Tag: life’ll kill ya

Sunday

Coon cats first:  The Breakfast Club

Sunday. Looking like it’s trying to make up its mind, is it going to rain.

About 1,000 new words on the morning, bringing the WIP to 44,150. Ish. May or may not write tomorrow, depending on how early I get up, I guess. Book club at 1; PT at 2:30. Lunch sometime or ‘nother.

The cats tried to tempt me back to bed after breakfast and I won’t say they weren’t persuasive, but — work to do. They finally came in to keep me company about the time I knocked off, and there they are all still.

Got mundane tasks to get rid of, some research to do, and some lunch to rustle up. Enough to keep me occupied, but not enough to be overwhelming. I’ll take it.

What’s doin’ at your place, today?
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Sigh. All the old war wounds are aching tonight, which is my cue to back slowly away from the keyboard and pour a Wine Venti.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. Remember to hug the people you love.

See you tomorrow.

Housekeeping

All the Things have been done, including assisting the flying fish in their endless quest for sugar.

I? Am exhausted and hurting, which is apparently going to be the new normal. I’m trying to figure out a schedule where I can write during the hours when the meds are actually blocking out enough of the pain to allow me to think. This produces a very odd sort of day, in which I eat breakfast, answer correspondence, and do the PT homework, with writing starting around 10:30ish and going through until about 2:00/2:30. At 2:30ish or 3, I eat a meal, let’s call it dinner, and either putter at simple household tasks, as I did today, and/or watch, oh, ballet! from the new, improved pillow fort on the couch, designed to be soft and supportive of my back.

After Coon Cat Happy Hour, I either will or I won’t eat something light (I’ve been tending to “won’t.” Quelle surprise.), and possibly go back to the office, as I did last night, to write for another hour before I make a cup of tea, take the muscle relaxant part of the meds and go to bed around 10ish.

I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get back to a less dog-eared sort of a day, but, as I’m led to understand, the whole back situation can only change by getting worse, and nobody wants that. It may well be that I can get to a point where the present level of pain is ignorable, and I actually consider that the best possible outcome.

What all this means is that updates will become even more erratic than usual. I’m not sure how much entertainment is being derived, but I do know that those who do read the updates prefer consistency. Mea culpa. I, too, prefer consistency.

Alas, entropy appears to be winning.

All that said — yes. Thanks to everyone who has written to tell me that the judge has ruled the Anthropic payout can go forward. Yes, I will likely receive money from this class action suit. No, I will not be paid $3,000 per violated title. This is because there’s a 50/50 split with the publisher of each title, and the chapbooks, for which I would have received the full amount, were ruled not to have been stolen by reason of a technicality. Still, I will, eventually, get some money, as I understand it, and, being as we live in a society founded on capitalism, money is always welcome.

While money, above, is always welcome, I fear that this lawsuit has taught the wrong lesson. Wrong lessons. It has not taught that stealing someone else’s stuff is wrong, for instance; it has only reinforced the toxic notion that everything has a price, and once that price is met, there is no accountability nor shame attached to wrongful action.

Well. The pension fund was just Sitting There.

And on that note — everyone have a good evening. Stay safe. I’ll check in as it’s possible, tomorrow.

Tuesday morning

I wrote new words. Eleven hundred new words, in fact, bringing the WIP entire to 27,888. So that’s a thing.

Yesterday’s visit to the walk-in clinic was both lowering and interesting. Interesting: The walk-in clinic Does Not Prescribe pain relief medication. They do prescribe muscle relaxants and anti-nausea medication.

The PA sent me to the hospital for an x-ray of my back, just to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently broken something since the last time my back was x-rayed. As I had not broken anything, I was given a prescription for muscle relaxants and anti-nausea medication.

Since one is strongly discouraged from taking T3 and muscle relaxants, I have broken into the (still in date) naproxen left over from last year (because now I have anti-nausea medication, in case naproxen turns ugly), and took the first dose this morning. The muscle relaxants are to be taken at bedtime, and I perhaps have seen a slight lessening of the pain — well. I was able to write new words today, and do all of the PT homework, instead of just the Good Parts, so, yes, muscle relaxants had an effect.

I have also unearthed a crazy little hand massager (a big plastic marble in a holder) that I’ve been running firmly over the hurtin’ bits, and also still with the lidocaine roll-on (yes, I know about lidocaine patches. Have you ever tried to put a goopy, floppy, patch on your own back? Sticks to itself. Sticks to your hands. Sticks to your clothes. To your back? Not so much. And that’s without mentioning the necessity to twist around with an aching, spasming back, trying to get the fool thing in place.)

