Yearly Archives: 2005

Sooo tired.

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So let’s see, since the last update, I’ve:

  • put together the compound mitre saw only to discover that it doesn’t run. Still have to investigate that.
  • baked a total of five pies and four custards, two of which have already been eaten by the crowd at work
  • painted the baseboard
  • wrote around 6,000 words in the novel, leaving me with only 22,000 or so to go
  • procured Bob. Bob is this year’s turkey. Bob is sitting on the bottom of the fridge sulking at the moment.
  • gotten way too little sleep.
  • locked myself out of the house this morning such that I had to wait for my husband to drive home from work and unlock the door so I could get my keys, so that going to work was even an option
  • been damn cold, probably because of all the unexpected outside time today
  • decided to go to bed early.

It’s not looking likely that I’m going to succeed at NaNoWriMo. That isn’t to say that I’ve given up, but with just over a week to write just under the allotted word count, and totally knowing that I’m too tired tonight and too busy Wednesday and Thursday, it’ll be one hell of a challenge. But then, only 6,000 of the 42,000 people who tried last year succeeded, and I’ve already written well more than I have on any other piece of fiction I’ve written ever, so I’m not going to kill myself either.

A writer writing just to get the words out is a scary thing.

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Sometime early in undergrad, I learned that I could usually battle through writer’s block as long as I kept writing. Even if it was crap, the act of writing would poke those important bits in my brain until they spewed out something of quality, at which point I could go back and delete out the crappy bits. It’s why most of the rough drafts of my literary criticism papers began with something along the lines of, “So what the hell am I going to write about this time? And why do I hate this character so much, anyway?”

Last night was a “keep poking the characters until they tell you something” night. Until 2 in the morning. The results were not pretty.

“Look! I got him out onto the dance floor! I win the bet!” Brianna announced triumphantly.

“I call foul.” Suzanne replied. “He’s on the dance floor, but he isn’t dancing. If he’s not dancing on the dance floor, it’s not really a dance floor. Underneath his feet, it’s just floor.”

This immediately set off a couple of the science majors. “So does the molecular composition of the floor change when Garrett steps on it?” Cheryl asked.

“Ooh, yeah, it must shift from the active and unstable dance floor molecules to the more stable tile floor molecules as part of a chemical reaction between the floor and the soles of his shoes. ” Carrie added. “Or maybe it’s the opposite – since the floor’s usually floor to begin with, it’s not completing the same chemical reaction under his feet that it does under everyone else’s.”

“The reaction must have some kind of catalyst. Maybe it’s kicked off by the severe lack of jive waves coming off of him.” Dashira replied.

“You mean, most people emit jive as part of their movement across dance floor, and since Garrett obviously lacks jive, he’s not providing the energy necessary to complete the reaction, the floor never transforms?” Kira asked, getting into the action.

“I wonder if we could measure jive waves somehow to determine their wavelength.” Cheryl asked.

Garrett rolled eyes and looked at Suzanne. “See what you did?”

“Hey, I’m not the one with the jive deficiency.” she replied smugly.

Yeah, today’s going to be heavy caffeine I think.

Floor!

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So I didn’t write today. I didn’t work out. I didn’t draw comics. I didn’t watch TV. I didn’t clean the house.

I, and two very close and wonderful friends, cut and hung crown moulding in my 2nd bedroom, then put down the laminate flooring.

We started out at around 11 and finished up about 10 hours later.

I ache everywhere. I feel like someone’s driven a railroad spike through the center of my back.

And we haven’t even done the T moulding or put the baseboard on. (Hell, I haven’t bought the baseboard.)

Tomorrow I think I’ll be catatonic. That sounds nice.