amonitrate, posts by tag: random whining - LiveJournal

it was like 102 F today here. i may sacrifice something to the gods of air conditioning to ensure their continued good will.

In the process of moving from one bedroom to the other, and then on Friday all three bedrooms are getting recarpeted and also my roommate's parents will be visiting so uh, this week looks to be rather full. 

Where did all this crap come from? And by crap, I mean the approximately 50% of my possessions that are in book form. And seriously, every time I've ever moved houses I have been brutal and cut my book collection by a third to a half. They multiply like bunnies.

I have a feeling I'll be getting rid of a ton of crap (and by crap this time I mean stuff I haven't touched in the 5 years I've been in this bedroom) but god, do I hate this sort of thing. I either freak out (I freak out any time I've ever moved. I've lived in 13 different residences in my life, which in the grand scheme is probably not many, but I've gotten to the point where I NEVER WANT TO MOVE AGAIN. Whatever.) or I get back in touch with my inner surly teenager.

Thing is, I want to move bedrooms; the new one is bigger than my current one! And newly painted in nice colors! But I hate the actual process. Because I'm lazy. And also freak out at even the mere hint of moving.

note to self: you are moving approximately three feet away from where you currently live. It does not even require actual packing. CHILL.

wtf, sinuses?

If the cold medicine kicks in I might try to go in for the latter half of work today. Ugh.

For now, the kitty is sitting on my chest trying to make me feel better, and I'm watching Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome.

I'm supposed to go (no - I AM GOING) to my second yoga class this afternoon.

I even bought more yoga-friendly (read-sportsbra) clothes.

There is a heat advisory for DC today. As in, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T LEAVE YOUR HOUSE.

This is what the Washington Post weather page reads: Partly sunny, hot with the temperature breaking the record of 97 last set in 1998 and humid. Temp: 100F. With humidity. Did I mention the humidity?

Did I mention I don't think the yoga studio is air conditioned?


If I never post again, I've melted into a puddle of goo somewhere in the Petworth neighborhood.

post yoga ETA: wow, negative nancy. it's only 94F, which with humidity feels like 104F, so imagine what it would have been like had the temp actually reached the predicted 100F. Also, yoga studio IS airconditioned. And the teacher went easy on us today. My ass was only half-kicked. The above post is reason #432 why I would never survive bootcamp.

I guess our Twilight-Zone week of Early October is over. Holy Crap is it hot.

I had to go to the DC Tax office (short annoying story) which involved leaving the blessed air conditioning and walking.

Now I'm back and basking in the coolness. Vowing never to leave again.

Why did I move here from Michigan?

Last night jadefire88 brought a friend and coworker home and my younger brother helped inflict a Firefly marathon on her. She seemed willing enough, and made it through "Jaynestown," which earned her mad props from our household. I however fell asleep during "Our Mrs. Reynolds," which is like sacriledge. But my desire to have Nathan Fillion's children was reinforced, so it wasn't a total loss.


In happier news, oddmonster and I have generated enough potential meta material for an entire book of Miami Vice essays. It might be madness, but it's damn fun madness. We've even started using our respective Interlibrary Loan services. I was gonna wait to purchase the s3&4 Vice DVDs, but now I find myself itching to get my hands on them, purely so I can look for more uses of mirrors and reflections in the episodes.

I have a disease. A Meta disease. There is no cure. At least it's not fatal. I think.

I should really work more on Staring at the Sun, despite the siren call of meta. We'll see.

made it home to Michigan, after much difficulty, and it's 50 degrees and raining. Which means, if it was only twenty degrees colder (like it SHOULD BE IN DECEMBER) it would be snowing.

Does Methos know that Michael Scofield stole his dorky red pants??

supposed to be writing. There's only a few days left, and I'm sooo ready to stop. Grr. I don't even care about Prison Break but I'm watching anyway. I'm just glad that T-Bag is still at large. I'm sure he'll bit it in this episode tonight, but I have a soft spot for the racist, oddly articulate, one handed pedophile. I think he's about to steal a veteran's prosthetic arm.

Also, Michael and Lincoln are in Las Cruces, NM. All I can think of is Wings. "This isn't Las Cruces!"

P.S. I am SO seeing Night at the Museum. Even if it sucks.

So, in the last few days I've managed to write a total of 1,000 words. Oh man. At least I crossed the 21,000 line.

Writing is like torture this week. and not the good kind. It might have something to do with the fact that my novel refuses to *not* be somewhat (read: undeniably) about me. I don't want it to be this way, but things just keep popping out, so I've gone with it, figuring that I must need to write about some of these events, even if tangentially. While perhaps therapeutic (?) this is going to guarantee that I never let anyone read the majority of said novel, and is making it excruciating in some instances to write (and I suspect, immensely boring to anyone not me), as well as dredging up free floating anger. Rawr.

So tonight I'm going to give in, stop pretending there's a plot for one night and just free-write about all of that. Maybe something remotely related to the storyline will emerge.

ETA: Well, I"ve got the Firefly soundtrack on, which has calmed me somewhat. I've made it to 22,500 words, mostly by bathering on randomly. It won't add anything to the meat of the novel, but at least I've gotten some personal angst out of the way, and upped my wordcount.

I realize I need to pay more attention to how novels are actually constructed. It's weird that I've been reading obsessively (see previous meme post) practically since birth and I have no idea how to go about constructing a coherant story, let alone actually write it in a compelling way.

Sorry about the whining.

of course, i finally got rid of several of those "writer's guides to..." crime and forensics, and only a year or so later I decide to write a novel with some elements of mystery and death to it. Murphy's Law.

Am feeling human again, though I lost a day of writing. Grr.

At least I've finally crossed the barrier into the 20,000s. By, uh, 20 words. But I still feel a sense of accomplishment.

So, for no apparent reason (i.e. no major salty meals or alcohol imbibed for days) I was struck down by a nearly full-scale vertigo attack last night, and still feel woozy this morning, especially if I turn my head too quickly. WTF?? My brain disease, as jadefire88 likes to call it (it has nothing to do with my brain - it's an inner ear problem, but she likes the way "brain disease" sounds, I think) has decided to rear its ugly head after... well, it's gotta be at least a year since the last time this happened.

I don't have any of my usual medication left, because as I said, it's been forever and a day since I needed it, so if it gets bad I'm reduced to taking Dramamine, which renders me incapable of higher brain function. And, there's usually drool. I kid you not. I need to do 2,600 words today. We'll see if that happens. Luckily, I've the day off, so I didn't have to take sick leave.

[/whine]