truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (ws: hamlet)
No actual content, but the frost on the windows this morning was remarkably beautiful:



ETA: combining [ profile] pameladean and [ profile] sovay's comments, we learn that this is Mirkwood as designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany. Also, as I said to [ profile] matociquala, it is what happens when your 107 year old windows are in desperate need of an upgrade.

(Also, happy birthday to the world's most awesome sister-in-law!)
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (cats: napping)
My afternoon got derailed by an unexpected trip to the vet, as the Elder Saucepan vomited up some blood. The answer is most likely the pain medication he's on, so we're switching for a couple of weeks, plus giving him Pepcid. (Yes, the OTC stuff, only he gets a quarter of the 10 mg pill.)

Because we were at the vet, I couldn't make my dressage lesson today, which makes me almost ridiculously glum. Hopefully, my instructor can fit me in this weekend. And I am quite certain I made the right decision.

When I got home, I checked the mail and found a packet from the sleep clinic waiting, with a twelve (count 'em, 12) page questionnaire. I filled it out while the cats ate, and stuck it in my purse, so that I cannot forget it when I have my appointment on February 10. It may be a little battered by then, but at least it won't be sitting innocently and uselessly on the dining room table.

From filling out the questionnaire, I can report, with the kind of relief you get when it's not a surprise but you're relieved all the same, that I have no symptoms of narcolepsy. Those questions were scary. But the RLS was a definite "yes."

Speaking of same, [ profile] heresluck pointed me at this article on RLS; I'm pleased that everyone agrees it's real, but can we talk about how comforting it ISN'T to be in a 3% minority?

I am very much hoping the sleep clinic can help me.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (horse: fd-milo)
1. written my third Ellery Queen post for tor-dot-com. There is, of course, no one currently at Tor to care, and won't be until 2011, but it's the check-mark on the to do list that counts.
2. filled out paperwork for invoicing tor-dot-com for the two posts that went up in December.
3. fought with Wells Fargo's voicemail system and emerged confused but triumphant with the information [ profile] mirrorthaw wants.
4. written a functional transition (i.e., it's good enough for the first draft) into the next supernatural manifestation in Thirdhop Scarp. The plot may finally start thickening.
5. scheduled a riding lesson tomorrow and one on Saturday. (YAY!)
6. called the vet about two necessary questions I've been failing to ask all week (nothing alarming--just the Elder Saucepan's pain meds and arthritis supplements).
7. AND committed us to bringing the First Ninja in on Monday for an ultrasound so we can maybe figure out wtf are up with her kidneys. (She's making sure the household cats meet their mysteriousness quota, all by herself.)

That looks like a lot more accomplishment than it felt like. Go team me!
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (mfu: ikns-sillyhats)
You open the cupboard. A thin plastic bag containing approximately two cups of flour falls out. The bag impales itself on one of a pair of chopsticks that are standing, points up, in the silverware compartment of the dish drainer in the sink.

Flour begins to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

That's not a very constructive response, now is it?

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

If you do that, you run the risk of dislodging the chopstick. Proceed? YES|NO

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

Carefully, you pick up the bag and chopstick. Flour continues to leak out of the thin plastic bag, but neither faster nor in greater quantity than before.

You are getting flour on your hands.

You walk south into the pantry. It's small and dark in here, and there are a lot of bags of catfood. There are three drawers to your left.

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

You open the middle drawer. Inside, there is a box of ziploc bags.

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

It's a challenge getting a ziploc bag out of its box with one hand, but you manage. Perhaps that swearing was helpful after all.

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

You open the ziploc bag.

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

I'm sorry, I don't know how to do that.

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag.

You're really challenging your dexterity tonight, aren't you? You put the thin plastic bag in the ziploc bag. It lands mostly upside down.

Flour continues to leak slowly out of the thin plastic bag, but with the ziploc bag in place it doesn't matter anymore.

You take the flour-covered chopstick.

You seal the ziploc bag. Take that, flour!

You go north into the kitchen. One cupboard is open. There is spilled flour on the counter and one chopstick in the dish drainer.

