Carrying on.

I occasionally wish there was someplace I could file a complaint for matters related to real life – not anything that is anyone’s fault, you understand, more little hiccups that just need to be rectified.

For example, the way stress makes you hungry without actually seeking to burn up anything in the way of fat our calories. Come on, seriously? It would just make so much more sense if the two were linked. And then I could go out after a week of trying to do three people’s jobs in the time allotted to one person, and not feel bad about the fact that I want a hamburger. I really want a hamburger.

In the meantime, however, there is a drink:

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Bless the weekend.

I thought I was somewhere different, but everything felt the same.

The work week so far has felt like I am scrambling to put one foot in front of the other so that I actually keep doing something that could charitably be called “hurrying forward” rather than “falling and rolling downhill”. Between the person I was replacing coming back and the person replacing someone else moving offices, it’s been a bit hectic.

I went out of town over the weekend, on a day trip, which was odd; I don’t travel much on my own, and I always enjoy it. Wandered a little, met a friend for tea and geekery (knitting, moving, books, Cthulhu, gaming, horror, gaming) in a lovely little tea shop, and headed home. It felt weirdly not like leaving town, and I am trying to figure out why. I’ve had a stronger “oh I am away” reaction when going down to visit one of the tiny yarn stores that you need a car to get to. Possibly a combination of going to a place I know (in passing) and being sure I could get home even if there was a problem with the planned return.[1]

[1] I checked. If I’d missed the bus, I could’ve gotten a train, and then a local bus and a walk to get home. Not pleasant, rather expensive, but still a definite option.

Matter of time.

I can’t find my copy of The Feminine Mystique.  This has been on my mind–not overwhelmingly so, but definitely noticeable–every day this week.

See, there’s this one part that mentions a study on the time spent housekeeping; what I remember, loosely, is that when the work was given to another household member, it got finished in half the time.  Sometimes less.  And combined with how quickly I was getting through physical filing when I had to concentrate on it (due to the lack of a computer), and how quickly work seemed to go when I started the job…

I want to reread it.  Right now I have the impression that (1) the household chores are feeling alot more overwhelming than they actually are, and (2) maybe I can get over this if I can change it up somehow.  Maybe the time it’s taking isn’t really the time it takes.

(Maybe I just want to read about someone cleaning an entire house and making lunch and doing groceries and still being done by mid-afternoon.)

Long weekend coming up.  I’ve gotten a lot of work done, and some of it’s stuff that isn’t even necessary, it’s in the “I said I would” category.  But it sems there’s been very little time for what I want to do, or that when I’ve done it I haven’t gotten any lasting enjoyment out of it.

Know this kind of thing comes and goes.  Just really don’t care to sit back and wait for it to go if there’s something I can change to make it go, preferably sooner rather than later.

Helps a little to articulate this, at least.

Slipping away.

The week started with a post, actually. A post about how, when you were doing one job and learning another and trying to catch up on three days work besides, learning that you might need to tear out a wall of your home was just a cymbal-crash finale to the day.

(As I was writing that post, my bus home drove past me without stopping.)

Then I exited without saving the draft.  So there was no post that day.

Rest of the week was equally packed, and delicately spiced with such highlights as “double work loads” and “four hours of sleep.”  And the lack of posts continued.

Trying to pull myself back together and relax. Saw Boondock Saints II and picked at Fallout 3 a bit; I’m pretty close to finding Harold, I think.

Not getting any writing done. I keep being caught up in thinking about a co-writing project and the person I’m working with… Yeesh, just realized haven’t heard from her in a week. Trying to overcome my natural tendency to fret.

Achey and tired.

I’ve had a headache for about ten hours now.  I mean, I realize I am having this headache on a day when a good friend of mine is having a migraine, and that does a lot to put it in perspective.  But it’s starting to wear on me.

I got a story rejection today.  I was expecting it, and it was very polite.  Still… what can you do?

(ObAnswer: Pick up and carry on.  I know, I know.  Goal for tomorrow: two new pages.)

Watching Game of Thrones and comfortably hating Theon.  I do love the Greyjoys and the Iron Islands; they make me think of King Hagrid, cold and drawn and grey, standing by the sea and watching the waves they rule. Blood and salt and iron.

And the Cthulhu shout-outs don’t hurt either.

Started two new anthologies–End of the World and Haunts: Reliquaries of the Dead–and neither one is really grabbing me yet.  I’m hoping a good night’s sleep will clear things up.  Whether or not the extension goes through tomorrow (and I expect it will; early next week if not), at least there’s only six work-hours left until the weekend.

