Waking up under a blanket of sea snails

I was at the coast last weekend. That’s what we have in Oregon. A coast. We don’t “go to the beach,” we “go to the coast.” Probably because the water is, according to reputable sources, ball-shrivelingly cold, even in mid-May.

The Bean had a blast, though. He wants to move into the ocean and go swimming and play in the sand and live there forever and ever amen.

This is about 30 seconds before the first wave knocked him down and he giggled hysterically before yelling, "AGAIN!"

This is about 30 seconds before the first wave knocked him down and he giggled hysterically before yelling, “AGAIN!”

 

Alas! I was unable to fulfill his desire to move into the ocean because there were no outlets in which to plug my laptop, making it a terrible remote work space. We wandered around the beach, looking at all the “she-shells” (they were 95% rocks, but why argue with a 3-year-old?).

We looked at some rock formation thingie because I was hoping for tide pools and starfish, but instead it was just barnacle-y and covered with what looked like tiny snail shells.

Last night I dreams that I woke up on the beach covered in those tiny shells.

ARGGHHHH!!!! Why is this a thing?

EXCEPT, instead of empty shells, they were alive and crawling all over my body leaving their icky slime trails behind and the tide was coming in and what is wrong with my brain‽‽‽‽‽‽‽

Moving on.

Three Things Thursday

1. I cannot believe it’s only Thursday. I woke up this morning convinced it was Friday and then it hit me. Nope. Thursday. I have a couple things today I’m looking forward to, but overall, not impressed with the length of this week. I think someone snuck in an extra day somewhere.

2. I am 100% done with crappy books, and I’m reaching a critical stage where I think they might all suck. You know what? If your MC is the strongest and apparently smartest person around, you don’t make her (it’s always a her) a virtual subject of the strong male protectors who make decisions about her behind her back. That is lazy, sloppy writing. THIS IS FANTASY! THERE IS NO NEED TO CREATE FANTASTICAL PATRIARCHAL SOCIETIES WHERE THE MEN HAVE ALWAYS TRADITIONALLY BEEN IN CHARGE AND SO THEY JUST DO THAT BECAUSE THAT’S HOW IT ALWAYS IS! THERE ARE VAMPIRES FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Ahem. Anyway, if you’re going to write a strong female character, then for the love of the Morrigan, Freyja, and Kaumari, let her be strong. (BTW, doing a pelvic exam on an unconscious and unconsenting woman who is not in dire medical need of such a procedure is sexual assault.)

3. Three day weekend coming up and next weekend is the architect’s birthday surprise! He’ll be 45 on Friday next and I’m super excited for the getaway I got me us him. Plus, the actual gift? Awesome. I’m doing fairly well at maintaining my zen butterfly state at work, so that’s good. I haven’t even had to talk myself down from a maiming in almost two weeks! Go Team Me!

 

Happy Thursday!

 

Greasy Meat Water is [not] a great band name

My Friday is not off to an auspicious start. I stepped on one of Alvie’s 9,482,439 train accessories this morning – barefoot, of course – and rolled my ankle, then slipped and pulled a tiny little muscle in my lady garden region. I may have said some inappropriate-for-small-children-to-repeat words.

A few minutes later, I was washing a bowl and spoon (because I neglected to start the dishwasher last night, I had to wash dishes by hand like a COMMONER!) and decided I could do it around the slow cooker filled with soapy water in an attempt to make washing it as procrastinatey easy as possible.

I somehow bumped said slow cooker and it tilted, unleashing a tsunami of soapy water tainted with the leavings of the most delicious roast to ever grace my belly. I was drenched from neck to sad, bare feet.

Why doesn’t Bean understand that his hunger should rate lower than my need for morning caffeine

I looked so cute today, too. *Sigh*

BUT BUT BUT! It’s not all bad. I mean, I ugly cried on my way to work because I’m relistening to Kevin Hearne’s Iron Druid series and I’m a bit into “Hunted” and got to the part where [spoiler] Oberon the Irish wolfhound says things that always make me cry because FEELS!

Damn that Luke Daniels for bringing Oberon to life so remarkably.