Well, really, what else can you do?

You laugh. In a minute, your husband will be laughing, too.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (Default)
1. The eclipse tonight, in my tiny part of the world, will be eclipsed by snow.

2. I have accomplished Things today. Things, I tell you! Several of them Things that have needed accomplishing since sometime in August.

3. One of those Things was turning a rejected story right back out the door (no, don't take your boots off, you're not staying), and throwing another story into the eel-infested waters ring. I've got to finish editing "The Devil in Gaylord's Creek" and "To Die for Moonlight" so I can launch them out of the nest, too. And possibly unmix my metaphors, while I'm at it.

4. The winter solstice is the birthday of the protagonist of The Goblin Emperor. It's weird; I worked out Felix and Mildmay's birthdays, but I never remember when they are; I don't have the least idea when Booth's birthday is. But Maia's birthday, I remember.

5. [ profile] matociquala observed (over on Twitter where she is, of course, @matociquala), that this is the first time there's been a total lunar eclipse on the winter solstice since 1638. There's a time travel story in there somewhere. I can feel it.


Dec. 17th, 2010 01:59 pm
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (Default)
Today I have succeeded in giving blood. That makes the fourth time this year, which, allowing for broken ankles1, inevitable human frailty2, and uncooperative hemoglobin3, feels like a very satisfying achievement.

I may not achieve anything else today, but by gum, I donated blood.

1Say it with me, ankle you are very stupid.
2Remembering the appointment, but forgetting what day it was.
3Last month, I went, but could not get a hemoglobin count above 12. Today, the first stick got a 12.4, and when we tried again, it came up an entire point. Baffled, but not arguing.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (cats: problem)
My new keyboard has arrived, courtesy of the kindness of my parents. It is, happily, almost exactly like my old one, except with better action, and the right ALT key has been replaced by a Windows/Mac squiggle key (you know what I mean). We'll see if that bothers me or not--I think I actually tend to use the left ALT key anyway, so I may never notice except when I hit the damn thing by accident.

When I went out just now to see if perhaps the FedEx ninjas had softly and silently delivered the keyboard, as the FedEx ninjas are wont to do, I found that indeed they had, placed tidily just to the right of the door. And tidily on top of it was El Marmelado, one of the current cast of feralistas.*

We think El Marmelado may have had a domestic mother, although he was clearly lost/abandoned/thrown out before he was old enough to neuter. (Jowlz. I has them, says El Marmelado.) He is noticeably less skittish than the other ferals. Over the past week, El Marmelado has gone from hissing at me when I inadvertantly got too close to giving me a silent meow when I came out with food. And this afternoon, he was totally King of the Box. I came out, and he was all, What do you want, thumb-monkey?

That's my box, I said.

Says who? said El Marmelado. I got dibs.

Since I don't actually want to encourage him to be afraid of me (the plan being eventually to trap and neuter him, and it would be very cool if he could be rehabilitated into a domestic kitty, although I'm not holding my breath), I said, Okay, went down to check the mail, and came back.

El Marmelado held his ground until I was actually opening the screen door again, and then he retreated a couple of feet. I took the box, but I offered a trade by fetching the food and water I put out for the feralistas daily.

My box was better, said El Marmelado grumpily and went to get a drink.

And when I came back inside with my new keyboard, I discovered Catzilla had somehow gotten himself shut in the pantry. Again.

Life with cats.

*These days, I regularly see El Marmelado, the Shy Tabby, and the Lesser Mackenzie, and there's another, even lesser, fluffy red cat whom I have seen once or twice. The Lesser Mackenzie is the only one of the cats we trapped and had neutered whom I still see--Rigby and the Greater Mackenzie have both vanished, along with Eleanor and Hilary. I hope they've just found other territories to roam, but I suspect that isn't really the answer.