I’m very sorry.  I wish I could come up with something more interesting to say.

Sunday already

Work on Friday was a bit of a long day.  One of the people I worked with last time is thinking she might want my help for summer, so that could be useful.  The hour and a half commute each way is very annoying; John has suggested a few things.  Heading in early, hitting the gym or a coffee shop, and working out or getting writing done.

Both would be nice. Either would be nice, honestly, although I admit I am lacking faith in my carrying through with either.

Reading Sarah Monette makes me hopeful.  Sone of the things she writes are like the kind of things I would like to write.  It is just nice to see that it can be done, although its a leap from there to my being able to do it. The words I got out yesterday are annoying me; I’m trying to work myself up to finishing the damn thing. Maybe I will come across a tone or style that makes sense for it and then I will at least know how to pare down and shape up what I have.

I know what I want it to be about. It is just a near-impossible jump from there to plot, apparently.

Still. Better done than not done? And if I make progress I can celebrate by taking an hour to go find Harold or something. Fallout 3 is not as good as New Vegas, I am finding, but Harold and Dogmeat help a lot.

Happy endings.

Tired, and busy–work is done in seven days (work days), and the crunch is really coming down.  But I found some happy things, and thought I would share.

I shall plan my cousin’s escape from that Canton madhouse, and together we shall go to marvel–shadowed Innsmouth. We shall swim out to that brooding reef in the sea and dive down through black abysses to Cyclopean and many–columned Y’ha–nthlei, and in that lair of the Deep Ones we shall dwell amidst wonder and glory forever.
– H.P. Lovecraft, “The Shadow Over Innsmouth”

There were faces at the window and words written in blood; deep in the crypt a lonely ghoul crunched on something that might once have been alive; forked lightning slashed the ebony night; the faceless were walking; all was right with the world.
– Neil Gaiman, “Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Nameless House of the Night of Dread Desire”

For now, they had simpler concerns. Keeping the children from the roofs at night; the bereaved from crying out too loud; the young in summer from falling in love with the human.
It was a life.
– Clive Barker, Cabal

Well.  Endings that make me happy to read, at any rate.  Good stuff.

Settling on Sundays.

I want to say it’s been a long day, but it really hasn’t.  It’s been mostly a very pleasant day.  I’m just tired drained.  I’m anxious about work, and hoping it’ll be done soon.  And I ache, and I don’t know why I’m still hungy.  I made a decent dinner, even if it ended up taking nearly two hours from start to finish, and I was getting upset at trying to juggle everything.

I just want a day to stay home and sleep.  Instead I’m going to turn in early enough for a full night’s rest, show up cheerful and enthusiastic about the job tomorrow, and quietly count down the days until I’m done.  I believe this is called being a grown-up, or something, and is closely tied to finding work and making people not curse your presence.

(Meantime, the friend I’m writing a story with has been busy lately (which is fine!) and so have I, but from the time we’ve had to talk I can’t help but feel that while being busy she’s getting more actually done.)

Despite coordinating schedules, I am actually too worn to pay attention to American Horror Story or Walking Dead, so we’re catching up on Supernatural.  It’s nice to sit back and watch characters deal with a monster of the week, and I like the openly fake psychic who is pleasant and reasonable about her job.  It’s still clever rather than creepy, though, and I can’t remember when it last managed to be creepy–

(That said, the meta-commentary about brothers working together made me laugh.)

I suppose it’s hard to sustain tension, which is an essential element of creepy, when you know characters are either going to survive (Winchesters, Bobby) or else can’t be expected to be there for longer than an episode (everyone else).  Should keep that in mind when writing, I suppose.

I’m rambling, I know.  I think I’m about due to turn in.

Balancing out.

And having written that title, I immediately want to read it as “coming to a point of balance that involves going out of my current position”. Clearly early-days job stress is still with me.

Apparently I managed to double-post yesterday, due to updating the time setting while I was the middle of writing a post. Will see about updating that when I’m not trying to write from my phone.

Finally got a chance to watch the first episode of The Walking Dead last night, although I don’t think I gave it the attention out deserved. It send to have handled the (unfair, ill-advised) budget cuts pretty well, though, and holy god was that episode grim. I don’t think that killing a kid in horror fiction inherently gets you any cred, but the first instance seemed well-handled and miserably bleak, and the second… I caught myself doing that thing where you go looking for reasons it couldn’t have happened. “But someone would have seen… Dammit, he’s wearing a camo-print t-shirt.” That kind of thing.

I realize he might not be dead – that technically neither of them might be dead – but it was still pretty affecting.