elbales

Where were we?

Ah. Sunday. Time Change Day. I Ignored All The Advice, and went to bed late last night, because magic show, and slept past the new-normal waking time of 6 am by the Old Clock to 7 am OC, putting me well behind Everything.

For Calibration Purposes, it is as I write this sentence 9:21 am New Clock.

May I just say that it's a good thing I don't have to leave the house tomorrow. Or today.

Weather is currently cloudy, drizzly, and warm. I'm hoping today will be the coup for the ice field at the bottom of my front steps. I need to do something about that, though Exactly What escapes my imagination at the moment -- it forms every year and it's a death trap, getting deathier and trappier the older I get.

Last night's magic show was enjoyable. I did meet the magician very briefly as he toured the house before-show, in his melant'i as "stage manager". I had somehow failed to understand that I had a seat in the Very First Row, odd-side. I was in sort-of the middle, with a family of three sitting to my left and filling out the row.

The "stage manager" stopped by, hunkered down in front of our "group" of four, and asked us for our help. It seemed that a big part of Michael's show was telepathy-based, including calling cards that people were thinking of. The Ace of Spades, according to the "stage manager" had been coming up in people's thoughts just way too often, and our help was solicited in thinking about other cards.

He then pulled out a deck of cards, fanned them and offered them to me. "Pull a card, look at it, but don't show it to anybody -- put it inside the folds of your brain and just really think about it hard. Then give the card back to me. OK? OK!"

I chose a card (the ten of spades; I believe my prohibition against sharing that information expired at the end of the show), assured the "stage manager" that I had it firm in my mind, and he repeated the exercise with the people to my left. Then he left, telling us most earnestly to think hard about our card.

I mention here, because I noticed it, that those were very thin, slick cards.

When the magician came on-stage, and after a brief smoke, he called the daughter of the family to my left to think about her card. He then drew it on a pad of paper. The three of diamonds! Ta-Da!

And we were off.

A good time was, I believe, had by all, and I eventually wandered my way home to resuscitate my cats, who had all expired of hunger in my absence.

Today, I write, and do laundry. In fact, the first load is drying, and the second is washing.  I wish I could say the same about the WIP.

I'm drinking my first of what I believe will be many cups of tea on the day, and I really ought to find something to eat.

How's everybody doing today?

Saturday. Cloudy and mizzling. It is said by the weatherbeans that the temps will rise unto the mid-40sF by this afternoon. Right now, they are warning of frozen surfaces.

I have a ticket to see Michael Carbonaro this evening, and I suspect I will need to work out a Strategy in re not breaking a leg. Right now, I'm leaning toward going downtown early, finding a parking space Right Near the Arts Center, rather than just parking in the Concourse, and, I dunno, read or find something to eat until showtime.

Meanwhile! At just barely half-eight, I have risen, showered, dressed, treated my printer with olive oil, compiled and printed out a section that needs to be reworked-and-expanded, taken a picture of the Writing Disaster Zone which it afterward occurred to me that I cannot share, because the thing I really wanted to showcase -- aka the 28 x 15 inches pieced together printout which is the Entire Time Map for this novel -- could actually be read by someone with Determination.

Regarding the time map -- Yes, I am breaking out every trick I've ever learned. This is what it is to write with only one brain on the case. I mean, I do tell the cats what's going on and solicit their input, but, yanno, they have their own dreaming to tend.

All that said -- I should go find something that looks like breakfast.

Oh, wait. I heard back from CookUnity, which is very apologetic and free with the discounts and whatnot. They have not, however, answered my Core Question regarding the probable state of my food when it arrives on Monday, having sat in a warehouse, or an off-the-road delivery truck, or whatever for three days.

OTOH, I also gather from CookUnity that am Not Alone in this situation. I'm interested to hear that, down in Civilization, CookUnity maintains its own delivery fleet. That is not so for we who are off-Grid.

I have heard tell of another sort of co-op meal service, which utilizes chefs who are local to the customer, but I haven't actually tracked that down, yet.