The only kitten I have ever seen was Eleanor's kitten, Brownkitten (well, and her sibling, who disappeared only a couple days after I first saw them). Brownkitten, I got into the local feral rescue program, and I hope she is living as happy and pampered a life as our Formerly Feral Ninjas are.**

**A quick ninja story--fanservice for the cat-lovers, since this is already a cat-centric post: When the Second Ninja was small, she was the poster child for Short Attention Span Theater. (She's still that way a little, but maturity has brought a better ability to focus.) She was also an inveterate investigator of cups if they were left where she could reach them, always with the same, "Ooh, hey, cup! What's in here?" attitude. This morning, I had a cup of warm water on my desk from taking my herbal supplement, and the Second Ninja came to walk across my keyboard and get snuggles, like she does. And she noticed the cup.

I am charmed to report that at the serious and mature age of six, she is still an inveterate investigator of cups.

"Ooh, hey, cup!"

Day 84

Oct. 23rd, 2010 09:08 pm
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (tr: mole)
Today I ventured out on an expedition with only the soft lace-up ankle brace. I did not fall down or hurt myself or anything else bad.


After stopping by the wake for a friend's father, we went over to Willy Street, where we met an Unexpected! Bonus! Friend!, which was excellent. And then I walked--yes, walked, without lurching like a drunk or falling down or going so slowly that passing tortoises were laughing--to Steve's Tattoo to get my captive bead earrings put back in.

I had to take them out for the surgery on my ankle, and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to get captive beads back in myself, so what with the mobility issues and the not-being-able-to-drive-myself issues--N.b., if you're going to break your ankle, for the love of little red fruitbats, don't break your driving ankle--this was the first chance I'd had. And since for some reason, regular earrings in those holes had been painful to lie on (v. bad when you're spending all day in bed), I'd left the earrings out.

And two of four, both on the left, had closed themselves back up.

Of course, I'd been leaving the earrings out of the other six holes, too, and none of them misbehaved in such a fashion, but go figure.

So I ended up sitting in Steve's for longer than I had anticipated (many thanks to [ profile] mirrorthaw for, once again, being patient), watching the tattooists go about their business and admiring the art and the bumper stickers on the walls. (My favorite is still MORE FUN THAN A HOT POKER UP THE ASS, because it's an Edward II reference for me, even if it isn't for them, and I have good memories of me and [ profile] matociquala cracking the piercer up with our geektastic delight.) While sitting there, I figured out my next tattoo: once the swelling finally goes down, I want a dragon on my right ankle. Very possibly Smaug. Or Smaug, because say what you like about the Rankin-Bass Hobbit and I'll agree with you, I had that iron-on decal as a kid, and I wore the shirt until I literally could not cram my rack into it any longer. (I wore out Gollum and Gandalf, too, I think, but iirc did not care for the Rankin-Bass Bilbo.) And it is still a kick-ass dragon.

But that's a matter for when my ankle is functional again, and I have some money in the exchequer for frivolities. Which the way things are going, looks like sometime after they open an ice-rink in Hell.

Also, I don't know the band or the song they were playing, but the refrain, "Dr. Laura, who made you God?" cracked my shit up.

It turned out that I had remembered correctly: that top piercing in my cartilege hurts like a mad bastard. (The piercer was delighted with this phrase and vowed to use it.) And now my left ear is feeling very put upon and sorry for itself, to which I say, too damn bad.

But I do have my earrings back in, which is good because I was going to feel horribly naked at WFC without them.

ETA: Further WIKTORY: I have finished a draft of "Hollywood and Vine" and have printed it out and handed it to my husband. So there, neurotic pink circus poodle!

Day 82

Oct. 21st, 2010 10:09 pm
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (porpentine: pleased)

1. Drabble (#7) cleaned up and submitted to The Magazine of Speculative Poetry.
2. Bought stamps.
Ergo, 3. Walked to post office and back. (With the boot.)
4. Physical therapy: the therapist is teaching me not to walk like a drunk again.
5. Took a bath.
Ergo, 6. Got in and out of the bathtub by myself for the first time since July 31st.

That's really not too shabby.

Day 21

Aug. 21st, 2010 09:24 pm
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (tr: mole)
Dear Diary,

Today I got to go outside! I hobbled all the way to the corner and all the way back, and [ profile] mirrorthaw didn't have to carry me up the stairs or anything!

Best Day Ever!

