Tag: life after the apocalypse

Same as it ever was…

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.

The marvel is not how well the bear dances . . .

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:

Apologies and short catch-up

We seem to have gotten behind here.  My apologies.  Allow me to sum up.

On Saturday, February 21, I gave my presentation at the Waterville Public Library to a small, but enthusiastic room.  Questions were asked and answered, books were signed.  I had a good time.

I came home and collapsed, got up Sunday, did some work on the WIP, cleaned up the chaos in my “business office,” and noticed that my back was hurting.

Aha!  I said to myself.  Self, this is a perfect time to test the pain-killing features of a thc gummy (1/4 strength).  Possibly, I was not wrong; nonetheless, it wasn’t my best thought ever.  It turns out that thc, even in small amounts, gives me a Really Ugly high, which I could have put up with, if it had nailed the pain, which it didn’t.  Worse, it didn’t even put me to sleep.

Followed Monday, with back pain and exhaustion, being treated with Motrin Duo, and today, Tuesday, when I though I had gotten ahead of it, and actually worked an hour on the WIP this morning  before the pain came screaming back, so that’s two lost days, and I?  Am not amused.

I am feeling somewhat better this evening — witness the fact that I am writing to you here.

I thought I had to go out tomorrow for a bone density test, and was weighing the wisdom of that, but it seems I misremembered, and the test is on Thursday afternoon, by which time, she said sternly, I hope to GHOD I’m back to what I like to call normal.

So, in terms of catch up — y’all didn’t miss much, and I’m actually glad you missed most of it.

Here’s a pic from my talk on Saturday. Photo by Kiri Guyaz.

Office Closed Tomorrow

Exercises in Futility Number Five Thousand Four Hundred Thirty-Three.

Google Home Assistant: And! I can do more things now. You can ask me complex questions and I’ll be able to answer with help from Gemini!

Me: Hey Google. Why did the AI companies steal my life’s work?

Google Home Assistant: . . .I’m sorry. I don’t understand.

Yeah, me, too, Google. Me, too.

Well.

The WIP currently stands at 129,943 words. I’m still fixing the baby fixes. Once that’s done, I need to write some scenes and put them where they belong. Deadline is April 15.

I have Remarks for my event on Saturday. I have also a Reading.

It is not supposed to snow on Saturday, but it will snow on Friday night.

In the meanwhile, and as much as I haven’t been around this week — tomorrow, February 20, the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory will be closed. Thank you for your understanding.

Everybody stay safe.

Tali and Rook, birdwatching

See how the mainsail sets

Tuesday. Partly cloudy and warm-ish. A good day for a ride, actually.

I’m just back from Bath, having come the Long Way Home, getting the car washed and picking up a Forbidden Sandwich at Subway, this in addition to the peppermint mocha and ricotta-cherry Danish I treated myself to at Cafe Creme after my doctor’s appointment, which?

Was a success of its kind. I got my levothyroxine dosage put back to where it’s been for the last decade or more, and I was given an A1C test (first time for everything, I guess), and scored a 4.5 of whatever it is they’re measuring, which they seemed happy with, and since there was no new medicine attached to whatever it is, I’m happy, too.

Also? No more doctor appointments and only one test on the time map until November. Unless Something Comes Up, which — fingers crossed.

As mentioned above, I came home via Rte 1 and 27, and was able to honor the Ancient Pact to sing along with “Sloop John B” when it popped up on the radio. I also tried to sing along with “Wild, Wild West,” but I really only remembered, “I love her eyes and her wild, wild hair,” which I sang with Verve.

I’m now going to tinker with my Remarks, remembering to eat my Forbidden Sandwich and to go to needlework.

What song(s) did you sing along with this morning?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by The Beach Boys, “Sloop John B“

Upcoming scarcity of Rolanni

Sunday.

No screaming today, though I’m being hard on myself for not getting “enough” done on the WIP. That I’ve rearranged several chapters and rewritten four more is the merest bagatelle.

I really need a time-turner.

This week upcoming has me phoning The Earth tomorrow. Tuesday, I’m wanted in Bath at an Unghodly Early Hour, with needlework in the evening. Firefly visits her vet on Wednesday afternoon. Thursday is blessedly free. Friday morning, Sarah’s scheduled to come in and clean, and it is also the 2nd anniversary of Steve’s death. I’m giving a talk at the library on Saturday afternoon, when it’s supposed to — *checks wunderground* — ah. Downgraded to “snow showers.” Much better.

It is entirely possible that I will not be much around for the balance of this week.

Everybody be well. Stay safe.

I’ll look in as can.

