OK, folks. I am behind on everything, and also helpfully experiencing rolling waves of angst.
I am therefore going electron-free in order to ease some of the wear-and-tear on the auctorial nervous system.
Y’all stay safe. Be kind to each other. Feel free to talk among yourselves. Older hands know where the snacks and beverages are — help out the newbies, ‘k?
Later.
Firefly and Rook did their best to get me to go back to bed this morning, but I was adamant.
Well. My weather-delayed CookUnity order arrived five minutes ago, and all the meals, of course, are “use by 3/11.” So, I’m guessing I’ll find out how well a couple of these freeze.
The ice packs were still solid and the meals are cold, so I’m guessing they’ll be OK to eat.
Today was not the most productive day ever. I should actually have gone back to bed this morning, but I fixed that by taking a two hour nap. Still not feeling top o’the world, but at least I’m less weepy.
Tomorrow, is Errands, finishing up with needlework.
The ice in the driveway is gone, just in time for the temps to plunge into the high 30sF on Wednesday. Now, I need to figure out what parts of this enormous, but extremely well-insulated, box are recyclable.
On that note — everybody have a good evening. I’ll check in tomorrow.
Thursday. Sunny and chill. The cats are sitting in the sliders in Steve’s office, squirrel watching. Am sitting in the comfy chair in my office. Drinking a cup of Darjeeling, I think, (edited to add: It was Lapsang Souchung) and basking in the happy lite.
I find that I really don’t have much to say this morning. I’m going to go get breakfast and hide inside my story.
How’s everybody doing?
Dictated to my phone
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Worked. Made stirfry for lunch. Scrubbled cats. Have a few things to clean up in the business office, need to wash the pots ‘n pans, and do one’s duty to the cats.
Then I believe I shall go back to Steve’s office and recover the old, ill-tempered GNOME-based system, because COSMIC? Is not ready for prime time. I hate it that stuff gets released when it doesn’t work, and by “doesn’t work” I mean — surely, the primary use of a computer is to handle files? I means, yes, they also do math, and play music, and host games, but these things are also file-based.
I see No Benefit to … anyone … in a computer system that can’t reliably cope with its own files. So — big step back for me, and fingers crossed that the recovery process is fairly seamless.
In other news, not content to nag me to sell my house, now there are people who want to buy my car. Given a new Forester costs on the order of +/-$40grand and I’m being offered +/-$27grand for my current Forester — I don’t see the appeal, aside having a new car, and it happens I ain’t jonesing for a new car right now.
For those keeping score, the snow is melting fast under the sun and (cold) breeze. I had a go at smashing up the ice in the driveway yesterday, which, among other things, is pretty good therapy. However, I will not be so indulging myself today, because I really can’t afford for my back to go out again.
I have not today seen the news, but I don’t suppose we’ve jumped to a better timeline. Call me a pessimist.
I think that’s all I’ve got.
Hope y’all are having a good day.
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I’ve been having a fascinating discussion with System76 Tech Support, who assures me that COSMIC is functional for many of their users, and incorporates all of the things those users depend on, which — it boggles my brain, but I Am Only A Writer, and this thing is barely doing anything that I need and depend on.
Apparently, however, the ability to order one’s own desktop is not a top-tier “feature.” They’re still working on that one and should have it ready by June.
In the meantime, the recovery … didn’t, so I’m kinda stuck. Happily, I am from the Past and still have access to sneaker-net. But it is kinda off-putting that I can’t backup my day’s work to the portable drive (in addition to Dropbox), because while I can see the damned thing in the margin, when I hit Copy Files To — it disappears.
*throws hands in air* *catches them*
Anyhoots. I did work today. Tomorrow morning, Sarah comes to clean, and sometime tomorrow my first delivery from CookUnity will arrive.
Exciting times.
Everybody have a good evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.
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Squeak, squeak, squeak.
Tech Support sent me a restore file, which I flashed to a thumb-drive and booted from and!
I’m back!
And all of my files are intact!
Cabana boy! Wine!
And a glass!
Monday. Full moon shining down through the clerestory window in my office.
It has been a long, strange day. I wrote, broke for lunch, and did a few chores, then when back and wrote some more. Ghod this is easier with two brains. Ahem. Having said that, I’m not precisely sure where the day went.
It must have been the Gala Celebrations that put me on the wrong foot.
Now I know that my tax rate has increased from 12% to 21%, and what that means in actual dollar$, I was able to write the check to pay off the installation of the sliding doors in Steve’s office. And there will be no more of that sort of frivolity in my life going forward, ref 21% above.
Tomorrow is All Errands All The Time. Wednesday and Thursday, most of Friday and Saturday, Sunday, and Monday are cleared for writing. Also, I really wish my brain was on my side, rather than the chancy ally it is. Flogging myself into a lather is really counterproductive, but all I can do is work around it.