Love and kisses,

So Wednesday I got my new (black) cast. Friday I went and talked to my GP about the restless legs syndrome that has gone, what with the enforced immobility, from minor nuisance to excruciating torture. (Ironically, it's only started plaguing me as the actual broken ankle mends and I cut back on the oxycodone, since one of the things that can help with RLS is, wait for it, narcotics.) He's started me on clonazepam, with the intention to upgrade to Requip when I'm mobile again. More reasons that, when I can start doing PT, I will be doing PT with all my heart.

For those of you playing along at home, I'm in the cast, and forbidden to put any weight on my right foot, for a month. September 15, they take the cast off, do X-rays, and if everything looks okay, I graduate to a walking cast. Between the boredom and the chronic health problems--on the one hand there's the RLS and on the other hand, there's my digestive system, which is full of hate and nausea--it's going to be a very long month.

I am deeply, deeply grateful for all the sympathy and offers of help. On the practical side of things, we're doing okay (my husband continues to be a Hero of the Revolution); the worst problem I'm facing is that I'm bored and restless and frustrated. I am hoping that as I go off the oxycodone and (please, merciful powers) get the RLS under control so that I can SLEEP, I will get my concentration back and be able to work. But in the meantime, pointing me to funny/cute/entertaining things around the internet will be considered a great kindness.

Don't break your ankle, people. It's even less fun than you'd think.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (cats: nom de plume)
Catzilla is a young cat (four this summer), and like young cats everywhere, he occasionally gets a fit of the Mad Kitty Dashes. (Although, we should note for the record, this is an occupational hazard not limited to young cats. The Elder Saucepan, who is fifteen, just came gallumphing through the dining room like a crazed wombat.) Last night, as I was doing my rounds prior to going to bed, Catzilla was seized by the Mad Kitty Dashes and launched himself: from the front hall! through the living room!! and directly into my shin!!!

Graceful and dignified, the cat is an elegant companion.

It hurt, let me add, like a son of a bitch, and this morning, I have a bruised area slightly smaller than a half-dollar on my right shin.

That's consequence number one.

Consequence number two is that Catzilla has decided I am an Abuser of Cats.

I give the cats treats just before bed, partly for their delight, and partly as a way of conducting roll call, to make sure that nobody has gotten his stupid fluffy self shut in the pantry or something like that. Ironically, since Catzilla is the one I'm worried about, he's the one most likely not to bother with showing up. But he usually appears, and when he doesn't, he's almost always under the dining room table. Last night, he did not show up. I went downstairs. No Catzilla under the table. I searched the house. No Catzilla. I crawled around looking under everything that could be looked under, and finally found him under the living room sofa. I went to give him his treats, and he fled--You kicked me!!! It's All Your Fault!!!--from under the sofa to under the piano. Then from under the piano into the kitchen. From the kitchen up the back stairs into the TV room and under the futon, and all the way with that particular flattened slink that cats use when they feel that they are being persecuted.

Finally, under the futon, he decided he was probably safe, and I was able to give him his treats. But he didn't come out, and he didn't come visit us in bed (which he sometimes does and sometimes doesn't), and he did not come get me up this morning, which he almost always does if he feels I'm sleeping too late. (There is a reason Catzilla's other internet handle is Bossycat.) When I came downstairs, he watched me with an accusing green gaze from the window sill. You kicked me. It's All Your Fault. He did come to see about breakfast, but we had a terrible setback when we ran into each other again, although mercifully not nearly as hard.

You kicked me! said Catzilla, skittering sideways. It's All Your Fault!

::facepalm:: said I.

He did come have breakfast, although he came the long way through the upstairs hall and down the back stairs so that he could sneak to his food bowl behind me, and he has come bouncing into the study to check the view out the window. But he zipped away from me just now as I went to put out food and water for the feralistas, so clearly it is still All My Fault.

I'll know I'm forgiven when he comes to walk across my keyboard again.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (mfu: ik-wtf)
So, on the way home from picking up the Saab at the shop (it is no longer the Roaring Car! rejoice!), the radio played Kid Rock's "All Summer Long," to which I say WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT OVER. Why is Warren Zevon trapped in this Kid Rock song about listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd?

