So, after having to restart my desktop three times this morning, I think everything is all right. What was the problem? Who the hell knows, really. I can tell you I’m holding a chunk of bloodstone in my lap while I type, just in case it’s me.
For years, when stress hits, electronics around me have acted up. Lightbulbs blow up or out. Sockets spark. Watch batteries stop working when a watch rests against my skin; other stuff get drained and requires charging every hour. For years I used hematite to try and ameliorate it, but once I found large chunks of bloodstone worked better I went on a mad quest to find all the bloodstone I could bloody well find. Getting my hands on said chunks was a bit tricky, but once I had a few–especially the semi-boulder that sat under my papasan’s footrest while my laptop rested above–the problem went way down in scope and severity. Which is a damn good thing, because laptops and smartphones are expensive, and I worry each time an energy-efficient bulb starts making that high-pitched noise that happens right before a shatter. The mercury in those bad boys is not a healthy thing to have raining down upon one.
Perhaps it’s all psychological, and I just notice electronic mishaps more when I’m stressed. I don’t think so, but it’s possible. Just in case, though, a few hunks of rock are an easy fix.
This morning is damp, and dark, and full of deep choral music. Apparently I need a whole choir behind me as I push harder on Harmony. The book is spiking, and I’m kind of glad, since it means I don’t have to think about other things. On the other hand, finishing the birth of a mondo giganto word-baby on the eve of NaNoWriMo is probably not my best move.
But I never did play it all the way safe. If I can just keep from melting my desktop, everything will be all right.