I am, for those who have not given up on the whole Liaden Read-along, currently reading Scout’s Progress, which, every time I read it, I think “Yanno? This is my favorite Liaden novel.” It, with Local Custom, are of course the two Liaden novels Most Vilified by the Real Man Chapter of Real SF Readers.
Steve got not one, not two, not six, but many letters from chapter members urging him to “take control of his wife,” “clear all that relationship crap out,” and “write ‘real’ stories”. It would have been comical if they hadn’t been so angry.
I’m reminded of … Hawthorne? “That damned mob of scribbling women?” — I’m pretty sure it was Hawthorne. Local Custom and Scout’s Progress are worldbuilding masterpieces, though I say it of my own work. In addition, they are subversive, as all “real” fiction should be, and SF most of all. The characterization is flawless, the dialog is lovely, and — I’m just really proud of them, right?
But because they show the differences between cultures in terms of relationships, and families; in terms of the welfare of a child, and a woman who isn’t safe in her home — they were, as several chapter members who probably had never read one opined — “Mills and Boon garbage.” As well as “a disgrace,” and “not SF at all.”
Well. Rant off, I suppose. I should get something to eat, and a glass of wine seems to be in order.
I hope everyone had a good day. Yes, I’ve seen the news.
Stay safe. I’ll check in tomorrow.
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:
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.
Sarah came, she cleaned, she left. The cats all came back to Steve’s office with me, and we read the first 50ish pages of LUC6.
My duty to the cats has been performed. The oven is heating for lunch.
After, I’ll work on the taxes for awhile. I’m not sure if everybody is being Very Diligent about their 1099s this year, or if I’m in a time-slip. Or, yanno — both. In any case, those columns of numbers ain’t adding themselves.
This year the CPA had opted to go Electronic Only for its fact-finding questionnaire, and I hate it with a Deep and Abiding Hatred, leavened with Frustration. Also, the upcoming snow event is weighing on my mind. I think I may not be ready for a blizzard. And February lies before me. I’m not particularly sanguine about February this year.
Also, yanno, ICE is in Maine doing its damnedest to make the False Narrative that we are a hellscape of crime and brutality into reality.
*raises hand*
May I fast forward to April 25, please?
No, didn’t think so.
How’s everybody doing at midday, Eastern?
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So, I called the CPA and the poor young person who answered the phone had to tell me that, nope, I can’t download the questionnaire until it’s filled out, adding that she is compiling A List for the people who market this program to CPA firms, because I am not the first one of their clients to have blown a gasket.
The solution was to go to the office — which, thank ghod, is only ten minutes away — to pick up a paper copy to work from. I have done this. I have also, hopefully, provided the necessary encouragement to change the name on the account to Sharon Lee, as today was the third time I was asked if the account might be under another name. I was Not Nice. “Why,” I said, “maybe it’s under my dead husband’s name?” And, yep, that’s where it was.
On the way home, I picked up a chocolate milkshake. With whipped cream.
I am now going to go drink said milkshake and then make several copies of the paper form.
Technology. It will make everything easier.
Yeah…
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In all, this has been . . . a trying day. I’m exhausted. Did get some things accomplished in a taxward direction. It just seems so unfair that you have to do all this work only to have to write a check at the end of it. Yes, yes, I know — some people get money back on their taxes. That? Has not been my reality for a Very Long Time.
Poor Rookie is starving. Happy Hour is days late and he has Composed a Poem regarding this tragedy, which he is shouting non-stop from all corners of the house — testing the acoustics, I guess. The girls are occupying various High Places well out of the Poet’s way.
I briefly thought about hiding under the bed, but then I remembered that I have a Captain’s Bed, so that’s out.
Tomorrow will be more of the same, and the day after that, as well. I do find that some places are stating that they’ll issue the damned 1099s on January 31 and not one minute earlier, so that’s good to know, and I can’t for the life of me remember what I did about BN; as in, if I closed that account entirely. I can’t seem to get into my publisher account there. OTOH, they did sent me $150 last year.
I need to remember to write things down. And then I need to remember where I wrote them down.
It may be I’m losing this whole Going it Alone Thing by Slow Attrition rather than A Bolt from the Blue.
And on that cheerful thought, I bid everyone goodnight.
Be careful, stay safe. I’ll check in tomorrow.
Today’s blog post title brought to you by Buffalo Springfield, who first sang it in 1966. “For What It’s Worth.”
So, I woke up at 5:45, and my neck was swollen and sore again and I addressed the universe in a disrespectful manner. Then I took the Command Decision to FTS, got up, got dressed, made a cup and a thermos of tea, took that and a KIND breakfast bar back to Steve’s office, woke up his computer and got to work.
I broke for lunch around noon, having written about 800 words — lunch being a chef’s salad from the deli. I ate a little more than half with a serving of soup I’d had in the freezer. Tomorrow, I’ll put what’s left — some meat, cheese, tomato and onions — into scrambled eggs for breakfast, so that’s ONE meal figured out for tomorrow.