It does, however, make me want the mash-up, "Werewolves of Alabama," like whoa.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (Default)
1. Last night, coming home in the Miata, with the top down. I love convertibles at night, because I could see the whole sky, Maxfield Parrish in blue and pink-orange clouds, and the moon shining at the half, and something that might have been Venus or might have been an airplane, and all the fireflies rising out of the cornfields saying, Hello! I'm here! Hello! Hello! Where are you?

2. This morning, Catzilla and both ninjas were practically glued in the study window, predating on something in the back yard. I suspect the chipmunk. The ninjas were doing their Doublemint Twins routine*, which I find absolutely charming. (They are in fact back in the study window right now, making it hard for me to concentrate on my typing.)

ETA: and even earlier this morning, there was a red squirrel in the apple tree outside the bedroom window. Must See Kitty TV!

3. This afternoon, as I was taking the Elder Saucepan back to the kitty ophthalmologist (he's got something weird going on in his left eye, but it isn't another ulcer, so huzzah for that!), I Did Not Run Over Something. I'm not entirely sure what it was. It was probably a cat--it was the right size--but there were just enough not-quite-right cues that I'm not certain. It was brown-gray and low to the ground, with a long tail which it carried low but not dragging. And then it vanished utterly into the tall grass at the side of the road.

Whatever it is, I'm glad I didn't hit it.

*The ninjas are almost exactly identical tuxedo cats. I realized recently, in fact, that they are Jellicle Ninjas, for they are black and white and rather small.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (Default)
1. The new bread pans work very nicely. They're a little shorter (length-wise rather than depth-wise) than my old ones, so I get these very tall majestic loaves. They do, however, definitely need greasing, at least around the top.

2. Also, the new bread pans are deep red. My bread mixing bowl is golden-yellow. Our counters are bright blue (so not our choice). As I said to [ profile] matociquala yesterday, I feel like I've wandered into some trendy yupster magazine article on baking your own bread.

3. Stuff I'm working on right now, at least hypothetically: (1) A Reckoning of Men: [ profile] matociquala lobbed the ball back and it's awesomely cool, but I have to figure out how to play it. (2) Shadow Unit: "Hope Is Stronger Than Love," which gave me something this morning which should be OMG TEH CREEPY if I can make it work. (3) "Doc Holliday Makes A Deal": I hope this will consent to be a short story, but otherwise it's the first chapter of Doc Holliday, Demon Hunter.

4. Saturday night of Penguicon, [ profile] mirrorthaw and I were flipping channels (we don't have cable, so this is a sort of weird special occasion thing when we stay in hotels) and we found a college women's fast-pitch softball game, Tennessee vs. Alabama, and Tennessee was getting shellacked. [ profile] mirrorthaw can confirm that I turned into the most geeked out, fangirliest fangirl EVAR, because OMG there are women playing sports on my TV. I'm totally the same way about women's basketball, even though basketball is not a sport that does much for me, so IMAGINE MY GEEKITUDE. And not only was it women playing baseball (under the generous definition of baseball, yes), but, unlike with women's basketball, these were not women built like supermodels. This is totally not a slam against the women who play basketball, but their sport selects for women who are tall and willowy and thus fit right in with the cultural image of what sort of women you see on your TV. Fast-pitch softball does not select for tall and willowy; from the evidence of the Tennessee and Alabama teams, it selects for women who are short and stocky and strong. Women who are built like me. I can't even explain how awesome it was. I also loved the breakdown of the dichotomized performance of female gender roles: these are athletes, visibly powerful women (Alabama hit several home runs while we were watching), wearing softball uniforms (and Tennessee with that terrible orange, too), and they've got the black bars under their eyes to cut the glare, and yet the Tennessee pitchers have all done their hair the same way, with the French braid along one side and the pale blue bow at the back, and I love the way that they're doing both, that they can be serious athletes and yet still make choices about their gender performance--they can code themselves along a spectrum of femininities*--and they can by god play their sport and mean it.