Writer’s Day Off

A very nice day out. The Belfast Indoor Farmers Market is the place to be on a Saturday in February, and I don’t think it was just the Valentine’s Day Effect.

I purchased many frivolities, including this new leather bag, which, if I’ve got to be carrying my passport with me, my usual go-to bag is too small. This one has three compartments: one for your phone; one up front, which you’re looking at, and a big central compartment. At the time this picture was taken, this bag held my Boox, my “papers,” wallet; business cards; lighthouse passport; other paperwork; and the charging cords for phone and Boox. It obviously was not holding my phone, because that’s what I was using to take the picture.

I also bought savory mushroom and veggie pie for lunch, a tea cake, for dessert, a bottle of ligonberry mead from Run Amok Meadery (which has an awesome label, not only for the graphic, but for the Denial Clause: “In my own defense, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.”) Um, what else — ah. A small round of whole wheat sourdough, six Asagio cheese bagels in the Maine Economy Size, and a pair of local alpaca kneehighs, because I have discovered it to be a Universal Truth, that one cannot have too many alpaca kneehighs.

I have a couple things to do here on the computer, because I also distributed cards, and got a nibble from a jury member of the Maine Craft Store in Ducktrap, who sent me “something.” After that — and this — I believe i will continue my Writer’s Day Off by viewing another episode or three of the Silly Show I tapped last night, “My Demon.”

The drive was nice, and after I left Belfast, I went down to Camden to say hello to the harbor, before I turned around and came home.

And that is: Run Amok Meadery
imMEADiate Gratification
Honey-Lingonberry Wine

The Friday Report

Sigh. Friday. A semi-productive day, enlivened by random moments of wishing to scream. An Executive Decision has therefore been taken.

Tomorrow is a Writer’s Day Off, even though I feel like I don’t have the luxury of time. I gotta get outta this house, and the Plan is to go to the Inside Farmers Market in Belfast tomorrow, and Have an Outing. I give myself permission to spend money on frivolities. Possibly, I will even eat lunch.

Hopefully this will address the Inclination to Scream.

In the meantime, Rook has convinced Tali that it is too Happy Hour, so I will be making up the bed for the night, and possibly finding something Silly to watch while I have a glass, or two, of wine.

I hope everyone had a delightful Friday the Thirteenth.

Be well. Be safe.

I’ll check in as can.

Wednesday on the move

Wednesday. I was not prepared to find 6 inches of snow on the ground when I got up this morning. I had been informed that there would be snow showers today, but that last night would be “clear.”

So, anyway, got up to find 6 inches of “clear” on the ground, and had literally just gotten my boots on to go out to deal with the steps and making a path to the garage so Tali could keep her appointment with her doctor, when the plowguy swooped in and started in to work.

Best. Plow. Guy. EVER.

Relieved of snow-clearing duties, I had a cup of tea, some cottage cheese, and grapes. Then I gathered Tali up from her bird-watching post and bore her, not without complaint, to her appointment. Tali is pronounced healthy and beautiful. She Officially Weighs 13.0 pounds, and she has had her 3-year distemper shot. Her toes were also cut off, all the way around.

For those interested, it is still snowing, very lightly, and is expected to stop around 11:30.

My business today is to finalize my Remarks and choose passages to read. I will probably make broccoli potato soup for lunch, and use my new! food processor to make a batch of hummus. I have two lemons, though I’m not sure I possess a juicer, anymore. I had a glass one from my grandmother, but I haven’t seen it in a while. Of course, I haven’t needed to juice anything in a while.

Tomorrow will begin another 5-day sprint on the WIP, taking beta reader comments into account. I think I have chicken breasts in the freezer. Might be I should bake one or two so that I’ll have easy lunches to draw on. There’s a plan.

Upon arriving home, and being freed from The Cage, Tali relieved her feelings by smacking Rook in the head several times, and then having a mouthful or two of dry food to replace the resources depleted during Her Ordeal.

I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, and considered the question of whether or not I’m going to try to install my blindster today. If it works, I can order in three more and there’s the sliders dressed.

Remarks first.

How’s everybody doing?

Here is Tali, post-Ordeal:


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Made hummus. Had to check the interwebs again to figure out how to make it do, since just sliding the switch to “puree” did not evoke the desired motivation. Turns out you need to press the handle after deciding between “chop” and “puree”.

Despite which, much the easiest way to make hummus so far discovered by this household. I did not find the old glass juicer; I’m of the opinion it left the household sometime back (Note to self: buy juicer), but the lemons were easy enough to squeeze by hand.

Having now accomplished an Accomplishment — Remarks.