in fact i wish this blog had a little pocket for a flask

Thanks to my inside people at the university, I might have scored an old card catalogue (again). This time I'm going to keep calling the Supply Management guy (nicely!) until he agrees to sell it to me for some reasonable amount of money, say, $40. I'm too nice, and this is how I lost out on the last one. Anyone who claims they got an old card catalogue by being nice is lying. (Also, I don't know if I mentioned this but... I have a house now, so I'm going to need even more wacky furniture and even more posters and even more vintage kitchenware from Etsy to fill it up. Oh, and James's stuff too apparently.) (Also, is the plural of "kitchenware" still "kitchenware?" or "kitchenwares"? Hmm.)

Since I finished school and started working, I've managed to jettison my paper "daytimer," as the grown-up types say, and depend on my trusty brain and 30 Boxes. This hybrid brain/technology solution was working for me until recently, when I have suddenly needed to keep track of house details and wedding details in addition to all the other normal life details. (Also, this might seem pathetic, but while I was in grad school/freelancing I never had much health coverage. Now that I have a health plan, and have to get my hair cut on a regular basis also, I suddenly have a whole extra set of appointments to keep track of.) I've been freaking out a lot lately, often at 4:30 am, often as a result of remembering something I need to do and then realizing I'm sure to forget it again 3 minutes later, so today I developed a plan to build myself a new daytimer-type book for keeping notes, business cards, my chequebook (which I also require ALL THE TIME in my new life as a grown-up, even if I do still have Muppet cheques) and the pen I stole from the MGM Grand. Convenient side-effect: I can use the new vinyl foot for my sewing machine, which I got for Christmas. Who is the guy I'm supposed to call from the realtor's office who will meet the home inspector and let him in? The book will know! What is the name of my optometrist, who I need to call to arrange a crazy dilation test for my sub-par eyes? The book will know! Or at least that's the theory. And maybe I'll sleep through the night at least once before July. Whenever I enter this kind of hyper, detail-obsessed planning mode, the only thing that will make me feel better is to make the obsessing more efficient. Or maybe to drink. I should make a little pocket in my binder for a flask.