Five random things making up an entry, the pre-vertigo specialist version

[mrissa]

1. I hate going to the vertigo specialist. Hate hate hatey haaaaate. But it Needs Doing. (This is unlikely to be a visit with lots of changes to anything; as I understand it, they wanted to check back and make sure they didn't miss something subtle about my previous diagnosis.) The tests at the vertigo specialist sometimes make people -- surprise! -- vertiginous, so they don't want me to drive myself home after, so my mom is taking me. We're going to have a fun lunch out somewhere beforehand together, so that should make up somewhat for having to have the mechanical woodpecker take up residence in my ears temporarily, in the plus-and-minus columns of the day. But -- meep. Hate.

2. I suspect that my brain handing me book shinies last night was in part a way of Not Thinking Of the trip to the vertigo specialist. Hey, I'll take it. "How did you come to write this book, Ms. Lingen?" "Well, I didn't want to think about the mechanical woodpecker...."

3. The floor vent in the front hall used to be plain and not fit the hole it goes in. Now it's art deco and fits the hole and cost about $10. I am ridiculously pleased. This was a total accident -- I just happened to walk by the fancy floor vent section in Home Despot while I was providing entertainment for the Very Gay Home Despot Employee (who found the prospect of me using a tree saw on a long stick absolutely hilarious -- thanks, dude), and there they were, and they were cheap, and I thought, well, the one we have is broken anyway, and if this one doesn't work, I can return it. But it does work. Go me. Art deco floor vent! Who knew they even made such things? (retrobabble, you are exempt from this last comment.)

4. The painters caulked yesterday before the rains came. Ista was fascinated by the ladders. Not entirely approving, but fascinated. She kept going to the kitchen windows and peering up and up and up, trying to figure out what on earth they were doing up there.

5. In the same vein as #2, boy howdy, am I productive this morning. Displacement is sometimes a beautiful thing. Now I will mop the floor, work out, sort the laundry, and finish my library book.

Comments

[sraun]

Art deco floor vent! Who knew they even made such things?

I knew. A lot of visitors to the French House knew - but that was before you moved here. Hmm, I wonder how long it's been since the French House was a fannish hang-out? It's been a long time - 10-15 years?

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

Was this a new one or an original one? Because I did know that art deco houses had appropriate floor vents. I just didn't know mine could.

[sraun]

It was a replacement floor vent in an old house.

[bodhifox.livejournal.com]

Taking the opportunity to say hello, and per your friending policy I have done so. I'd like to follow along, if I may. Nicely done on the vent grate.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

Hi, and welcome!

[diatryma.livejournal.com]

Little things like appropriate floor vents please me all out of proportion to their practical aspects. I love the zombie door leading to my house's basement. I love artsy door handles. I love so much the leaves and vines on the hinges to my kitchen door-- someone decided that the hinges must be beautiful. Even if it's not my house in the ownership sense, I like living in a place where at least a few things are not only functional but beautiful.

[aszanoni.livejournal.com]

Uh... you have a zombie door? Does it eat brains? Cringe at salt?

Goblin doors make faces because they are crammed full of goblins, which are bound into the doors. Sometimes these doors stick because the goblins bound into and thus in the doorknobs hold them shut. To be ornery.

So says a beloved childhood book. :>

Leaves and vines making something beautiful are Very Cool. My mom decorated a room with such a theme. So did a friend of mine - and they are both lovely restful rooms.

- Chica

[diatryma.livejournal.com]

I've never had a basement with the cellar-door tornado shelter sort of thing on top, so that's novelty the first. The door is down a flight of stairs with ivy encroaching, and it's tall. Biiig door. It's just... old, and moderately haunted-house looking. It doesn't belong there, but it doesn't belong anywhere in the house, either. It's the kind of door you open knowing that something behind it is sinister and waiting.