the caller George afterwards (there were some other contra folks there, too, and we got our drinks after last call - go us). This morning I'm trying to work off the current goal, finishing my art history paper before I leave town for turkey day. That'd leave me clear to do grad school work over break and webpages when I get back. So it's a dull tugboat-y kinda day, shoving my barge of a paper into shape, wishing for the phone to ring and distract me, which gets less and less likely as the afternoon progresses. So I spose I'll just belt out some more vile black smog and keep on goin'.
I'm not sure if at the moment I feel more like the tugboat (pushing through work in a slow and determined fashion) or like a tugboat race (a lot of stress and power and $50 barrels of crude being harnesed to do absolutley nothing). I'd say I smell better than a tugboat, but being a water-child born and bred I actually really like the smell of clean paint, saltwater, and tar. My Daddy loves tugboats - maybe I should tell him he has one.
Last night I went contra-dancing. There was an almost salacious hip thing, and a whip cream incident - what more could one ask for? I couldn't actually dance much thanks to my cantakerous physical form, but I got to chat with people, enjoyed the pot-luck before hand, and went to Archer's with Virginia, Marlin, and the caller George afterwards (there were some other contra folks there, too, and we got our drinks after last call - go us). This morning I'm trying to work off the current goal, finishing my art history paper before I leave town for turkey day. That'd leave me clear to do grad school work over break and webpages when I get back. So it's a dull tugboat-y kinda day, shoving my barge of a paper into shape, wishing for the phone to ring and distract me, which gets less and less likely as the afternoon progresses. So I spose I'll just belt out some more vile black smog and keep on goin'.