meej: (uptight)
The new boss so far seems pretty awesome. He used to run ultramarathons! He was telling me about his last one and I was thinking, that is far too hardcore for me. His significant other is a dance major and she is pretty ripping awesome; I like seeing her around the store more often.

I have been stupidly exhausted for the past four days. As usual I am not eating correctly or sleeping enough, and so I cannot work out, and so I feel like a barebones of a meej, when in fact I am a doughy poof of a meej, and then this mentally and emotionally exhausts me, so I get nightmares like last night, in which first bad things happened to the guppy, and then I got Greyspell pondering how he was going to kill himself: walling himself up Amontillado style to starve to death, or having a silver demon nail him to a chair and then hit him in the face with a maul.

It's pretty much bullcrap, is what it is, and I am deathly tired of not feeling like myself. I'm not sure what to do about it, but I think that having five days off in a row will help, enormously.

During these five days I will not hold myself to pressure to write, to work out, to log into games, to crunch at tasks. I will purge my mind of the tiny little poison-wells, and I am going to hug the HELL out of that gup, who is now TWO YEARS OLD, come Saturday.

At some point I will rediscover the fine art of punctuating sentences as if the speaker had some sort of clue as to proper breathing.

NOT TODAY, BUCKO.
meej: (weekly.updates)
But then, I used to have a lot more time to waste. I used to see shirts that said, "I am so totally blogging this later", and I'd think, "I totally will, shirt! Right on!" I remember first getting onto Livejournal, even before college (what), and I'd update that sorry rag once a day, if not more.

Now I check my reading list daily and smile as I see my friends type in a sentence here and there, which reminds me to write them letters in longhand, and then... there it rests. I could post graphs of my running-times or updates of my precious guppy, but I'm lazy and it's like nine whole keystrokes to get the image to happen.

I could write about books I've read, but that's time I could be spending reading the next book in the series; I could extol the virtues of my friends, but that's when I could be talking with them; I could be whining about my writing, but that's time I could be actually telling stories with words, not just murfling about it.

What I need is longer periods of time with Internet access, and time spent hurry-up-and-waiting, afforded so well by office jobs and waiting for home repairmen to arrive.
meej: (science!)
I'm on week 8 of my 12-week half-marathon training plan, and on Wednesday I suffered a minor setback, like your mom. Like - like your MOM is the minor setback, not like she suffered one on Wednesday. That's what I'm getting at. There was a setback, and I hit it, like I hit YOUR MOM.

My weekly mileage is up to 24 miles, which is two shy of the goal I'd like to attain and maintain (five, six, five, ten), and I've been using a calorie counter to do a base goal of 1520 calories a day. Stop me when you see the problem.

... I've been doing this for two months.

So on Wednesday, when my plan was to run six miles, four at a tempo pace, I made my first mistake, which was to eat two pieces of toast with peanut butter and honey for breakfast, and then my second mistake was to go out to run, on August 31st in Memphis, at one o'clock pip emma, under the clear blue open sky. This was not a wise decision, but I did pull out an 8:02 mile before I collapsed and had to call Suboshi to come get me.

This led to some conferencing with my running parner-in-crime, the Alibee, and we used some SCIENTIFIC METHOD to look at our SCIENTIFIC RUNNING PLAN, and our conclusion was: dumbasses with overtraining and undereating, also dumbasses. Ever since upping the mileage past fifteen a week, we really, REALLY ought to have increased the caloric intake to account for those longer runs (burninating some serious stores in our bodies).

I decided on Wednesday, after sitting with a cold wet towel on my head and drinking all the water ever, that I was going to take the rest of the week off, then start over on Monday with a re-do of Week 8: three miles, six with four at tempo, three, and ten.

So today I have not run, although today would be my twelve-mile day. I feel odd. "RUNNING MEEJIT RUNNING FREE" is one of my default away messages on IM. Not being a running meejit running free is ... well, maybe doing some laundry will help.

I did, however, do a hell of a lot of crawling around on the floor this morning, because THAT GUP NEEDED GETTIN'!
meej: Maitreyi Graycloak (bitch)
When authors describe someone's voice as "chocolatey".

No matter who does this (and I have counted six authors who have), it never fails to piss me off, because there are so many different kinds of chocolate.

Obviously they usually mean "sexy" or something like it, but god damn it use a good strong adjective for it, not something weaksauce like "like chocolate" you asshole, using food alongside sex bugs the CRAP out of me.

EVERYONE WRITE THE WAY I WANT YOU TO, FOREVER.

Brandon Sanderson and Rick Riordan are excused on the grounds that they already do. Likewise Tanith Lee, who has perfected sensual without stupid.
meej: Carlton Lassiter gets so tired sometimes. (tired)
I am still dumb, lazy, and worthless; gup still adorable; nothing written; The LXD is my current favorite thing; I miss Psych.
meej: Saul Tigh is my homeboy (tigh)
I was sort of looking forward to not dying today.
meej: (weekly.updates)
JESUS HE KNOWS ME!
AND HE
KNOWS!
I'M!
RIGHT!
I BEEN TALKIN TO JESUS!
ALL!
MY!
LIFE!

*bop bop bop bop booooooop*

I'D TELL YOU HOW MY DAY WENT, BUT I SUSPECT YOU KNOW ALREADY THAT WHEN I'M DRIVEN TO MY BEST OF GENESIS, IT WAS ONE HELL OF A RIDE
meej: (Default)
Relinked from [personal profile] thehunter: LOL RAEP WUT WUT.