5. I want to say thank you publicly to Penguicon's concom and staff, who did a wonderful job this weekend--especially but not at all exclusively Yanni Kuznia, who was running the literature track. Thank you all very much!

*[ profile] pitselly objected to my using the butch/femme dichotomy/continuum to talk about this, but the suggested replacement of masculine/feminine is wrong, because it implies that there's only one way to perform femininity, and that is NOT AT ALL what I mean. It also implies that the women who didn't go for the braids and pale blue bows were being, or trying to be, like male athletes, and that is equally not what I mean. They're all women athletes, and what I love is the fact that they have a variety of gender performances without being stigmatized as quote-unquote masculine (those girls are just trying to pretend they're men) or stigmatized the opposite way as quote-unquote feminine (those girls, they can't cope with a real man's game). And there isn't a lot of vocabulary to talk about that.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (ds: hide and seek)
Plus: New bread pans! One of my old ones has gone from non-stick to stick, so it was clearly time. And these are very pretty. And red! I'm very curious to find out what the loaves they produce are like.

Minus: I've figured out why I'm not getting any writing done. It's because every time I go to work on something, some part of my brain says, quietly but very emphatically, This is a stupid story.

Now, rationally, I know that's not true. The stories I'm trying to work on right now are neither more nor less stupid than any of the forty-some stories I've published--which is to say: No, they aren't stupid. But knowing that and feeling it are two different things. I'm not quite sure how to deal with this, because it's a really neat piece of self-sabotage: not only does it make working on stories seem pointless, but it makes asking anyone else for help seem equally pointless. What can they do except tell you it's stupid?

I suspect this is partly fallout from having Ace dump me last year--and although Tor was very careful and kind and explicit about the fact that they love my writing and want to publish me, it still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to know that my career is so fucked up that the only way to do it is to give up my name. I know that it's not a judgment on me as a person, or on me as a writer, but I can't help the fact that it feels like one. And that, in turn, makes it hard to have any confidence in my stories.

So, yeah. If anybody needs me, I'll be over here fainting in coils.

5 things

Apr. 22nd, 2010 06:15 pm
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (Default)
1. I started wishing for pictures in Son of the Morning Star with Captain Frederick Benteen: "In not a single photograph does he look formidable, not even very military. He appears placid, gentle, benevolent, with feminine lips and prematurely white hair. Only after contemplating that orotund face for a while does one begin to perceive something rather less accommodating. Embedded in that fleshy face are the expressionless agate eyes of a killer. One might compare them to the eyes of John Wesley Hardin or Billy the Kid. Now, this sinister absence of expression could be nothing more than a result of myopia, a condition afflicting him after the Oklahoma winter campaign of 1868-9 when he lent his protective goggles to a regimental surgeon. Still, in Civil War photographs, he has almost that same look" (Connell 30).

2. Custer with scouts in 1874. Bloody Knife, the man kneeling to Custer's right (viewer's left), also died at the Little Bighorn, and Connell spends a couple of pages discussing the fate of two of Custer's staghounds (who may or may not be the dogs in this picture).

3. Via [ profile] buymeaclue, this lovely moment between horse and humans.

4. Thank you, [ profile] dd_b, for pointing me to this article about the discovery of some OK Corral documents in a Cochise County courthouse. ETA: and thank you, [ profile] swan_tower, for the pointer to the NPR article, which provides a few other bits of information.

5. I made bread this afternoon, which means the house smells yummy.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (Default)
Thursday, I got back from DeKalb--where I had a lovely time. Thank you, [ profile] rarelylynne, [ profile] michaeldthomas, and everyone who came to the event. (I don't know quite what to call it, since it wasn't a reading and it wasn't a talk, and it wasn't exactly a Q&A, so let's just go with "event.") Also, OMG. Best Cupcakes EVAR.

Tomorrow, I leave for a week in Arizona. (Reminder: along with most of the rest of the Shadow Unit stable, I will be at the Tucson Festival of Books next Saturday. And may I just say that, irregardless of us, the TFoB looks pretty darn spectacular?)

