(no subject)
Mar. 17th, 2005 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stakebaitMom of Mer is home from hospital, and I am home from Mom of Mer's -- though only till tomorrow, when I go back for the weekend. She is fine. (For someone who had surgery a week ago. There will be no steeplechasing, ribbon dancing, or wanton picking up of dropped things for the forseeable future.) I am fine too.
The plan is for me to spend weekends there for the next two months, doing groceries and laundry and shopping for odd bits of archaic underthings to hold her incision together, so if I'm not around, that's why.
I am missing Lunacon this weekend, which will probably make me sad afterwards, but is just as well, as this is not the Social Mer. This is the Mer whose idea of a racy St. Patrick's Day is to put some chocolate in my milk. I don't mind in the least having a quiet evening of cat and book in my own apartment, but I hate to be sedate at what should be a party. It makes me feel old.
Rejection from Feral Fiction, though a very encouraging one. How I wish it was good professional etiquette to reply to someone who says "this is not for us" with "why not?" By which I don't mind "change your mind" or "how dare you" but "I really want to know, why not?" It would help a lot with the figuring out what to send them next time.
Oh, well. Negligible word count, but I did write another poem.
The altogether-too-late-for-the-anthology Red States/Blue States plot bunny continues to churn in my brain. Though actually plot is the one thing I don't have -- all I've got is an increasingly fleshed out setting, a protagonist, and the first two lines. What *is* that, a Setting Ferret? Sooner or later I must corner an SCA person, a military person, and a Pittsburgh native for brain picking for that one, but it need not be now.
Am very tired, which feels altogether too comfortably familiar. Am also in that slightly nerve-exposed state where random phrases strike me with stunning force, leading me to get briefly weepy in the work restroom from reading a Phantom retelling, or stand transfixed by an ad on a payphone. Fear my unflappable composure, it takes an empty plastic bag caught on a tree branch to shake me. (It's not a *bad* mood, if that wasn't clear. It's even pleasurable, in an unsettling way. Just intense, like the muffling is off the world and every touch shudders to the bone.)
The plan is for me to spend weekends there for the next two months, doing groceries and laundry and shopping for odd bits of archaic underthings to hold her incision together, so if I'm not around, that's why.
I am missing Lunacon this weekend, which will probably make me sad afterwards, but is just as well, as this is not the Social Mer. This is the Mer whose idea of a racy St. Patrick's Day is to put some chocolate in my milk. I don't mind in the least having a quiet evening of cat and book in my own apartment, but I hate to be sedate at what should be a party. It makes me feel old.
Rejection from Feral Fiction, though a very encouraging one. How I wish it was good professional etiquette to reply to someone who says "this is not for us" with "why not?" By which I don't mind "change your mind" or "how dare you" but "I really want to know, why not?" It would help a lot with the figuring out what to send them next time.
Oh, well. Negligible word count, but I did write another poem.
The altogether-too-late-for-the-anthology Red States/Blue States plot bunny continues to churn in my brain. Though actually plot is the one thing I don't have -- all I've got is an increasingly fleshed out setting, a protagonist, and the first two lines. What *is* that, a Setting Ferret? Sooner or later I must corner an SCA person, a military person, and a Pittsburgh native for brain picking for that one, but it need not be now.
Am very tired, which feels altogether too comfortably familiar. Am also in that slightly nerve-exposed state where random phrases strike me with stunning force, leading me to get briefly weepy in the work restroom from reading a Phantom retelling, or stand transfixed by an ad on a payphone. Fear my unflappable composure, it takes an empty plastic bag caught on a tree branch to shake me. (It's not a *bad* mood, if that wasn't clear. It's even pleasurable, in an unsettling way. Just intense, like the muffling is off the world and every touch shudders to the bone.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:14 pm (UTC)And you will eat that banana, lunchtime be damned!
[snugglehugs] Thanks for the update. If you want to talk I can give you a call after bellydance tonight. One way or another make sure you're talking care of yourself.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:21 pm (UTC)Thanks for the *hugs* I think I might like to talk, if I'm not asleep -- must decide if I'm going to bellydancing myself.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:29 pm (UTC)When I tried to do my Sekrit Fannish Shames (before deciding that if I'm ashamed I don't want to share), one of them was that having spent an entire con trying *not* to say that to James Marsters, I now rather wish I had.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:38 pm (UTC)I'll need to grab dinner when I get home. Want me to eat first, then call, or do you mind me chewing in your ear?
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:42 pm (UTC)Chew away! If I'm going to bellydancing I'll probably have dinner with
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 06:25 pm (UTC)I so wish I had a Wes Talking to the Cranky Hamberger icon right now. :)