The clinic’s diagnosis (this is the “lowering” part of the program) is bone spurs, aka “small anterior osteophytes” and “mild mid thoracic spine spondylosis,” which is age-related, degenerative arthritis, and therefore nothing to be done, save what I’ve been doing, and wait for the flare to ease up or I manage to increase my ability to ignore pain.

(Aortic atherosclerosis was also noted, as an aside. This is not New news, and aside from being separate from the reason I was at the clinic, I’m thinking it wasn’t mentioned verbally because the plaque level hasn’t reached the Magic Number yet.)

Onward.

Ellen Richmond is yesterday’s hero. She brought me to the clinic, the hospital, CVS, and picked up the prescriptions. Later in the day, Beth and Steve Symonds stopped by to replenish the cookie supply, which was much appreciated.

I now need to figure out something that looks like lunch, and whether or not I’m going to take a nap, after.

Rookie is clinging like a clingy coon kitten, which–he really is too big to curl up between my cheek and my shoulder, but he’s doing it anyway.

So, there’s my news.

What’s your news?

Short catch-up and apology

Abject apologies for having gone dark.

Short form is that I can’t totally get ahead of the back situation, though I even took the Unprecedented Step of asking the PCP for strong drugs.  Which work, to a point.  But not, alas, to the point necessary for peace, harmony, and getting any work done.

Tomorrow morning, a kind friend will be taking me to the walk-in clinic (which is absurd on the face of it, the walk-in clinic being about two miles from my house, but — strong drugs.  And back spasms.), where it is my very great hope that they will be able to provide something that (1) works to stop the more-or-less constant muscle spasms, and (2) doesn’t have the side effect of making me sick.  Though (2) is becoming less desirable as (1) takes on more necessity.

Aside the Constant Complaint Thread that’s been running on Facebook, below is probably the only notable thing I’ve said in three days:

Last night I finished listening to Accepting the Lance, by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller, narrated by Eileen Stevens. May I just say that, while I vividly remember writing the scene where the Agent of Change is taunting Val Con — during this, my first reading of the novel as a novel, I was particularly struck by what the Agent chose to taunt him with.
“Vulnerable…so very vulnerable.” “We have seen it — cut one and the other bleeds. Kill one. Both die.”
In fact, he’s being taunted for having connections. For being human.
Wow.
Epic storytelling, past me-and-us. And truthly truth, as well.

What if I’d been the one to say good-bye?

Aaaand. Back pain has returned. We. Are. NOT. Pleased. Currently working on trying to up the efficacy of my superpower by doing what needs to be done, and when there’s a spike, telling myself, “It’s only pain,” and keep on with whatever it is I’m doing. Let it be known that I’m not doing the wire act, and certainly not the trapeze.

The local post office gives me to understand that the Perambulating Package is on the route jeep and scheduled for delivery at my house today.

Yeah.  We’ve heard that before.

A question for the Tech Folk, Internet Domain Division. If someone has registered a domain through a wholesale service and “can make any changes to the domain” that they wish to make, does that not make them the owner of that domain, regardless of if they allow someone else to register the domain with a provider, post content and act in all ways as if that name belonged to them? That the person registering the domain can, in theory, and at any time, evict the person using that nameserver?

Spanish Aunts.

…it seems that standing up is the current correct position insofar as my back is concerned, so I’ll be bringing the pages I have left to read of the WIP to the standing desk for perusal.

I have Tali in position under the standing desk in my office, and Rook in his box on the edge of the big desk, where he can get the breeze from the open windows, it being a nice enough day, so far.

What’s happening with you, today?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by .38 Special, “If I’d been the one.”

Anything can happen day

Wednesday. Sunny. Temp 74F Humidity 74%. Windows are closed.

I? have ordered in breakfast on the theory that I will eat an omelet if all I have to do is open the damned box and get a fork out of the drawer. I’m flailing around for strategies to get myself interested in eating food — and I don’t at this point care if it’s healthy, particularly — and came to remember that I never had any strategies for that particular quirk in a stupid quirky nature. When I was living with Steve, he cooked 90% of the time, and I’d sit at the table to be sociable, even if I didn’t feel like eating, and would have a bit of this or that while we were talking. Yes, Steve was a genius. However, that solution is no longer operative, and I’m a bit at a loss. And before anyone panics — I’m not sick, my stomach doesn’t hurt. I just — don’t want to eat. The urgency is that I cannot allow this to fall into a habit.

Argh.

Moving on to more amusing topics: The perambulating package is now in! South Portland. USPS promises delivery, but we’ve heard that song before.

We had a bunch of thunder and some lightning, but if there were violent thunderstorms in Maine last night, they were someplace else. While I don’t regret the violence — or the possible tornadoes — I do regret the thunderstorm drama.

