Star. Wars. Fish.

Our local craft store is home to more than a few kindred souls. I laughed until I sneezed, and nobody paid any attention. (They’re used to things like that, I guess.)

sw fish 1

Betta fish in lovely little vases? Sure. But these fish are special. (Kylo and Solo need to be separated a little more than the others.)

sw fish 2

The Force is strong with them. And syntax theirs strange is.

sw fish 3

This one, naturally, gets the biggest bowl.

Can’t Will Myself Better

Ugh. Another one of those “everything is horrid and nothing helps” days. I know things are coming, they’ll be here soon, things will get better, la la la. It’s just hard to wait when you feel like everything around you is on fire and falling into a sea of relatively mild (for a chestburster) acid.

Of course, I could also have a teensy little lack of proportion due to two nights of uneven, restless, tossing sleep. The 3am Whatifs have been having a field day–or a series of field nights, so to speak–inside my skull.

Everything has always turned out all right before, I shouldn’t worry so much, there are plans in place.

Still.

Much of the problem is simply that I’ve been trying to dial back the anxiety meds. This is not helping, because whatever genetic disposition I had toward anxiety was triggered over and over again in the first thirty-odd years of my life and has become, as far as my body is concerned, the status quo. Generous soakings of adrenaline, cortisol, and the attendant chemicals are what my body and brain consider normal despite their bad effects on said body and brain. I can know, intellectually, that nothing is wrong and my body is simply doing something weird, but the physical sensations of terror are so strong it takes a lot of mental energy to keep reminding myself, over and over, that it’s FINE REALLY JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

It irks me that I need medication in order to not have daily panic attacks. It upsets me that I can’t just will myself better, that I can’t just turn my reserves of stubbornness to the problem and force my body and brain to be closer to “normal.” Most other problems in my life have been solved by small (or not so small) and consistent applications of said stubbornness (for example, my career in publishing, ha ha) but this one…this one cannot be. It troubles me.

I’m off for my morning run now–another way to cope with and burn off all those damn stress chemicals. I’ve done a bunch of work already this morning, maybe, if I run hard enough, I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

Maybe.

Oh! Patreon folks, this month’s offerings are up! I hope you enjoy them. There will probably NOT be a reading this month, there’s just not enough interest and I am still struggling to catch up from Frau L’s visit and…several other things.

Okay. I really am heading out the door now. Maybe sweat will solve some of this. It will, at least, make Miss B stop nudging me with her nose whenever I shift in my chair. She can sense my worries, and they worry her, poor thing.

Over and out.

Five Monday Things

000zf6sq It’s been a while since I did Five Things Make a Post! So, here they are.

* Saladin Ahmed is available to help you fix your novel. GET ON THAT. I highly recommend him. When you’re done with that, if you’re looking to self-publish, I recommend copyediting by Brian White (if he’s available) and a cover and formatting by Skyla Dawn Cameron.

* “Amazon doesn’t care about you,” we said. “But they do!” some idiots replied. No, they don’t. They fucking don’t. Kindle Unlimited is just another way to get screwed. It’s just like Amazon to drag their feet in dealing with scammers. I want to yell “I TOLD YOU SO,” but I’m going to be more polite and just leave that link there.

* I’m not sure what to think about this method of dealing with asshole gamers. I mean, I’m glad it seems to work, but I can’t help wondering if it really does work or if it somehow gets circumvented. Because plenty of assholes spend a lot of time and energy looking for ways to be assholes. Imagine, if they spent all that energy learning to be decent human beings.

* Why yes, I’m a bit of a pessimist today. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CLUE? It must be finishing two zero drafts in a row. I feel like my brain is made of Swiss cheese. And not fresh Swiss cheese, either.

* For my fellow runners: looks like paper surgical tape can help with blisters. I haven’t had a blister since I switched socks, but you bet your bippy I’m going to be looking for some of that stuff just in case. BE PREPARED is not only the name of the writing game but the running game as well. Now if only I could find something reasonable for chafing…

And that’s Five Things that make a Monday post. I swear to God, if Monday even BREATHES wrong on me, I’m going to use my machete.

Over and out.

Dead Steam Soldier

Last night was taco night. I sautéed the dry grains for Spanish rice, put them in the steamer with the diced tomatoes and chilis (and carrots, any tomato-based sauce is better for the addition of a few shreds of carrot) and plugged the damn thing in.

