Not feeling so great.

For a variety of reasons, the largest of which is getting yanked back and forth like a yo-yo at work (attending A says X, attending B says Y, and I'm caught in the middle making no one happy).

Steps yesterday:  11,600 after treadmill.

Steps today:  4900 before treadmill.

General announcement:  Win a copy of The Autumn Castle:

 

Warner Aspect wants to know what you think of Kim Wilkins' THE AUTUMN CASTLE. Each week throughout the month of February, we will be randomly selecting 4 people from the week to receive an advanced reading copy of THE AUTUMN CASTLE. All we ask is that you give us an honest and thoughtful review of the book.

For more information:

http://www.twbookmark.com/sciencefiction/contest.html

I don't think I can stress how much I loved this book.

And my child is dipping his WHOLE HAND in his  milk.

I knew that taking the lid off his sippy cup was a mistake.

Frickety frackity...

Well, it finally happened this weekend. 

Roo ran around the house singing to himself at the top of his lungs.

The lyrics? 

"Oh my GOD, OH my *god*, oh MY GOOOOOOOOOOOD, oh-my-god...."

The tune?

Jesus loves me.

I will start watching my mouth at home more carefully.

Steps walked today:  10,500. 

I found a 'new' way to white-paper a draft.  Turn everything into a 'handwritten' font, and intersperse my new paragraphs in the old text in courier.

Okay, so it's a dumb idea, but it's working for me with slow total-makeover revisions.

Like this.

I turn my attention back to the ribbon of light, the crushing weight of hope it represents.  They are crawling up the mountain to prostrate themselves in front of their Messiah, but they will not find me there.  I hope they will not find me at all.

 

A pollinator closes its shell with a gunshot report, sending a smear of hot pink globules across my vision.  They glisten, mucoid in appearance. 

 

Synesthesia, a recurrent problem.  I wonder how two million people will deal with that. 

 

The carpetbeast does not understand why I toss it away, back toward the room, or why I bend over the balcony and make such harsh sounds.  Neither do the bivalved natives of the planet, but they accept my offering of food with equanimity.

 

In the darkness behind me, a pollinator closes its shell with a gunshot report that leaves a smear of hot pink globules trailing across my field of vision, glistening like a sputum sample.  Synesthesia; right on schedule.   

 

The carpetbeast is too ignorant to flinch; I flinch for both of us.

Oh, never mind.  I'll go away  now.