Still Ill
Managed a bit over 400 words yesterday, making it a better Saturday than most. I'm aiming for the same thing tonight. Again, shifted a substantial narrative chunk over into Chapter Ten, which will probably play out in italicized flashback vs. non-italicized "current" action. Nevertheless, Chapter Nine is already pushing 6,500 words, and I haven't even gotten to Bewelcome yet. 8,000-word chapter, here we come.
And now…everybody’s sick. Steve’s been sick. I’m still sick. Cal’s fairly communicative, but also clearly sick--a cough, a rash-'stache, flippy/whacky. Steve spent almost all of yesterday contorted on the john, moping around and sighing like he was going to fall over and die; he's better now, but for how long? Meanwhile, I’ve still got the vertigo, the insomnia, the general oh-I-must-sleep-now right after every meal, along with an ever-growing moment-to-moment helping of formless anxiety. It's pretty ridiculous when the best thing you can say about a weekend is that generally, I'm now so tired all the time that I'm just not having the same sort of existential panic attacks which I was. Or not as often, anyhow.
Mom’s pissed off we didn’t get to do what she wanted for her birthday (go see Star Trek, freakily enough), but took Cal overnight anyway; since we didn't exactly do anything with said night except feel puke-y and sleep, however, I’m less enthused about the "time off" than I might have been.
Plus: Steve actually has work booked for next week, all week. Which means I need to be “well” enough to handle everything to do with Cal, like it or not, no matter what. And I’m so fucking behind on the book, overall, that I could scream (especially when I see the word-counts people like Cherie Priest and Caitlin Kiernan are rocking). Jesus!
So perhaps all this explains why I've either been picking fights with people over ridiculous crap, or unable to stop myself from taking notice of things I'd do far better to simply leave alone: The schismatic impulse at work, no doubt, as it really does seem to be almost everywhere, right now. Whereas I'd be so much smarter to just talk about my reaction to the finale of Prison Break (positive, if sad), or my annoyance at the idea that Dollhouse got picked up over Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (because obviously, the world of genre isn't ready for a smart, action-oriented show with a backbone cast of kick-ass women...not more than one at a time, at any rate).
Ugh, uck. Will not get specific...must not get specific...
And now…everybody’s sick. Steve’s been sick. I’m still sick. Cal’s fairly communicative, but also clearly sick--a cough, a rash-'stache, flippy/whacky. Steve spent almost all of yesterday contorted on the john, moping around and sighing like he was going to fall over and die; he's better now, but for how long? Meanwhile, I’ve still got the vertigo, the insomnia, the general oh-I-must-sleep-now right after every meal, along with an ever-growing moment-to-moment helping of formless anxiety. It's pretty ridiculous when the best thing you can say about a weekend is that generally, I'm now so tired all the time that I'm just not having the same sort of existential panic attacks which I was. Or not as often, anyhow.
Mom’s pissed off we didn’t get to do what she wanted for her birthday (go see Star Trek, freakily enough), but took Cal overnight anyway; since we didn't exactly do anything with said night except feel puke-y and sleep, however, I’m less enthused about the "time off" than I might have been.
Plus: Steve actually has work booked for next week, all week. Which means I need to be “well” enough to handle everything to do with Cal, like it or not, no matter what. And I’m so fucking behind on the book, overall, that I could scream (especially when I see the word-counts people like Cherie Priest and Caitlin Kiernan are rocking). Jesus!
So perhaps all this explains why I've either been picking fights with people over ridiculous crap, or unable to stop myself from taking notice of things I'd do far better to simply leave alone: The schismatic impulse at work, no doubt, as it really does seem to be almost everywhere, right now. Whereas I'd be so much smarter to just talk about my reaction to the finale of Prison Break (positive, if sad), or my annoyance at the idea that Dollhouse got picked up over Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (because obviously, the world of genre isn't ready for a smart, action-oriented show with a backbone cast of kick-ass women...not more than one at a time, at any rate).
Ugh, uck. Will not get specific...must not get specific...