Tag: cat census

And if you lie, you will lose it

This morning’s cat census here

Tuesday. Sunny and already warm. Trash and recycling at the curb patiently awaiting the advent of the trash truck.

Back with Jethri today and writing the rest of a sticky scene. It still needs work, but, hey! First Draft, amirite? The WIP now stands at 51,490ish total words. Next scene, tomorrow, already sketched in on the pad, and ought to be more fun.  For writer values of “fun.”

I have, I think, figured out what to do with the character from Chicago, and her friends, too. Now, all I have to do is find time and energy to do it. I know — some of us wish we had such problems.

This morning, I purchased a ticket to view Coyote vs ACME on Thursday, September 3, which makes next week Media Rich, as I’m also seeing a play on Sunday.

Social butterfly, ayuh.

Crafts, this evening, and before that I have chores, correspondence, and lunch to cope with.

So! What’s on your schedule today?
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So. . .somebody just stole my recycling.

I mean, not the mixed recycling that is in the covered wheeled bin, but the broken down cardboard boxes that were in the open recycling box. I s’pose somebody needed cardboard?

I wouldn’t — well, I don’t — care, particularly, except that I’m in a very wobbly state where I’m kind of second- and third-guessing everything, and when I looked out the window, and saw the bin was empty, while the rest of the trash was still where I’d put it, and the wheeled bin was still upright and had its lid down — I thought that maybe I’d been inattentive enough to have put out an empty bin. Which is nonsense; getting that bin out is non-trivial, and I clearly remembered that there had been cardboard in the damned thing when I dragged it out to the curb earlier.

Sigh.

Speaking of which, I just read some advice in an advice book on how to remember if you’ve done one of those things that you’ve been doing daily for decades, today, and the advice was to PAY ATTENTION.  Which, while reasonable, isn’t, oh, I dunno, helpful.

Anyhow — off to do my chores.

Today’s blog post title courtesy of Eric Clapton, “It’s in the Way That You Use It”

 

Nobody told us it was gonna work out this way

Saturday Cat Census here
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So, that was fun. Decided to make hummus. Got a lemon out of the freezer and left it to thaw. Went to the pantry — and there were no garbanzo beans/chickpeas. Well, damn. Went to the grocery, which alert readers will recall I just visited yesterday. Bought four cans of garbanzo beans, which for some reason are cheaper than chickpeas. Came home and made hummus.

So, yanno — yay! Hummus.

By the time I clean up my mess, it’ll be Happy Hour.
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And before I forget, I want to give the author of the following excerpt from Carousel Sun a gold star. And somehow “this terrible thing” is so much more terrible, for not being said out.

Have I mentioned how much I love Vassily?

“It is simple.” He glanced at me. “Understand, I did not think that; I did not believe my uncle, the priest, when he said to me that it is simple. Worse than this, I did not care. I was . . . very bad. I did bad things. I hurt people.

“Then, on a day, I met my Alisa. And I stop being bad. I am . . . transformed, you see? It is her. She makes me good.” He paused.

“I was new, but the past . . . it follows. Bad deeds want blood for balance.”

Another pause; and a tiny sigh.

“My Alisa, she says, there is a program. We will get jobs in America. We will lose the past, she says. I say, yes, we will do this. And so we sign the papers and are told that Samuil will come for us on a day, to bring us here, to America, with all the rest.

“Two days before Samuil is to come, the past . . . finds me. I had, before my Alisa transformed me, I had hurt, you will say, a wrong person. I did it for money. That person had . . . a protector, a lover. He found me. He found Alisa . . .”

He bowed his head abruptly, shoulders stiff. I wanted to tell him to stop, to not go there, that I hadn’t meant . . .

He raised his head.

“So, this terrible thing. My Alisa is dead. I am . . . It is . . .” He catches his breath in what sounds like a sob.

This evening’s blog post title brought to you by Mr. John (Cougar) Mellencamp, “Lonely Ol’ Night.