Now, I'm going to go find breakfast.

How's everybody doing today?

For those still playing along at home, I've added Carpe Diem to the Liaden Read-Along thread on Splinter Universe.

Intro  

Commentary 

Tuesday. Sunny and cold. I should get the trash and recycling to the curb -- and I will! But right now it's too cold for your friendly neighborhood author to move. Also the driveway is a sheet of ice, so I'll have to put the ice grippers on my shoes.

Right now, I'm talking to you and drinking chocolate chai tea with half-and-half.

Early question from last night's post! "Haven't those guys ever read anything but SF?"

SHORT ANSWER: Dunno, but -- it's possible.

LONG ANSWER: I've talked about this before, and I'll preface the following iteration by saying that I'm not trying to police anyone's reading habits. Reading fiction is a relaxation. I'm not gonna tell you what beer to drink, either.

That said, and recalling that Local Custom, Scout's Progress, and Mouse and Dragon file under SF -- back when I was an eggling, It. Was. Not. Possible. to only read SF. Even someone who reads slower than I do had to read in a variety of genres, and while that doesn't mean that people not so inclined had to read romance books (which, BTW, did not exist in today's form), they did have to stretch their minds somewhat to encompass the protocols demanded by other genres. Maybe not by much, if they stuck to SF, and SF's first cousin, pornography; action novels, war stories -- but still broader than some people read today.

Because today, it is not only possible to only read SF, it's also possible to only read the teensy, tiny subgenre that you prefer above all others. You never have to read fiction that makes you even the smallest bit uncomfortable, or offers you the opportunity to think a New Thought, or to practice a confusing scenario that that you might well face in RL.

Back in The Day, we were also taught to read. That is, we weren't just taught the words and cut loose. We read out loud in school and answered questions. Now, I learned to read in a Catholic School, (an inaccuracy of its kind, but bear with me) and our primers chronicled the adventures of ... Ann and David, I believe. They were teaching stories and had rather heavy-handed morals. And after we read each little adventure, Sister would ask us -- Why did Ann do That Thing? Why was David worried? What did Mother say that you should all remember?

And I very much fear that the kind of reading lesson where children are taught to engage with the text, with the characters, and think about what the words mean, is a thing of the past, as well.

So! My tea's gone. I think I'll go rustle up some oatmeal.

Everybody have a good day.

Happy second birthday to Rook Thunderpaws, aka Rookie the Cookie.

Saturday. The almost-full moon is casting tree-shadows over the snow in the Long Back Yard.

I wrote new words today! And did actual Brain Work on the WIP. And changed the bed, and did a load of laundry, and one's duty the cats; made lunch and was able to eat it, after.

Yes, we have reached the part of the whole pain thing where -- POOF! All gone. Just joking. You may now carry on with your life until I decide to randomly take five freaking days and fill them with pain and despair.

Sigh.

The cats were very happy that I joined them in Steve's office to work today. It really is the preferred space for serious endeavors, though the comfy chair in my office is, of course, very nice.

I made the Executive Decision to join Cook Unity, and have ordered in four meals, which will be delivered on Friday. This means I am guaranteed to have four (hopefully) good meals to eat, and will take the whole Cooking Angst off of my Angst Plate, which is currently overfull with Deadline Angst. I'm viewing this as a short-term thing to lower the overall anxiety in the household. Since they say I can cancel or put it on hold at my discretion, as soon as the book's turned in, I'll be doing that. Yes, I need Staff. Also, probably, a keeper.

Looking forward to next week -- we have Rookie's second birthday on Monday, March 2. All of Tuesday is reserved for errands, with needlework in the evening. Wednesday, Thursday, and most of Friday I am Free to Write, and on Saturday?

I'm going to a magic show.

So, I'm really, yanno, happy, that my back has decided to return to normal.

Yes, I've seen the news.

How's everybody doing?

Oh.  Here's a picture of Rook helping me make the bed.