Today’s Plan is to read the 100+ pages of the WIP, which will not only hopefully hang together as a tale, but provide sufficient hooks to hang the rest of the story on.

Writer math.

break to eat breakfast Which. Was. Good. Remember this, Self? Food tastes good. Sheesh.

A friend posted a meme yesterday about “When I was growing up, we were thrown out onto the street, helmetless, with our bike after breakfast and told to come home before dark.” Which encouraged some conversation including, “What is this “helmet” you speak of?” And that got me to thinking about How Things Change.

For instance. In my life — which, we do have to factor in the determination that we were writers above all else, which did have an enormous bearing on finances — I think that people who have two homes, or a camp, are well-off. The course of my life being such that we could barely afford one house, and were always skating the edge between solvent and me presenting Steve with a fanned hand of bills and saying, “Pick a bill. Pick any bill. The bill that you pick is the bill we won’t be paying this month.”

So, that. And then I think back to — my parents. Who had land in the mountains of Pennsylvania that they intended to build a camp on. They never did because they’d gotten taken in the matter of boundary lines and water, but that aside — they owned property other than their primary residence. My father was a spotwelder at the General Motors factory in Sparrow’s Point, Maryland. My mother was a stay-at-home mom.

Going back a generation, and the reason I’m so “surprisingly” at ease on the water, my father’s parents had a camp on Middle River in Maryland to which they retired every summer. They also had a mini-farm at what was then the edge of the town of Parkville, Maryland. My grandfather was a tailor for a large tailoring house (I often remember the name, but not this morning) in the city. My grandmother was a stay-at-home mom.

Tailor and spotwelder — these are not positions associated with great amounts of wealth. And yet, they were able to buy “extra” properties.

Well. The past is a different country.

Time to go to work.

What was your childhood summer like?

Monday morning

Monday and sunny and starting to warm up for tomorrow’s run for the Coveted Dangerous Heat Rating.

I have a cup of tea with me here at the desk and in a couple minutes, I’ll be rustling up some oatmeal.

Many thanks to everyone who expressed concern about my back and yesterday’s blackberry removal. Two things about that:

(1) The bush really wasn’t rooted very deeply. I basically poked at it with the shovel (see mile-long thorns), and it fell over. I went back inside, got Steve’s leather gloves, came back out, gave it a very small tug, and it came out that easy. The root was long, but not torn or broken, so it may be that I’ve got it all, which would be very unlike Blackberries I Have Known, so I’ll Keep An Eye Out.

(2) My back is a crapshoot. Or possibly I mean an abuser. This is how it works: Mostly, it hurts. Mostly, because of my Superpower, I can, and do, ignore it. Sometimes a piece of Kryptonite comes along, and pain levels escalate to where I can’t ignore them, whereupon I am Utterly Undone and Complain Incessantly for, eh. Two or three days. The pain then subsides to the Baseline Ignorable Level and I get back down to business. I do try to plan and consider and not overtax my back, but really, nothing placates it, and there’s no observable reason for having one day where everything’s fine, for values thereof, and another day where it hurts my back if I blink. Back pain was Ignorable yesterday afternoon, so — business as usual. Mind, if the blackberry HADN’T fallen over when I poked it with the shovel, I wouldn’t have gone any further, because I’m not completely nuts, evidence aside.

THAT said, on to Important Issues, in fact — Rookie the Cookie. Rookie starting drooling last night, and he’s still doing so this morning. While my two ladies do drool when they’re VERY excited, this is is not at all Rookie’s Thing, and he just seems to be…dripping. I don’t see anything wrong with his mouth, but what do I know. So! Rookie has won a trip to the vet 4:15ish this afternoon, Just To Make Sure.

I have phone calls to make today, and I really do need to pick up some stuff at the grocery (which we, too, called the “food store” in my youth — someone said this yesterday. Also, my grandmother had an “ice box,” and I still default to that, to the bewilderment of Many, and even though I haven’t seen an actual ice box, nor ice man, for … most of my life, actually), so — probably no writing today, which as it happens is just as well, because I had a Thought this morning that I really need to talk over with Steve. Lacking that, I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

That’s the news from the Cat Farm.

What’s your news?

This just in: Rookie’s physician wishes to have him dropped off by 10, rather than brought in at 4, for Observation.

Guess I’d better find that breakfast I was talking about.

Then I am the King of the Cats!

Nonsense first.  Back when, I collected retellings of “The King of the Cats.”  This one came across my FB feed last night.  I’m not sure the link will work, but on the off-chance:  The King of the Cats
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I’ve been needing a lot of extra therapy sessions lately.  Happily, my counselor is flexible:

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Monday. Sunny and starting to warm up toward our climactic Unsafe Heat Event, scheduled for Thursday.