However, besides suffering from “fucking bad choice Friday” syndrome (as Cat so eloquently put it), I’ve been having a decent week.

I haven’t had to suppress any murderous rage since decided that I was out of fucks to give about idiots.

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I’ve been #wycwyc-ing my way through my week. (Review coming Tuesday!) It helps that the kidlet has been sleeping like a mostly normal human being lately. He is into the “why” stage now though, and that really does pull you into a dark rabbit hole of “because that’s the way physics work, for the love of Frejya!”

He’s still cute, though, and working on his sand raking skills.

"Mommy, I NOT a zen butterfly, I a zen BANANA." Duly noted, kid. Duly noted.

“Mommy, I NOT a zen butterfly, I a zen BANANA.”
Duly noted, kid. Duly noted.

My main problem with everything right now is procrastiflation. Everything seems so hard (twss) and the longer I put it off, the harder it seems.

I need to apply some of the wycwyc skills I’m incorporating into other ares of my life to the things that cause me the most effort in stress-avoidance. Editing (I hates it, but not really, I don’t know what my problem is), speed work, swimming for some reason right now. My to do list at work. Finding people to do some minor work on my house so we can get it ready to sell.

And, for the first time in my life: reading.

Yes, you read that correctly. I AM PROCRASTINATING READING. I cannot even with the romance novels anymore. I basically want everyone to die and am disappointed when the protagonists, against all odds, end up together.

happily ever after

The good news is that I’m getting really, really good at Candy Crush and am on level 920 now. The bad news is that I’m getting really, really good at Candy Crush and am on level 920.

If I don’t get off (or on?) my ass and start reading, my research partner is going to get angry, and I don’t think I’ll like her angry. (I mean, I can try to pacify her with Fassbender pics, but I’m not sure how long those will be effective.)

Is anyone still looking at my words, or did you all get stuck just above this?

I hope you have a happy weekend full of the exact right amount of productivity. I hope that I get to at least level 930 get a few more chapters editing and a couple books read.

 

The dead zebra made me…

Last night, as I was driving Alvie home from day care, we had the following conversation:

Alvie: “Mommy, I see a zebra!”
Me: “Oh wow!”
Alvie: “Don’t worry. It’s dead.”
Me: “Oh. Wow.”
Alvie: “It’s working on a computer. Because it’s a zebra. And it’s dead.”
Me: “oh…wow…”

He has been telling the strangest stories lately and ends most of them with, “Is that a good story, mommy? Was it?”

Tiny story teller already seeking accolades. Love it.

I so strong and so funny.

I so strong and so funny.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, mostly due to stress, and last night that devolved into the weirdest dream that I’ve had in a while. When I first woke up, just shy of 5:30 this morning, I thought, “that would be a great plot for a book.” Upon further reflection, it would not, in fact, be great for anything. There was, however, a zebracorn in my 50’s era typing pool that I managed out of my ranch-home (with hardword floors and a full-on basement grotto).

I woke this morning with renewed determination – not, as you might have guessed – to find the elusive zebracorn and hire him or her as a PA. Rather to just go forward with positivity and do my best to avoid the poo flinging monkeys following me about.

If I can’t get rich quick (although I’m not opposed to it, just skeptical that this is the one thing to hang my hopes on) so that I can retire and lead a life of writing and editing until I go mad luxury, then what other choice do I have?

New life philosophy

New life philosophy

Besides, all I can do is the best I can, and if I’m doing less than that, I’d better have a damn good reason for it, right?

Maybe I'll set the bar low to start

Maybe I’ll set the bar low to start

And if all else fails, there’s still gin.

cheers

So, no more whining. The tiny violin concert is over.

Suck it up, buttercup and get yourself a zebracorn.

zebracorn - Copy (2)

Just another murder…er I mean manic…Monday

I am back at work. Sigh.

I mean “hooray!” Hooray for having a job that pays me enough money to keep me in Kate Spade purses!

Sigh.

I told a friend this morning that I was going to need to win the lottery because even though last week’s vacation was kind of barf-tacular, I would like to not come back to this.  Of course, I might have slightly better odds of winning the lottery if I ever played…details.

