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Sister Death
Technically, my last day of classes was the 9th, but I had a few final papers due during that week.  Meanwhile, Grendel ended up slicing the back of his hand open and had to get stitches.  Then, as soon as I turned in my papers, Grendel brought home a coworker's bug and we both ended up spending about two and a half days in bed.

The upshot is that with one thing and another, last week ended up being around ten or twelve days long, with certain three-hour intervals at the doctor's office that turned into entire days in and of themselves.  I feel as if I've been out of school for about a month when it's only been a week, and I feel I've accomplished nothing in all this time when, in reality, the first half of last week was actually very busy indeed.

I'm still not entirely up to snuff but today is the first day I've felt well enough that the luxury of lingering in bed half the day is no longer an option.  I spent the morning installing a fire extinguisher and got to feel all butch with a power drill and concrete anchors, and now I'm writing lists of things to do until I get a job.  Top of list is "Finish all terrible unfinished stories on hard drive, no matter how terrible, so they will at least be terrible finished stories rather than shambling zombie-like abominations" because that is totally how I make lists.  I'm also making schedules of Things To Do All Day Rather Than Sit on Sofa Listening to Podcasts, and it's really like the sort of activity lists one gets at camp or at a spa, in that it's micromanaged to a ridiculous degree, like "Noon: Check Mail" and "12.10: Put on episode of Hoarders and rearrange shit in closet" because school, I realize, has left me particularly purposeless and institutionalized, so that there's a real fear I might snap, throw a brick through the window of some other university, and try to get myself readmitted.
Sister Death
I am here now sometimes.  You can come over if you want.

In a nutshell: I graduated.  In narrative terms, this means that the basic premise of my entire journaling career has reached its satisfactory conclusion.  Now I have to come up with a new direction for the sequel.  Maybe I'll pick up a Voldemort.  Or a love interest who is in no way either interesting or serious competition for my current male lead, but the will-we-or-won't-we? will pad the plot for the next couple of books.  Or, and this is far more likely, we'll have kids who are harmonious amalgams of all our abilities, minus our deadly weakness, who will be more awesome than we are and go on to have much greater adventures.

Or, you know, we'll relaunch the whole thing in hopes of snagging new readers at the expense of alienating old ones.  It's all up for grabs.

Apr. 7th, 2013

Blank Page Mocks
Okay so dig this: I have never, ever had a character that hailed from Alabama before, but I just made one just so that I could include a reference to the Tombigbee; originally she was from Tennessee but none of the rivers in Tennessee had the sound I was looking for. That she is slimy, manipulative, racist, and a compulsive liar is beside the point.

THUMBS DOWN

Celebrity Death Triangle
Roger Ebert 1942-2013

Mar. 28th, 2013

Sister Death
So hey, remember that job I had with the archives where I had to go through like a bajillion vintage Alabama newspapers every day? I literally went through newspapers from 1860 to 1960 and you know what? The assholes who were bitching about the end of slavery and the Civil Rights movement then bear a remarkably similar tone to the comments I've read from assholes bitching about same-sex marriage now. Allowing for differences in vocabulary, the similarities of all three arguments are eerie.

In other words, the same demographic who are wrong now have been wrong for the last 150 years and they show no signs of being right this time either.

In Lieu Of Flowers

Sister Death
So I had an IRL person bug me on Facebook with a warning that since I am obliged to update LJ every single day, she was going to assume that no day's entry means that I am dead and she would have to call my husband to find out where to send flowers. I asked her to please please not to do this and told her that if she was going to be so insistent about it, I would make my day's entry about her threatening my husband. She said fine. So I did.

When Saturday Happens

Sister Death
I went back to sleep around eight and woke up again at ten, convinced that I had slept until the following morning. I had to check the NPR website to find out what day it was. I suppose I didn't have to check it, but I was groggy enough that my first instinct was to see if the Wait Wait Don't Tell Me stream was up. This apparently is how I now tell when Saturday happens.


I've got the living curtains open wide and the door propped open as if it wasn't fifty degrees and solidly grey outside. There is a particularly boisterous mockingbird bent on telling the world that my holly bush is his hollybush. I'm tempted to end the dispute with a pitcher of water, but meh, it's not like I'm doing anything with that holly bush, except picking its prickles out of my feet when I go out without shoes. Turn it into Mockingbird Manor if you've got it in you, little dude.


In nature, it is always the dudes. Only human males are so hopelessly backwards that they've given up any effort at plumage and still expect the ladies to flock to them. This is why I encourage metrosexuality. It's not effete. It's a return to nature's way.


I'm going to get some coffee before I start babbling further afield than I already am.

Mar. 22nd, 2013

Adrift
Didn't write yesterday because I fell asleep. So.


Today so far has been cold and drizzly and full of bad news. The bad news does not impact me personally, but it's enough to make me regret checking on conditions outside my own house. The world is large and vast and full of unfairness and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. Fortunately, no one's coming to me for answers, because I don't know what I'd tell them.


I don't want to go back to sleep but there's no real point in being awake, either.


Sorry but this is the sort of shit you are going to get for a while. If it's any consolation, it sucks on this end too.

Sleep Habits

Sister Death
Grendel has been working a 4 AM to noon shift. We've both actually kind of enjoyed it, since we have all day together. Of course, there's nothing enjoyable about waking at three in the morning, unless you are an enormous lark. On the other end, he has to go to bed pretty early as well. I've gotten into the bad habit of taking a little nap along with him when he turns in. This means my "nap" ends at about eleven at night, after which I am wired for sound. I end up staying awake until about two in the morning and crashing on the sofa, since Grendel likes to take up the entire bed when I'm not in it.


This whole complete nervous breakdown thing has had the strange side-effect of bringing us together as a couple. We are usually stupidly enamored of one another, to the complete exasperation of our circle of friends, but we've started a series of serious talks, the likes of which we haven't had since back when we were dating--that weird honest period between courtship, when you try to pretend you're a much better person than you are, and engagement, when you realize you better get all this stuff out now so that everyone involved has a fair chance to back out if your personal quirks promise to be unbearable in the long term. It's a good feeling, these talks. But it feels like a retreat, where you deliberately turn your back to the world. But the world is there, still spinning. Eventually I have to turn and face it, and figure out what I'm going to do with it.


These long late-evening naps brought back a very strange memory of summer vacations as a kid, when I could often trick myself into sleeping fourteen, sixteen hours at a stretch. Whenever I woke, I would roll over to my other side and simply drop back into sleep again, like a cat or a newborn. Man, those were some awesome naps.


I still wake up around seven in the morning with that time-for-class feeling. It's a quiet little pang. I've wondered if I just couldn't come in and sit in my old classes, just to listen. It's a comforting thought, but I don't think anyone involved would be able to get past that level of awkwardness.


Late at night, I write. So at least that doesn't go away.

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