Plans for the day include calling the peach ripe, cutting it up and having it for breakfast with cottage cheese. Because I can. After, I’ll go on back to Steve’s office and do some writing.

Yesterday afternoon went pear-shaped. I threw the bedclothes in to wash and the washing machine lost its mind — it entered the spin cycle, and then would start over with a rinse, over and over and over (the water district sent me a message last night that my water use was 2.5X over the average, and I might have a leak). I finally managed to get a half-spin, and dragged the soggy sheets out to the wooden laundry dryer I’d gotten out of the basement and set up on the (sunny at that point) deck, and — long story short; everything worked out, but I always feel like it’s somehow my fault when stoopid technical stuff happens, and that if Steve were here, it wouldn’t have happened.

Which! Is patently wrong, and I can very vividly remember several times when Technology Struck and Steve was standing Right There.

Given the above, I did not attempt to double-string my mobile, but settled down with my ice tea and a book, and then there was the non-thunderstorm, and from there it just all spiraled into an unhappy evening.

Hoping for better today.

I’m about 230 pages into Alliance of Equals, which I recall many people complaining about. So far, I’m finding it much better written than Dragon in Exile, which surprises me, and not at all off-putting. Of course, I don’t mind books that jump around, so long as the author makes clear where we are, and so far the author has done so. Well. Maybe it all falls apart at the end. We’ll see.

And all that said? I’d best get breakfast and start the day.

What’s the weather where you are?

And, for those who are still with me — here’s the rest of the story:

Tools down

So apparently there’s an app that lets repair people know when you’re sitting down for lunch. Also, Rookie growled at the generator guy. Who is still working, having found a need to install a new battery.

Computers have been taken offline and the lights are out pending the “simulated power outage,” after which I suppose I will sign a paper and then Wander The House resetting all the clocks.
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End of the day. It’s raining. I am Utterly Frazzled. I don’t say I’m at the edge of an…Undesirable Head Space, but I can see it from here, and it ain’t pretty. The cats have pulled in, which is very good of them. Perhaps an early glass of wine, after I finish up here.

Anyhow, that’s 1,260 new words on the day, bringing the WIP entire to +/-16,220.

Tomorrow, I need to make those correx to Kin Right, and also name a couple characters in the current WIP. I’m … kind of impressed that we managed a short story and a book without giving Uncle Rusko a last name. I, mean, I like Rusko; he’s a good man, and he’s good for Tranh. He deserves a last name, amirite?

Before I sign off for the evening, and hoping for a better day tomorrow — have a snippet:
Bry Sen had a black eye.
Mac Gold had a broken arm.

Of puffins, whales, and the futility of doing good

So, yesterday, I finally went and booked myself into a combo whale watch/puffin cruise.  That will be next Thursday, and I’m under orders to present myself to Cap’n Fish at crack o’dawn thirty so we can get underway.

Which brings us to — today!

Friday. Raining for a change. Sarah’s due in a couple minutes, and the generator guy is supposed to stop by to do his annual inspection of Station Systems.

Breakfast was cream cheese on toast with a side of cherries. Lunch will be leftover lentil-and-sweet potato stew that I managed to screw up when I was making it (put in twice too many lentils, and no, I’m not really sure how that happened). Still, it can be recovered, and so it shall at lunchtime.

So, the blood pressure med returned an amazing result for, eh? four days? And I’m back into alt. Stress is a remarkable force.

I found just recently that a person of known ill repute is seeking to align with my life’s work in order to make themselves seem legitimate and lovable. Said person has a history of harassing me, and the problem with the current tactic is that the target can’t even talk about it without sounding crazy, which is quite apart from the damage that can’t be blocked. Because the way these things work is that my lustre will not bestow grace, but will in turn be tarnished by this person’s actions.

I’m also in receipt of a contract for an interview, and my first reaction on reading it was “I wouldn’t sign this if it was a contract for a story.” Which, in essence, it is. So, that’s set aside for another reading in a day or two, in case the words rearrange themselves.

Also! I realized last night that I have made two errors — possibly three errors — in Kin Right that I ought to fix if I can, so have written to Baen Traffic with a query. And lucky I am that the book’s scheduled so far out.

Let’s see, what else?

Ah. The birds who nest in the rain gutter have returned, and Rookie is climbing the screen. Rookie being much bigger than he was last year this time, I expect the screen to shortly be in ribbons, so! New screen on the list.

Plans for the day include — writing! At least I know what the next scene is in the WIP, so there is that.

What’s the cat doing at your house, today?

Speaking of cats — yesterday, I had to call in my counselor, who was able to get me settled enough to write.  I may be making another call this morning.  Thank goodness I can pay her in tummy rubs.