I was so disappointed that I cried.
meej: Saul Tigh is my homeboy (tigh)
I AM VASTLY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE SHEER LEVELS OF VISCERAL HATRED SARAH PALIN AROUSES IN ME

HATING PEOPLE MAKES ME TIRED AND UNHAPPY, I FIRMLY BELIEVE THAT HATE MEANS THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME RATHER THAN THE HATED, BUT OH LORD THAT WOMAN JUST MAKES ME HALF-SNARL

IT'S LIKE THERE'S A KNIFE IN MY EYE,

AND SHE'S TWISTING IT
meej: now with glyphic power! (pee.vee.pee)
So apparently my battlegroup is merging with Vengeance.

Name-change, PRONTO.
meej: Saul Tigh is my homeboy (tigh)
At this point, I'm just not going to watch House to spite you.

You, personally.
meej: (PRODUCTIVE)
Things I had intended to do this morning:

- run
- read a few chapters of the book I got delivered yesterday (... um ... Miss Manners' Guide To Being Excruciatingly Correct, Freshly Updated, shut up)
- write for three hours

Things I actually did this morning:

- run
- three loads of laundry
- VACUUM LIKE A MAD FIEND

I need to learn how to prioritize my time and do my chores efficiently; my problem has always been that I'll begin on a task, then get distracted by something in another room, and go off to do THAT task, leaving half a basket of laundry unfolded, or the dishwasher half-filled, and then I come back to find none of the chores completed, and no writing done. Which is bullcrap.

BE MORE EFFICIENT, MEEJIT. IT'S WHAT GROWNUPS DO!

Grownups also have clean clothes, which does put me ahead of the game; writers have wrinkly stained clothes.

YARN TALES:

Feb. 4th, 2010 10:50 pm
meej: (intense espresso)
Sometimes I forget to watch out for it, and my hair is at an awkward length again, and ... well, the plain fact is, I spent about ten stitches of knitting my hair into Cal's scarf.
meej: Saul Tigh is my homeboy (tigh)
Yesterday I spent much of the morning writing my sister a letter to be posted today. It was long and ... well, much of what I say in letters I can't say on the phone (and only in some cases because I can't pronounce the word I want). It can be summed up as "I love you; I'm proud of you", and I'd wanted her to have it to take with her on her mission to Haiti.

She was supposed to leave on Monday the 25th, but since the second quake hit they had to ramp up their travel times, and she left suddenly last night, instead, an hour after I read her email saying her plans had changed.

I am distraught over the devastation in Haiti, but the horror is too big to stab me, it can only pound me flat and leave me numb. Bee is smaller, more manageable, and there are little hooks in my gut that she's heading into a natural disaster (albeit one where the worst has already happened).

She said she'll be there "for the duration", which is neither a helpful phrase nor a reassuring one; my pop told me that it's going to be for at least four weeks, right now, and may be longer depending on what they can do and whether people ship them supplies.

This is a tad bit emo, obviously, and self-indulgent worry. But she is the only sister I have!

It helps that she texted me from the airport and told me a dead monkey joke.
meej: Carlton Lassiter gets so tired sometimes. (tired)
WOW I am emo today.

I think it's mostly getting over being sick, not quite quickly enough to suit me, and the inevitable sink in your stomach that you get when you can't get into an email account, gloss over your resume, and find a cat randomly yowling at nothing.

I would like to go running. But I can't. Because I am sick.

EMO. EMO. EMO.
meej: (uptight)
I'm trying to find all of my extant notes on Siddharsvara's story (three complete story-chunks, several tiny scenes) and they are nowhere on my harddrive.

I am trying very hard not to flip out, like a ninja, only instead of killing people I would just cry.

ETA: have found rough drafts of almost everything. BETTER THAN NOTHING. Backups are in place. ._.
meej: Maitreyi Graycloak (bitch)
Someone asked me how I was doing, and my first instinct was to snarl "What do you care?"

TO THE DANDELION PATCH AND A BAR OF CHOCOLATE, STAT
meej: Carlton Lassiter gets so tired sometimes. (tired)
I flip through my notebooks and look at story ideas and notes and outlines; I glance through all of the archive folders and Zip disks; I think through my finished stories and the branches thereof.

How does that line go? "What's good isn't original, and what's original isn't good."

Today I am very tired of the stories I generally live with, and I can't for the life of me coax forth anything to replace them.

However, on that note, I've begun writing Siddharsvara's story. I still have no idea what I'm going to name it, but then, I'm bad with names. I'm going to post those, but I'm going to lock them. (I don't use filters. But I'll label them and cut them so you know which posts to skip.)

I was made unreasonably angry by stories I'm no longer in, with emphasis on unreasonably. Well, whose fault is that, meej? Hint: PLB, as we use to say in tech support, KAC. Get up.

Things that make me happy: balloons, Carlton Lasseter, dancing around like a sped, shouting across the room to someone who smiles at seeing me, my sister the Bee, my sister's letter-writing style, Payday bars, hot apple cider, warm purring kitties, hot baths and good books.

Also, random trivia: "jugulate" can mean either to cut someone's throat or strangle him, or to check or suppress by drastic measures. It is a delightful word that suggests to me being cruel to be kind. I am happy Gene Wolfe shared it with me.

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