Returned to Steve’s office after lunch and wrote some more. Got tired eventually and quit for the day. Did my duty to the cats. Waiting for the mail to arrive so I can bring in the package that’s supposed to be included before the ink freezes, then take a shower and probably collapse.
I should report that I feel somewhat better than I did when I woke up. I did take the combined Motrin, and if the kind of pain I woke up with this morning is what it’s keeping at bay — all honor to it. Also used hot compresses on my neck.
The cats have been hanging in all day, which was! Cloudy and warm. Snow is melting, or at least compacting. I’m really glad I asked the Magnificent Plowguy to sand the driveway. HUGE improvement.
Finished watching The Apothecary Diaries last night. My *goodness*, that was some tight storytelling! Well done, writers.
I can now cancel Crunchyroll. I do, yes, realize, that there’s a ton of anime offered there, but the chances of my stumbling upon anything actually worth watching are, um, low. If anybody had a rec that’s worth keeping Crunchyroll around for — by all means speak. My taste, apparently, runs to stuff like AD. Back in the day I liked Fruit Baskets and … the one with the duck — ah. Princess Tutu. Writing Anime. If that’s not a subgenre, it ought to be.
And the mail’s in! And Rook is chasing Tali around my office because it’s all her fault. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what “it” is.
Writing stats: New words written (I think not all of these today, but honestly, what do I know?): +/-2,190. Total words in WIP: +/-124,117.
And that’s the beans.
How’s everybody holding up?
Earlier today. Firefly had ennui.
Monday. Sunny and jeez it’s cold.
Got up at Stoopid O’clock, drank tea with the Happy Lite. The look! on Rook’s face when he realized I was Sitting In The Sun, and immediately jumped up to hold my lap against all comers, which was of course a reverse treat when I needed to get up. Breakfast was the last of the unfrozen broccoli/potato/cheese soup. Lunch was a microwave box of something or nother — beef and veggies.
Got a little writing done but spent most of my morning wrangling the damn timeline. Went from having too much time not having enough time. Right on Schedule. And it is by These Signs that Ye Shall Know Your Book is Progressing.
Trash and recycling in the garage, awaiting tomorrow’s march to the curb. I gave up and put flannel sheets on the bed, and also taped the snow rug to the nonslip backing.
Need to do some banking, then I’m going Round Two with the timeline wrasslin’.
Tomorrow, I have my annual eye appointment in the morning, needlework in the evening, and the post office somewhere in-between. Maybe the grocery, too. I’ll check. Not supposed to snow again until late Tuesday. Wednesday is a writing day. Thursday PT in the morning.
Thursday evening is Meet ‘n Greet the new town manager in the evening. I wanna talk public transportation. If you’re grounded for health or other reasons in this town in winter, you’re outta luck. The taxis are even worse now than they were when I was volunteering at the hospital, and it was stupid, then. The mobility bus will stop for you, but only if you call them ahead of time; there’s no, like, route. I realize this is not unique to Waterville, but — damn, it’s sad. And don’t Uber me. Just — don’t.
How’s the week starting out for you?
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So, today started out rocky, but got better as I kept putting one foot in front of the other. Possibly timeline wrasslin’ is a tonic.
I do understand how risky it is to say things like this, but — I think I have a handle on the timing, and there’s enough time for the things that need to happen to actually happen, once We All Agreed that That Thing There was not an immovable object. In Point of Actual Fact, there are exactly two immovable objects in this Entire Novel. (I mean, granted, there is one thing that it would hurt to move, but even it isn’t immovable, and? It doesn’t have to move, so — go, me.)
In other news, I forgot to call about a haircut again. Sheesh.
I got two cards in the mail today. Clearly, these people are overachievers, and I appreciate their efforts. I do like to get cards.
The coon cats are having Happy Hour, and I should probably get something to eat, being as I’m kinda bushed over here (ref rising at Stoopid O’Clock).
Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. I’ll check in tomorrow.
Pictures of coon cats here.
Today’s blog post title brought to you by OK Go “This Too Shall Pass” with commentary. The song’s OK. The commentary is hysterical.
I’m condensing this because the story is convoluted and played out over several days, starting the day before Thanksgiving,
Short form: I was scheduled for an MRI this Saturday in Brunswick, which is about 110 mile round trip from the Confusion Factory. It turns out that I need TWO MRIs and I have opted to have both done at the same time, rather than drive 110 miles back-to-back. All of this took a lot of time and angst, and produced much confusion, and too many phone calls, and I am … rather low because this is exactly the sort of thing that sets me on my ear.
The good news is that I now have Friday-Saturday-Sunday-Monday to write.
That said, I’ve been thinking lately about Jessica Rabbit and her famous line, “He makes me laugh.”
Now, I bow to none in my admiration of Jessica Rabbit, but in this, she was wrong. “It’s not, “He MAKES me laugh.” It’s “He LETS me laugh.” Which is to say, he — let’s call him, oh, Steve — creates a space in which it’s safe to experience joy, to be glad, to laugh, and to be yourself without fear and without editing.
And on that note?
Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. I’ll check in tomorrow.