Good news! It’s nearly noon and my 13,955 day record of not committing a violent crime is still standing! Go me!

Mad Props to Me

Mad Props to Me

I’m torn between two feelings right now:

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and

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I’m trying to deep-breathe my way to not giving a fuck while still maintaining a modicum of professional integrity.

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I couldn’t fall asleep last night because I was so stressed about showing up here today. I got a freaking migraine Friday night due to stress. A real migraine with nausea and black-out tunnel vision (instead of the cutesy aural migraines I usually get).

I’m about ready to quit my day job and apply for the next psychopomp position I find open, regardless of pantheon.

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I mean, I’m prepped for the Norse plane, but I could adjust. I’ll switch out the wings for a jackal head, and be set.

amy serious valkyrie

In the spirit of continuing to not go to jail (and I’m really NOT homicidal, random person from the NSA who gets assigned to read my blog…promise!) and keeping my job until Freyja is hiring again, I’m planning on wycwyc-ing my way through the next seven weeks.

Baby steps. Getting the stuff done that I can and taking as much time as I need to stay sane. It’s hard when I feel like I’ve walked into a metaphorical minefield.

zachariah

But seven weeks. Anything’s possible for seven weeks, right?

In other news, I totally did my first outdoor triathlon of the season on Saturday. And I won! (Go ahead, try to prove otherwise.)

I’ve actually no idea how I did on the swim or run, but I registered my fastest average bike speed of the post 2011 Amy era, so winning!

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Fingers crossed that this week will quickly become awesome. Hey! A girl can dream, right? (And in the meantime, at least I have gin.)

keepin' it classy

keepin’ it classy

 

I should be working – WRITE NOW!

Or, edit now as the case may be.

It is Friday. 10:30ish (or will be by the time I post this, anyway.) This week has been crazifying.

I am reaching the end of my tether with this “vacation” thing.

Monday, Alvie Bean was sent home from daycare a completely ridiculous reason. Vomit! Shouldn’t my highly paid childcare professionals, most of whom are in the 1% also have to clean up my kid’s sick so I don’t have to? Isn’t that how this works?

It’s not?

Oh…Okay then.

Tuesday, the architect stayed home all day with Bean whilst I took myself out to various and sundry place to drink too much coffee and edit.

By the end of the day Tuesday I’d cut 5300 words of my 45K goal. Not bad, right?

Wednesday, Alvie was back at daycare, and although his appetite wasn’t 100%, he made it through the entire day without getting sent home for extraneous bodily fluids.

I spent the morning at a coffee shop, had lunch with the achitect, and then came home to do more work.

By Wednesday afternoon, I was 7500 down. That is like…only 16%, but I was only 4.5 chapters in.

Yesterday morning (Thursday), I took Bean for his three-year checkup. It was pretty exciting because he got to have blood drawn to check his hemoglobin levels and he got to watch the blood come out of his body. It was like his birthday and winter solstice rolled into one. I don’t think anyone’s ever been so excited to have blood drawn. Ever.

I don’t think Tom Cruise has been lurking about. Maybe I need to set a trap.

And then, the day just went downhill from there. BUT, the good news is that I am still murder free! (If I ever run for President, that will be my entire platform: “Vote for me! I’m murder free!”)

Things did look up in the evening, and I became exponentially less angry.

Yesterday’s total words cut? Probably about 15.

And here we are. Friday morning. I have done NOTHING useful today (except a load of laundry). I’m leaving soon to meet the architect for lunch again. But then, THEN! I will come home and get to at least 10K words cut.

The process is slower but easier than I expected (which is just how I like it).

I like my men like I like my coffee…

Not working certainly has its advantages, and I’d be willing to take this “not working” thing on as a permanent gig if someone would agree to send me bags of money every couple of weeks. Let me know, and I’ll send you my contact information.

I still believe I can finish this shit show of words by the end of the month as long as I can keep focused and balance the workouts with the writing. We’ll see how well I do.

(This post is dedicated to my first reader and PSM for life.)