In the interim, I need to buy a new swimsuit, as mine has become somewhat peculiar with age, and I suspect it will also no longer fit. I also need to reanchor the button of my cargo pants, as they are currently the best pants-for-climbing I have. And probably I need to do several other things, including putting away the clean laundry from last week (*ahem*) and, you know, packing.

I suspect this will start feeling more like a vacation once I actually get there.

ETA: Long-sleeve, lightweight white shirt acquired; 100+ sunblock acquired. Hat ready to be packed. Thank you, [ profile] casacorona and [ profile] lnhammer, for reminding me I would need these things!

Swimsuit also acquired.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (mfu: ik-wtf)
So the delivery ninja brought my new toner cartridge today. (Huzzah! Megan Arkenberg, this means you will be getting your Booth stories soon!) But he or she felt it necessary to . . .

I need to back up a second. Instead of a regular doormat, we have a metal grating. It's intended for the purpose--my sister found it in one of those catalogues of Victorian home decor reproductions--and I actually really like it, because you wipe your feet on it and it doesn't get dragged around.

So, grating. And toner cartridge in a fairly sizable box. And the delivery ninja, having put the box beside the front door, felt it necessary to lean the grating up against the box. To keep it from blowing away? To make sure I didn't miss it? To camouflage it from the roving bands of toner pirates?

Really, I got nothin'. But I'm glad the toner cartridge came.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (mfu: ns-facepalm)
I have fallen into a abyssal pit of the dontwannas. I'm also bored and restless, and if you think this is a double-plus ungood combination, you are correct. In the part of my brain that is observing both the dontwannas and the bored-and-restless, I am also annoyed, because you'd think the two would cancel each other out. If I don't want to do anything, how can I be bored? And vice versa.

Piece of cake, says my brain. Let's go do something!
--Oh, I dunno. Something. Something fun!
--Oh, I dunno. God, why are we still sitting here?
--Because you haven't told me what you want to do?
--But I don't know! You think of something.
--We have to go to the grocery store.
--That's boring.
--We have to go to the bank, too.
--Post office?
--Oh puh-leeze. I said, something fun.
--Oh, I dunno.

So I'm simultaneously a bored toddler, a sullen teenager, and an exasperated parent. The lack of win in this scenario is epic.

And I have to go to the grocery store, the bank, and the post office whether I want to or not.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (cats: nom de plume)
So I'm trying [ profile] thecoughlin's advice for whiny princess feet (thank you, btw!), which means there is a towel draped across my footstool (stubby little legs to go with the whiny princess feet), and, periodically when I feel warm enough to take my slippers and socks off, my bare feet kneading it.

This would be the unparalleled glamor with which the life of a writer is filled.

It took Catzilla a couple days to notice (Catzilla, while nowhere near as dumb as my beloved first cat Richie, is nevertheless not the brightest porchlight on the block), but then this evening, he was all, "Dude, what are you doing?"

"It's not for cats," sez I, by rote.

"Dude," says Catzilla, unimpressed as ever by this line of reasoning. "It's totally for cats. Here, lemme see."

We then had to have a discussion about whether or not this was a game (the cat voted yes, the biped voted no) and whether or not the biped's bare toes were cat toys (the cat voted yes--"Dude! They're moving!"--the biped voted no), and then, philosophical in his defeat, he curled up on the spare stretch of towel, just close enough that I can feel his body heat on my right foot, and sacked the hell out. ("Dude, I told you. Totally for cats.")

Catzilla is the epitome of the annoying younger brother, for both the bipeds and the other cats, but he is, when all is said and done, a very sweet kitty.

I will try to remember his sweetness when we have to have this same discussion all over again tomorrow.

ETA 9:57 P.M.: My toes just got licked.

ETA 10:08 P.M.: The biped was just completely discombobulated (i.e., I broke all records for the sitting high jump) by the cat's cunning introduction of a milk jug ring into the field of play--I mean, the towel. Notice the way in which this achieves the feline goal ("totally for cats") while staying technically within the previously promulgated rules (which may be boiled down to, "No attacking my toes, fluffybutt.")

And in conclusion, totally for cats.


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