Friday, February 5, 2010

Little Lamb

Sometimes the way he sits, all folded legs and innocent sad face, John and I burst at the seams with laughter.

He's got such a huge rump, too. We tell him all the time, but he doesn't have a complex about it. The rump is probably because of his Labrador genes. The lack of complex about his size is from his you-can't-hurt-me-with-your-mean-words Dalmatian genes.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Taxes in Hell

My co-worker - I have several of them, but she's the only one like me, (ie: no accounting degree, but the one to whom all the clients go to with questions, and we both think we should get paid more for that reason alone) - suggested that making it through this tax season without booze would make me a saint. That was because I mentioned my goal of trying to get to Valentine's Day without booze, which of course is only ten days away, and already unfathomable, at 10 o'clock this morning.

But the Braeberry Street revision is done, which means I can put it away for awhile (while the Fragments shred it). Partner Gio and I have sent off our babies - Rotullo the merchant and Corda the rope, respectively - into the world, and we can ignore them until they return with news of their success or failure.

I gave my stubborn Achilles tendon three full days off, but then jumped back into my normal running schedule, which according to the latest Runner's World, wasn't the right thing - I should have halved my mileage, and run much slower the first few runs back. Time to pull out the Chi Running book again - I'm hoping its my fault, that I'm landing wrong on my foot. (Lisa? Sammy? Steve C.? Do any of you have problems with that?)

Also, I think the weight training I've started - and the consequent healing of tiny microscopic tears - has sucked all the energy out of my body, even though I hardly did any legs weights the day before. That theory doesn't make complete sense, as my Monday run was fine, even after a grueling session with the trainer on Sunday, but last night was the first time I've ever not been able to run since I started in 2007. I guess we'll find out what happens - I'm trying not to imagine the worst.

And the ice cracked the windshield of John's car. And his school has screwed up his GI bill payment. And...and...and...and I might get a bread machine! That could be super fun.

Hot chocolate sounds good, with more coffee.

I really want to bake a cake - it's been way too long since the last one. A friend mentioned a caramel cake on facebook; I've never made one of those. Oh, and look at this.

I did make some cookies for John last night by dumping unmeasured amounts of flour, butter, baking soda, salt, sugar, half an egg, ground coffee, cocoa powder & chocolate chips in a bowl, stirring it all together and plopping it on a cookie sheet - the conglomeration made four cookies. He liked them.

Sunday, January 31, 2010


Several hours, a bottle of spray de-icer (not aerosol), and one helpful neighbor later, John managed to get our cars back in working order - just in time for me to meet the trainer at the gym so my muscles can hurt for three more days. Of course now that the possibility of getting out of the house is a reality, I don't want to go out anymore. But we need groceries, and I've been a slug for 3 days now; it will be good for me. Right?

Made a split-tin loaf. It's pretty and white-bready, just like John likes it; very little appeal in that for me (which is good). I like bread full of things like seeds and nuts.

Received the pdf of Destination:Future by email yesterday, which meant I got to read the final version of "The Light Stones." I had a similar reaction to when I read "Skinned" - a few places that made me wince, especially in the beginning. How could I not catch that? How did someone not point out these words used too closely together, with all the crits I'd received on it, the multiple times I'd posted it on OWW? Ultimately, my fault, of course. But I am proud of the second half of the story. I'm proud of the plot, the off-world politics and reality of it all.

What surprised me, though, was my disconnect to Burin; the character emphasis and/or bond I'd like to think most of my writing carries was missing. John disagrees - he thinks it's in this story, too, and holds to the fact that it's the best story I've written yet, flaws and all. But when I read it, I felt nearly indifferent to Burin's story, to her fate. This could also be the fault of my editor side, or me trying not to be bothered by all the things I wish to change, and no longer can.

This led to a conversation about what happens next for Burin. John's convinced she's done for; she has too many injuries, she's never going to get what she wants. But I think she will. She's a fighter, in a way that none of us can really understand - not even me, and I've lived with her longer than anyone else. She's a fighter in a way that I've never been. Maybe there's a part of me that has to believe she'll make it. The way we choose to believe certain things about life, and about succeeding.

Kitty believes I can do anything I want to. Like feed him more.

Just look at those elegant whiskers of his.