What went before: Wednesday. Snowing and partly sunny.

Despite the distress it will of course cause his fandom, I am forced to report that Rookie the Cookie is a Schmuck. Or possibly only a Jerk. He's been knocking stuff off the shelves in the Tech Room -- notably, bottles of liquid toner, which apparently make a lovely thud-SMACK sound when they land (honestly, it's a very distinctive sound; I can recognize a toner bottle hitting the floor from two rooms away). I expect he doesn't really know that I can't easily pick the damn' things up right now, but -- aargh. Get a cat, they said, they'll be fun. Get a Maine Coon Cat, they said. They're very interested in their people and like to engage.

In other news, despite having felt somewhat better last night, I'm back to Square One (minus the THC) this morning. It occurs to me that I better line up a ride to my appointment at Thayer tomorrow afternoon, which -- aargh x 2. I hate bothering people to do stoopid stuff for me.

I've written to my PCP regarding pain management -- the idea being that, going in the front door with back pain (yes, I'm doing my PT homework) needs to be supported by another approach, because even my therapist said that this will keep happening, only as my core gets stronger, an episode will last ... less long. What I want, of course, is The Grail: something that will kill the pain, or get it down to manageable levels, and neither make me sick or fuzz me out, so I can write. And so I'm not a danger to myself or to the cats. That's important, too. As is eating. It's ridiculously hard to eat when you're in pain.

The cats are taking good care of me -- well. Firefly and Tali are checking in regularly to administer lap-sits and purr therapy.

Rookie's knocking shit off the shelves in the Tech Room.

In addition to pain management brainstorm, I arrived at the opinion that I should also figure out ways to work even when I'm feeling this bad. So! I have moved Writing Operations to the comfy chair in my office (which has been Back Pain Central), rigged up the laptop with my favorite keyboard, and brought the WIP, and the portable hard drive here, too. So, hopefully, I'll be able to continue with fixing stuff that's already been written, and that this episode of painful nonsense will vacate before I realio, trulio need to start producing New! Copy!

So, that's the somewhat muddled news from the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

How's everyone doing?
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So, that was no fun at all.

I don't want to get ahead of myself but I may have gotten around the Horn. Of course, I'm shaky because I haven't eaten anything for 3 days except peanut butter crackers (Note to self:  Buy peanut butter crackers; the damn things are lifesavers.) to buffer the meds.

I do have a ride lined up for my appointment this afternoon, so that's good, and my intention is to actually have breakfast and then come back to the comfy chair, do some work on the WIP, and not push things. And eat snacks. What a time to be out of hummus. Bad planning, past me.

Firefly is on my lap and purring.

I'm almost done my Russian Caravan tea Christmas present (Note to self: buy more Russian Caravan tea).

And that's that's the fascinating Thursday report from the cat farm and confusion factory.

Dictated to my phone.
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Did some work on the WIP, actually ate food. Steve Symonds gave me a ride to and from the hospital for my test, so that's taken care of. Managed to get the cat fountains changed out, which has been really bothering me. I'm such a bad cat mom. Talked to the accountant, and -- ouch. Not unexpected, but still. Ouch. I'll pick up the papers on Monday, when -- fingers crossed -- I hope to be Fully Operational.

In the meantime *whispers* my back is not hurting, which places as a Minor Miracle, and what I really want to do is go curl up (figuratively) and read Local Custom.

May I just say what a great job we did with Local Custom? The gradual unfurling of the leaves of character, the! worldbuilding!, the things that are said so very plainly and yet don't mean the same thing to the person you're talking with and -- I swoon. No, really.

Damn, I wish I could write like that.

Also? There's a description -- a Very Detailed Description -- of a counterchance board. I. Had. No. Idea.

So, anyway, I see the tax stuff, and that I have to Move Monies in order to satisfy the IRS and the State of Maine, but yanno what?

Imma go read.

Everybody have a good evening. I'll see you tomorrow.

No...really. I will.

Tali collecting overdue ear scrubbles: