Monday, November 18, 2013

Hi, I'm Stormee, with two Es

I'm appalled, with two Ps. Bloom County!

It is very very stormy out. My two blue chairs fall on their backs! Then I go out with the dog and stand them up again. And then they blow flat again.

The power keeps flickering and there's all this really loud rain and I think a torrent of some sort nearby, possibly down the gutters and downspouts?

I have THINGS TO DO.

But mostly today I did things already and now THEY ARE DONE.

I made all these pizza crusts for one day's dinner next week when all the guests are here. Brother and sister-in-law and their two little speedy bunnies. It turns out little nephew is obsessed with someone from a video with blue hair? I guess? And I just found a blue wig in the car (no idea) still in the package, so obviously I need to have that on when they arrive. 

The meals are all planned out. Everything is all planned out, invasion of Normandy style, down to the last detail. I'm thoroughly psyched because I get to make tons of food, I get to make a lot of it in advance, and I get to visit with everyone lots while we eat good food because I will have made it in advance. See how that works? I know!

Hence the pizza crusts. And I cooked myself a lovely pizza for dinner from one of them. I made six individual ones and three large ones, then used one of the large ones. I had this crock pot chicken left over that I'd shredded and left to soak up the delicious broth, so I drained that and put it on there, plus the last of the Rhinebeck buttermilk blue cheese, SO GOOD, plus a red pepper, with provolone on top. It was insanely good.

Whoever told me to make chicken or beef in the crock pot with flavoring and then just shred it after is a genius. It makes fabulous filling for tortillas or sandwiches or whatever. Oh man! I'm in love. 

I made pumpkin pie from those pumpkins I got. But I also invented this weird oatmeal mochi marzipan crust. Okay, I did this: send a lot of almonds through the processor until they're bits and powder. Pour boiling water on a cup and a half of oats. Let that sit a while. Mix the still hot oats/water in with the almonds and put in a whole bunch of solid coconut oil. (It's some fancy kind of refined by whipping it around or something, I have no idea.) Cut it in so the hot oatmeal water helps melt it down. Mix in enough dry oats to give the whole mixture body and strength. Add a bunch of brown sugar. Then add more oats because the sugar makes it watery.

That is your pie crust. Or possibly a blandish granola. It looks like crumbled up cake after baking. It tastes good but sort of puffy and bland the way mochi is. 

I have plans to try this with a ton of sugar and really refined/powdered almonds and call it mochzipan. Right? 

Right, so all those pizza crusts, a fancy pizza, invented a pie crust, made pie, made crumbly granola mochzipan, went for a big hike up the mountain to check the reservoir (full) and the spring (full of crap, and also a mouse that looked startled to see me.)

Therefore one of these days I'll be going up there with my colander duct taped to a ski pole to haul all the detritus out of there. And with a caulk gun and a tiny "keep out" sign for the mouse. Well, the "keep out" sign will be understood.

I also washed ten zillion dishes and went around making oof noises, especially when bending was required. Oof, I said. My back! It complains!

But hey! Guess what? I got that gigantor frelling seminar DONE as of tonight. Oh that was the other thing. I had a ton of that to do and got it done. And a lot of Online Job and got that done. Am awesome. Am accomplished. Am frelling tired and oofed out. 

Here's a silly thing. I put some medications somewhere and can't find them. It's nearly impossible that they're really lost, like fell out of the car at school or something. But I can't seem to find them in the house anywhere.

But then I just found my allergy pills in my bag after searching there six times, so probably they'll turn up. Maybe after I clean up the UNHOLY MESS that surrounds me in every direction.

I'm going to make more Thanksgiving things in advance and freeze them. It's awesome to get things like that done. I'm going to make a regular, less-homemade-y pioneer girl looking pie for Thanksgiving and eat this one up. This one looks pretty darn rustic since it's from real pumpkins. Pumpkin pie for breakfast! Look out!

There's major monstrous housecleaning coming up, too. Like I need to steam clean my bedroom carpet because my sister-in-law is allergic to cats, my idea to clean it, not anyone else's, but it means I have to clean it up up up. Nothing on the floor.

My suspicion is that I'll find my bottle of pills. Genius, I had three with thirty each and was being tidy so I combined them into one of 90, and that's the one I can't find. Gaaaaah!

I also have lovely LOVELY knitting to do, the kind where I can't wait to get started, oh boy! Not only am I going to be a great-aunt in May (you betcha!) but my sister-in-law's sister is having a baby in April (she is totally family somehow!) which means I'm going to knit a couple of Welcome To The Flock sweaters and hats for them. Bawwwwww! The yarn is coming.

And I'm knitting the prehistoric Mold gold cape of course. How could I not? I'm just going to finish up these socks before the yarn arrives so I'm on target, right? Yes!

Here is weird news. PANTS. Yes. I have these jeans that fit sort of weird, like too loose and too low and too short and too wide yet still somehow tight and weird. Three pair. Gold, brown, purple. And I wore the heck out of them at my last job, with boots because they're too short. ANYWAY. Then this summer the store sold off the rest of them on drastic sale and I went "Oooh!" and got a couple more in other deep dark jewel tones. Only I figured they fit the same way. (Do not follow the logic here.) So I never wore them. I KNOW.

But then today I wore the raspberry ones and they're totally freaking comfortable and long enough and are clearly a slightly different cut, so that's all very silly and the upshot is PANTS!

I'm pretty thrilled. They are raspberry, dark green, dark blue/green, and I think another pair? It was that week or two where the store was just like "Take all our winter clothes for 1/20 their usual cost! Take them! Take them!" And I did. Especially long-sleeved heavy t-shirts with V or scoop necks.

Which leads to the next project: making them into dresses. Most of them I got two of the same color, so there's a dress. But then, aha! The glorious part! That leaves an extra top part from just below the armscye up! What should I do with that? Make it into another fabulous chimaera dress, of course!

I have many exciting plans.

And lots of Woodchuck hard cider. For the holidays, of course! I think I'll just have generic "holidays" from now until after the New Year, what do you say? 

It will all go better if I can find those dang pills, though. Last night I neglected to take them before bed and had the most horrible nightmares, horrifying vicious animals like the killer trilobite mouse that could fly up to eye level and razor through you with its needle fins. Animals getting hurt, all this mudlside and swamp and grossness, floods coming through everything, family getting their flesh scraped off down to bare bones, dead uncles floating away in state on mattresses sagging down from the wet blankets, all kinds of horror and death and damage and pain and terror.

And so I might tear this place apart looking for the goddamn pills is all I'm saying. I can taper off just fine but you're not even *supposed* to stop suddenly like that. (These are the extra as-needed panic pills. Let me just assure you: they were needed.) I did eventually pull it together enough to get up and got the bottle and took some. 

Sleep! It's scary in there! Bad stuff happens and you can't get out! Then you wake up and are so terrified you can't get up and find the anti-terrified pills!

Night terrors, what a glorious fun time. Yucko. But since a lot of the work got done and off my plate as of tonight, I'm really hoping it'll let up. Or else I'll go back on those big-time meds.

I like to remember to think: What would be the best thing for me right now? 

Am I the only one who was not remotely raised to think that ever at all? Nor to think "What do I want?" I did eventually sort of start to figure out that I was allowed to think "What do I want?" but the wiring between that and "What would be best for me?" is like two kite strings and a twist tie. And one of the kite strings is all snarled up.

I'm just going to take the good-night meds (another type entirely from the previous two, JIMINY) and try to tidy up and put everything away that I can while they take effect. You promise I won't have horrific nightmares again tonight, though, right? None? Nobody's arms with the meat falling off and the bone and ligament and tendon exposed? Right? In floods with uprooted trees flailing about?

P.S. I am a math-deprived person and I can stop looking for that bottle, because this one right here is that one. I just can't estimate the number of pills by looking at it. I took them out and counted and there's 75. Oh, bunnies. This is the one I combined them into a week ago and took two a day as prescribed. Math! I still might clean up this room a bit, though. Heh.

P.P.S. You know that song Raspberry Beret? Is there some sort of word for pants/jeans/trousers that can go in place of Beret? Because I'm not coming up with one and that song has been trying to sing itself in my head all day.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Holy trucking freight, man

Yes, it's marginally done, but also WHAT a ridiculous scenario. In every way. And now I'm wrecked and for no good reason.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away....

No?

Well, I got a job to take over from someone else mid-job. This someone would be gone an indeterminate amount of time and then would come back. I walked into it and did all the work that was there, lots of it in sort of mid-process, so to speak.

Like if it had been a sandwich shop, there would have sandwiches made, sandwiches half made, and a list of orders for sandwiches to make next. In medias res, dude. I jumped in! I did everything there was to do!

Then the time came for my shift to be up. With very little warning! And there were MANY sandwich orders lined up. And so I said, "Lo, I cannot possibly make all these sandwiches before the bell rings and I'm out on my butt!" And they said, "Do it anyway." And I said, "But I cannot because of how it's impossible even if I did it nonstop every minute from now until the closing bell on my last day." And then they said....

I stll can't quite believe this.....

"Work after that. Just keep working until the work gets done."

And I said, "Wait, so are you actually asking me to work several days with no pay?"

And they were like, "Well, we paid you already for all these weeks!"

And I was agog. 

So I made as many sandwiches as I could, as fast as I could, but then by eleven p.m. tonight, when I was so wobbly and dizzy and loopy that I could not walk in a straight line or feel my legs, I stopped. And I went home.

Where my mom shrieked at me that I was WRONG WRONG WRONG and DOING IT WRONG and I should have just worked until the work was done goddammit you are a lazy no-good piece of poo!

Well, I might be paraphrasing a bit. She also told giant blatant lies about how she and my dad both went back to do more work after their salaried jobs ended and did not get paid. I know this is untrue because I was around and my dad earned boatloads of money for consulting after he retired. She is a big liar anyway, we know this. She will make up anything to make someone else look bad. Boring!

So now. I don't know. I made as many damn sandwiches as I could. I told them I couldn't do all of them. And so it turned out to be. And so I had to leave the work there.

I am having several unpleasant emotions contiguously!

1. Unfinished work anxiety. Which could have been allieviated if someone had acknowledged that it was impossible to finish the work so don't go crazy trying.

2. Very weird feelings about being told to WORK FOR NO PAY because that's bananacakes and wrong and I still can't believe someone told me to do that. We have a UNION. I am IN IT.

3. Other people around me also said they would have kept working until the work was done, which is easy to say when it's not you. Or if it's your best friend, or your permanent job, or whatever. But I'm a strictly short-term hire in no uncertain terms on their end. 

4. You should see the utterly fucking mean letter I got telling me so. It basically said don't darken our doorway after today. Turn in everything, your email will be canceled immediately, your accesses to the buildings will be shut down. YOU DO NOT WORK HERE ANYMORE. GET OUT. I was so upset when I got it Saturday, I was up until 5 a.m. in a total tizzy. Because there I was making absolutely cordon bleu sandwiches, I tell ya, and I got the YOU ARE NOTHING GET OUT letter.

5. Well, that's it for doing anything short-term every again. I'm not kidding. No temping, no adjuncting, no contract work, no temporary anything. I can't take this again. I always commit and do my best and then getting it thrown back in my face as worthless just can't happen anymore. Done! 

6. I'm really really angry. Just furiously wrathful. And such things. Because it didn't need to be this way and if people x had talked to people y, it wouldn't have been. It was all pointless and stupid.

7. And I'm physically wrecked by this ordeal. It started Saturday night and ended just now, or at least I sure hope it has ended. If I didn't have blood work scheduled for Tuesday, I'd seriously put the dog and cat in the car and go on a long road trip somewhere. Visit friends! Tennessee! I could use a lovely long road trip around the serpentine mound builder sites of the Ohio river valley and up to Michigan and Madison. I'm practically packing already. It is unfeasible because family is coming to visit soon and also winter but the thing is? I kind of might do it anyway. Trailer, furry animals, snacks. Go!

8. Furthermore, my Online Job is about to end also with no more scheduled in. Ugh, I hate that! It has a week and a half on it. The gigantic ridiculous online seminar has until Sunday. In pretty much no time flat I'm going to have no employment. What a fascinating situation. 

9. You know I get all big-picture-y and philosophical about things like this, though. Like it means...do the thing! Do the other thing! Get all the things done!

10. I might involve myself in a lot of Doing of the Things and consider this a major transitional time and see what it transitions into. Which sounds flaky but this is the type of time where you reevaluate and reconsider and try not to do anything rash, like take a hateful job you'll hate where things will be awful and here we go again.

Look to the future! It is full of things! For example:

New glasses some time next week, woohoo! I expect I will get a new secret identity to go with them. That's how that works, right? They are not as narrow and squinty as these. Nor puppy chewed! Also oh yeah, new prescription, and bifocals. Woo!

Presumably this horrible withdrawal will end at some point? I've managed to stick it out so GO ME although boy howdy has it been a TRIAL. Ha ha, imagine if I'd gone off all three meds instead of just one of them. Ha ha ha. HA HA HA HA no no no no no.

Maybe my legs will grow back! Big bad stress like this makes them utterly noodly. It goes upward, did you know this? I'll lose a foot, then up to my knee, and so on. Well, it's up to my hips and lumbar spine today. My left leg is maybe 60% there but the right one is gone and if I turn to the side my waist goes with, if you see what I mean. Hard to explain. Still got hands! And eyes! Yay! And maybe it'll all clear up soon!

Oh oh oh! I got invited to join A BAND. Or, okay, THE BAND. Or maybe wind ensemble. I'm not sure. I have to listen to the message again. The band director called me up and said Come play in the band, rehearsal dates are thus and such, and you will play the horn. Okay! Oh boy I am SO EXCITED except I am also so very terrible! I can't even tell you which note is which right now. Because I've been so frakking busy with, er, sandwiches, that I have not had a minute to play. Blah!

Thanksgiving is coming up. You know it's my favorite! Even with someone dreadful coming, that will be overwhelmed by all of the totally fun little niece and nephew times! And brother and sister-in-law! And then like a week later, sister and brother-in-law! So much visitation!

I think it's time to rest and regroup and think about what I want and how to get it and catch up on everything ever and breathe and play mah horn and sew some chimaera dresses, which I keep changing into Crimean dresses in my head, and watch lots of movies and gather it all back up in a skein. 

A little bit later I can make plans. Not just yet! Too pummeled, too exhausted, too emotionally whiplashed. 

Besides, I have a whole hell of a lot of knitting to do. Yay!!!

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Besmitten, besmirched, and bewildered

My character is, anyway. Typicall for my characters, huh? There's always all kinds of stuff not working and going wrong, huge complicated spaces (ships, mansions, office buildings) to navigate through and get lost in or get on the wrong side of the locked door in, all kinds of dirt and filth and insecure food sources, untrustworthy people that my character nevertheless becomes smitten with and trusts anyway. And stray waifs to be picked up and carried along and rescued and then they turn out awesome.

Yep!

It's fun times is what, I tell ya.

There's even a giant old generator left half taken apart and covered with black grease. I know!

So today I bought a $3 cat tent. It's supposedly a lightweight pet travel carrier, but in reality it's just an orange nylon tent with no floor except the nylon. There is no animal that could travel in this without sort of collapsing it because of the lack of floor support.

Anyway I got it to be a cat tent. Okay. I got two. One is to be a dog tent! The one I brought in and put up caused me just endless ridiculous giggles because it's such a TENT! It has a zippered front mesh flap and screened windows on both sides and the back. It has gray nylon covers that come down over all the windows, plus loops and toggles so you can roll them up and secure them above. It's so ungodly freaking adorable I might perish of it. And the cat loves it. Loves it!

The dog also got in it and checked it out. It's definitely big enough for both of them together, but I don't predict they'll go on any camping trips any time soon. 

I can totally picture me in a tent with the two little tents one on each side, with the dog in one, cat in one, and me in the middle one. Like, all of us lying down with our heads on our crossed front paws, so to speak. 

So fabulous!

I don't know, what else happened today? I did all this prep work last night that all turned out to be completely not needed at all. That's irritating, but oh well. I'm ready for Thursday, right? (I'm not, there's much more to do. But not tonight.)

I seem to have accumulated actual stacked up inches of work to do in the next week, oh man oh boy oh man. I'll get it done. Of course! It's just kind of LARGE and looming in my consciousness. Cut it out, work! 

I missed yesterday's NaNo writing because of all that work I did that I didn't need to do, again with the irritating, but I did a lot more today and I'm more than caught up. I'm almost caught up to tomorrow's count of 10,000, actually. That makes me happy. And the writing going well makes me happy. 

There's even crazy stuff like people screwing up and having grown-up conversations about emotional subjects. Hey, it's fiction! Just because I don't know how to do these things and have never done any of them doesn't mean I can't write about it! You don't have to experience everything in order to write about it!

Hee, the cat knocked over this baby gate my mom had put around a shelf of plants that he always wants to eat. I said, "The enemy's gate is down!" because of Ender's Game and she just looked confused because she's never read it, which of course I knew, but who can resist that kind of opening?

Not me, apparently.

Gosh, this guy in the book is a jerk and a charmer and really good at figuring out what you want him to say and then saying it. Our heroine has a fatal flaw with exactly his name on it. I predict a rocky road, y'all.

Also lots of Gothic girl meets house, because I adore that. In fact I want to back up and write the first meeting between girl and house. But we'll get there.

It's a draft. You probably shouldn't be using a chisel on that marble there. 

Something has turned all my joints to cement. Painful cement. Hey, where's that chisel you just had? Actually it feels like you've already been using the chisel, especially on my knees, so CUT IT OUT. 

I always figure it's food's fault because of how it usually is. Then I think about how every time I eat anything made of nuts I cough my head off and get all allergical toad face and how my brother said once, "You probaby shouldn't eat nuts, then," which made me laugh and laugh because he's the expert at the dry delivery of the fundamental truth.

I saw this t-shirt I totally want to get him. It says "That's a terrible idea." At first I thought it was perfect because he says that all the time, but then I realized he might only say it all the time TO ME. Oooh! Possible.

I really have to make my own iron-on t-shirt that says "You're doing it wrong!" to wear when the materfamilias is in that particular mode where it's all she ever says for days and days. 

She told me she saw a t-shirt that said "I am silently correcting your grammar" and thought of me, except she said it shouldn't say silently, and so I said, "I want one that says 'I am silently correcting your Grandma' instead!" Because we call her Grandma around here, see. 

I don't know where anyone gets the idea that I correct anyone's grammar. I don't, for real. I mean I know when people say hypercorrect things that are actually wrong, I cringe, but I have all these Firm Beliefs about *English Is Alive* and *Nobody Cared How Chaucer Spelled It* and *In A Hundred Years It'll All Be Different* and *Spoken English is the Real Language--Written Is A Pale Approximation* and *You Are A Native Speaker. That Means You're Doing It Right* and *Grammatical Normativity Is a Tool of Racist and Classist Oppression* and I could go on but that might be enough. 

I should put all of THOSE on t-shirts. 

Point being, I know the grammar, but I also know Latin and Anglo-Saxon and many other things that don't come up in daily conversation. Here's when I correct grammar: when I'm grading papers.

People do get self-conscious about it around me and of course take that out on me, because of their inherent assholianism, but that's their problem, man! Fight the power!

Did you know that people often misread my intentionally funny dry statements of fact as assholianism when it is in no way intended to be? I say things that are just flat out true and it sounds sarcastic somehow. Am mystified! And flummoxed!

I want to be flummoxed by a lummox. Ooh, maybe tomorrow! It could happen. Life is full of opportunity.

Maybe the lummox is flummoxed by hummocks. Hey, I found that thing in the barn that you use to roll hummocks flat on your lawn. Though honestly the moles are not a problem anymore since my dog keeps killing the little fuckers. 

Our heroine in the book has three dogs. Their names are...drum roll...because this is intentionally hilariously embarrassing...Aragorn, Eowyn, and Boromir.

I KNOW!!!

Don't tell my animals Gawain and Siegfried. Or previous animals Fergus, Clovis, or Gunnar. Or my sister's dogs, Brunhilde and Clothilde. Or my parents' dogs, Roland (as in "Song of") and Charlemagne.

Hey, man, it's a tradition. I go for epic heroes instead of historical figures. Well, Clovis was historical. Never mind.

Anyway I thought naming them for Lord of the Rings characters would be excruciatingly embarrassing for the character. And so it turned out to be!

Just imagine going to the park and bellowing, "Aragorn! Heel!" 

One of my best friends growing up named his son Durin, so there you go. And that kid and his sister both turned out utterly awesome. We had the best time talking all the way up and down Mt. Hollywood, whereupon it was discovered by all (except me--I knew it already) that I prefer kids to boring adults. I prefer interesting adults to kids, but face it, there are a whole lot more boring adults than anything else in the world. SAD BUT TRUE.

Yes, I appear to have reached the stage of withdrawal where I feel downright inebriated at all times, when in fact I am not at any times. It makes for interesting days. Nothing is moving that shouldn't be moving, except for that stuffed Highland cow yesterday, and that was more a matter of he seemed to be staring in alarm at something over my shoulder, so I moved him and fixed his fauxhawk, and then the fauxhawk relaxed and this one horn moved back into place. In other words, yes, things moved, but they actually moved, so that's okay. Hey!

Dang, I have to do more work tonight. Rats. Consarn it. Phooey. 

My biggest goal this week: schedule a flipping eye exam already. Eye exam people are smart! They can maybe tell me why looking hard to the right makes my hearing go out, even! Stay tuned. Dun dun!

Monday, November 4, 2013

Coach Mustard

This Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt and sweatpants set, man. I look like the embodiment of mustard. Colonel Mustard! Or more like Coach Mustard since it's a sweatsuit. Ew, what a gross thing to call a set of garments.

I just thought this was ridiculous so I had to tell you through a benadryl haze: you know I chopped a bunch of roses Friday, right? Well, where they stabbed me in the right arm, a whole constellation of stabs, each spot turned into a giant hive. All allergic-like. 

All I can figure is either a) I've developed a sensitivity to roses that transcends the mere wrathful and extends into the lymphatic, or wherever your allergic reactions happen. (I have no idea, alas.) Or b) there's some nasty mold or something on them and each thorn injects it into my arm as it stabs me.

Option b is more likely. 

I gave my heroine a bunch of nasty vicious wild rosebushes and then gave her an actor on the run from his screwed up life who can fix the brush hog in the shed and use it to mow down all the brush. I mean, ideally she'd be able to do it herself, but I have to give the poor guy something useful to do. 

My writing buddies are so supportive in NaNo-land! Oh they're just awesome. It really helps. It helps!

I'm still giggling over the book character who turned into a parking lot, too. Actually I've been fascinated by the way people use the first person to refer to their car as themselves. This was third person because it's a narrative, but people do it in first person all the time.

I parked over on Vermont sort of implies I parked *the car* over on Vermont. But we do it the other way a lot, too. I was in traffic, already late, and this guy in a Maserati was climbing up my butt the whole way back, then he cut me off!

To me it's like the pants thing. Wait, you were in traffic? This guy cut you off? WHERE WAS YOUR CAR? (Oh, wait, I know: parked on Vermont.)

The pants thing, you know: he was dressed in a blue shirt and a tweed jacket. Me: holy crap, he was naked from the waist down? What about shoes? Because you shouldn't run around town barefoot. Or without pants.

I just don't feel like pants go without saying, is all I mean.

Tonight I was kneeling on the antique washstand, leaning out the window with my hatchet to bang on the other window frame and try to get it all the way closed, to stifle this humongous draft that's whistling over me at my desk, and lo! I found the movie I lost like six weeks ago! It fell down behind the washstand. So although the hatchet job did not work on the window, neither did I break the glass, drop the hatchet two stories into a juniper bush, fall out, let the cat jump out, break the washstand, fall off the washstand, break any of the innumerable glasses or bottles I seem to have around me at all times, break the lamp, or fall on the dog. Win!

Really, the benadryl is a good thing. It mellows out the withdrawal freakout a little. Last night I was up scrubbing the toilet with Bar Keeper's Friend at 2 a.m. This is not normal for me. Or anyone. Stopping those meds has released the OCD kraken, I'm afraid. Which you could deduce from the attempted window repair. Hey, the hatchet was handy. 

Speaking of OCD, I had a powerful urge to clean out the barn a lot more today. Oh dear. I mean, I got a huge amount done, but oh man GROSS. Honestly, this crusted up platter-sized bunch of snake poop just undid me. I am undone!

But I also moved the trailers around, hauled some trash out to the road (tomorrow is trash day), took some furniture down there to my trailer, moved the broken snowblower so that Jerry will take it away (come on, Jerry!), broke down some old cardboard barrel full of our childhood life jackets (orange), rearranged all my various garden tools and whatnot on the trailer, and so on. Oh and raked a lot of broken bits and the aforementioned snake-poop platter out the smaller double doors into the pasture.

I pulled and pulled at the left one and had concluded that it was rusted shut or something when I discovered the giant hook and eye. Oh! Ha ha. There's no sense at all in locking the barn doors. Well, the horse is long dead, for one. There's nothing much worth stealing, for another. Unhand my post hole digger, you varlet! It's for digging holes! For posts!

I would take a picture of the constellation of giant hives the size of 50 cent pieces but it's kind of upsetting and gross so let's just leave that un-illustrated, shall we?

For tomorrow I would like to get my work done quickly (SO MUCH OF IT) and then remember how to write scenes and sequences for my NaNo. Cripes oh jiminy. 

Coach Mustard out. Tomorrow, Professor Plum! Or did I just wear that shirt? Who cares! 

Do not be alarmed, but I'm either going to have to climb up into the window with one leg out or get the ladder out and climb up to push that window shut. It's like it's warped, but it's a metal frame, how could that be?

Mystifying. And very very drafty.

My hero with the brush hog can show up any day now. Kill the vicious roses! Yes!

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Ace scheduling plan, really

Yes! Simultaneously! Why would this be bad?

1. Finishing up one gigantic contractual real live person job in the next two weeks or so.

2. In the middle of another contractual online job, several weeks to go.

3. In the middle of a massive online seminar thing that takes acres of time each week, but it's so worth it, and free, and will be useful to me in the future, but OH MAN.

4. NaNoWriMo, of course. 

5. Tapered off the meds, down to half, which is the smallest dose they give you, actually, then forgot to take it at all Thursday and thought, "Hey, good time to quit!" So I did. Discussed previously with doctor, all kosher and whatnot.

6. It's November so THE THING is back, gently whacking me over the head with a shovel. It's so interesting or it would be if it were someone else, possibly fictional, because it keeps coming up with new and exciting ways to make life ridiculous.

a. My hearing keeps going out, like if I turn my head, or even look sharply to the right (not the left) without turning my head. Yes. It goes out, as in, no sound, or more of a slightly hissy room tone sort of thing. Only without the room.

b. Foot goes out off and on, leg goes after it, but them both come back eventually.

c. Arms and legs go bananas and quit sometimes.

d. And there's the flooding issues. About which the less said the better.

e. Stabby stabbing for no reason. Today's special: in the outside of my right calf. There is no stabby implement there! I checked!

7. To return to the above list, the antibiotics for bronchial pneumonia end today, which should screw me up pretty good in terms of knock-on badness. OH YAY. However, the bronchial pneumonia has gone away. 

8. I'm really backed up in real life in person job work because of being sick for a week. This work, it does not go away! Unless I do it. 

9. But I'm kind of busy panicking, freaking out, jumping at the slightest noises, scrubbing things beyond the point of reason, sticking my head in books and not coming up for air until I absolutely have to, and not sleeping.

10. Oh yeah, not sleeping. That comes with going off the meds. It's a seriously fun time around here.

11. Did I mention deer hunting? At least, there's a tremendous amount of shooting right now. BLAM BLAM BLAM.

So anyway. Mine goes to eleven! 

I'm counteracting all of this in my usual ways. Fight the wild roses! It's good exercise and righteous and all that. Except for the puncture wounds, which get all big and red and puffy, but I don't know if that's some kind of allergic reaction or infection or what, but I also don't care because it goes away in a day and will stop once I'm off the antibiotics. (I know, counterintuitive, but so what?)

NaNo! It is so glorious to write this thing I'm writing. And seriously therapeutic and all. Blam, pow! Also I've met all these awesome people, or possibly very lifelike computer simulations, since it's all online, but I like them either way.

The meds I quit make you eat like crazy, plus quitting makes me completely nauseous, so I'm experiencing lovely diminution of the amplitude, which I adore. Hey, man. Underwear doesn't lie.

Also since I'm not ravenous now I take the time to prepare proper food. It's amazing. It's like the circle of awesomeness all around. Except for the jumping out of my skin thing. 

Heh, I keep looking to the right to make the sound thing happen. I'm easily entertained by my own faulty wiring.

Halloween! Because my dog looks exactly like Piglet, if Piglet were part bulldog, I had to get hold of Pooh-colored sweatpants and hoodie and put an ancient short red v-neck t-shirt over it. I could not seem to get the concept of it past my mom, but when I walked into the kitchen dressed that way, she got it immediately. No, there are no pictures, are you kidding me? Why? Because I look like Winnie the Pooh, you daft loon.

The mental image will have to suffice.

Anyway I dressed as Professor McGonagall for the daytime and had a very fun discussion with the student running the cash register at the grocery store about how we both really identify with Luna Lovegood more than anyone else, though it has occurred to me lately, as I'm stomping about the grounds, that I'm in a seriously Hagrid-like position here. I mean, I kind of got kicked out of school (grad school, but still) and now I grow pumpkins, or I would if I had gotten it together to have a garden this year, which I did not.

I want to next year, though. I have to cut down the seven foot ragweed that's in the current garden bed, plus take down the short rusted chicken wire fence around it, plus dig it up and expand it a lot if I'm going to bother. I'm not planting a garden that looks like a grave plot. It skeeves me out entirely. It's bad enough that my dad's ashes are in an urn in the gun safe in my office, jeez.

Actually the ashes don't bother me nearly as much as the fact that he died in that room. I don't know why either would bother me, realistically. It's one of those things, like who owned a particular rare book, that you can't tell in any way whatsoever and if you didn't know it, the fact would not exist. It doesn't register on the world in any way, see what I mean?

The rose vendetta is actually my dad's. I kind of adopted it back LO these many years ago as a co-vendetta and now it's just mine. Oh those roses! Bastard things. There's some evidence that putting ice cream rock salt on the cut stumps will kill them. Cutting them down and cussing at them does not, alas. Ripping up the roots doesn't really do it either. Extra bonus: the deer will like the salt. Maybe I can get deer salt cheaper. Isn't it all the same salt? What's in ice cream maker salt? Is it just regular salt?

Must learn these things. 

Anyway at this point the roses are in NO DANGER from me. It's really hard to cut one down enough to get anywhere near the roots. And there are probably over a hundred within a stone's throw of the house. I chop and chop and saw and fight and haul the nasty spiky things away, and the rest just laugh at me. Ha ha, they say, rosily. One punched me in the face yesterday. It's true. I whacked a four-foot high stem to knock it out of the way, thinking I'd cut it at the bottom, but I hadn't, so it just bounced right back at me all equal and opposite reaction and socked me all up the side of my face. I still haven't checked to see if it left a mark. 

I've been roasting pie pumpkins all week. I laid out about four pumpkins' worth of seeds to dry, so I could plant my Hagrid-like pumpkin patch next year (the most sincere!) and my mom got all sad that I hadn't saved any for her to toast. So I said, I'll save some from the next ones, and she said, no no, it's okay, I don't really need them. Sigh. So today while she was at a funeral for this guy who died twice, I gutted and roasted the last couple pumpkins and dumped the seeds on the compost pile. And then she came home and said, You didn't save me any seeds? Grmmph. So I went out and got a bunch of seeds out of the compost pile again and rinsed them off. Hey, they were right on top. 

I don't eat pumpkin seeds, do you? All those nasty shards. Plus I don't have chewing teeth so much. My mom goes, I don't have my own bottom teeth either, and I say, Yes you do, those are your teeth--you paid for them fair and square. 

Speaking of which, paying for things, I mean, I mailed off my last checks today for the last of the money I owed all over town from living in poverty in Maine. And this year's medical bills, too. So now I just have my student loan payment every month for the next thirty years. After that, they forgive you the rest. Looking forward to my 76th birthday! 

Well, and my phone/internet and car insurance. 

On the worrying side, Online Job seems to be having a massive restructuring. They sent out one of these really alarming "don't worry!" emails about how this would affect everyone, except they really didn't say how it would affect everyone. Hmmmm. Yes, I'm worrying about that, given that Real Life job ends in a couple of weeks and this is Sticksville out here, which means no jobs available. Especially for people who fall down a lot and go deaf when they look off to the side.

I'm seriously SERIOUSLY considering making the best of the situation by focusing on writing for a while. Like it's my job. That and looking after Grandma and the furry animals, of course. I wonder if I'd go bananas or feel relieved if I just committed to it to the exclusion of ill-suited ill-paying work where I'll fall on my head anyway? Know what I mean? Yes, unemployment is incredibly stressful, but so is working at terrible jobs that pay very little where my body betrays me all the time--not this current one, which I adore, but the terrible one I had for the first half of the year, oh dear me. 

I don't know. Well. I have chattered on enough, eh? Maybe I should do some of that WORK that is all piled up around me like a snowstorm. In my head. I mean, it's in the other room, actually, or on the internet. So much work! And then soon, no work at all! Well, at least I have withdrawal to keep me warm. OFF TO WRITE THINGS.