A terrific blue POP! and the fridge died.

It’s on the same breaker as the outlet for the toasters and the rice steamer. I unplugged everything and sighed. The Princess’s eyebrows went up.

Fortunately, a quick flip of the breaker fixed the outlets, but then I looked more closely at our faithful, steamy servant.

dead soldier

Copper wire heading into the steamer’s body, nice and exposed. A little soot and burnt plastic, too, just to make things fun. Fortunately, I could plop some enameled cast iron on the stove and cook the rice that way, but I have become spoiled and am having longing thoughts of slipping out today to fetch a lovely Zojirushi or something similar. For a bonus, I can take this dead soldier apart and see how he’s made. (Yes, yes, only one Frankensteamer joke per person, please.)

The Princess expected me to be more irritated, but I was just glad the whole wall of outlets hadn’t been fried. In the grand scheme of things, one dead rice cooker is only a minor annoyance. Now, if it would have caught on fire, like the sweet potato in the microwave–which the children are STILL teasing me about–that would be something.

I’m just happy the incident didn’t involve a squirrel.

Quiet Exuberance

budding

Spring has come early, indeed. They hyacinths are blooming, the crocuses have already sprung forth and begun to fade, daffodils are everywhere, and the few cherry trees that are usually the first of their kind to bloom have been joined by quite a few others. The snails have begun their slow munching march, and the garden teems with earthworms. I know most of the rest of the country is under ice right now, and I am very sorry for it. Soon, though, I think spring will spread.

This is, however, an amaryllis, given to me by a close friend. A little bit of spring brought inside, a quiet exuberance. Every time I see it, I smile, and take a deep breath.

Winter always comes, but so does spring.

Still Here

spring

A ramble in the park woods with B is pretty much always a good idea, no matter the season. It’s February, and yet spring has already blown in, somewhat lionlike. I keep telling the crocuses and hyacinths and cherry trees to be careful, but they know better than me, it appears.

They almost always do.

The rains are a little bit warmer now, and the earth is no longer resting. It’s teeming, and that subtle scent of small things waking up is everywhere outside. Sweet daphne and some heather are blooming, too early, and the few cherry trees putting out flowers are humming happily. I hope the mason bees wait for the apple trees at least, or the favas.

I was not quite surprised to see these vine-bushes leafing out already–they’re generally the first to test the wind, so to speak. They told me nothing can be put back in the bottle, that spring has arrived whether I want it to be cautious or not, and that they appreciate my concern but they’d be just fine.

Mouthy little things. They get a little sullen in high summer, but other than that, they’re more than happy to give advice. The firs and cedars are grumbling in their sleep, rising toward wakefulness–they generally wait until the deciduous ones have made a showing before they start rolling over and peering at the alarm clock, so to speak.

It’s here. It’s begun. Another rainy spring, and I am surprised to find myself still here. These fellows, though, don’t seem surprised at all. They greet me like an old friend, and there’s few things as comforting.

Everything is Funny

WhatsOperaDoc *sings off-key* Oh, Bwunhilda, you’re so wuvely…”

Every once in a while a day comes along where everything is hilarious, almost without exception. Child wakes up late for school and his bedhead is truly epic? Laughter. Dog trips me going down the stairs and I almost fall to my death? Giggles. Squirrel on the deck taunting said dog (I believe I saw an obscene gesture or two)? Chuckles. Cavy keeps yelling about how he’d rather listen to Lana del Rey than Rossini? Well, not quite hilarious, but certainly amusing. (At least del Rey keeps him quiet. He’s taken over poor passed-on Critic’s role.)

I do not want to leave the house today. We are low on bread flour, but I am cogitating upon using whole-wheat and vital gluten to add to the poolish. I only hope the math involved does not cause my head to explode. Although, really, if it does, I shall no doubt find that funny as well.

In other news, Kevin Hearne has been saying some very nice things about Roadside Magic. (Apparently it made him forget a manspreader next to him on a plane. HIGH COMPLIMENT INDEED.) There’s nothing quite like hearing another author “getting” what you were trying to do with a book. It’s like when my agent said, “Well, you’re more of a writer’s writer,” and I actually choked with surprise before beaming all the rest of the day.

Well. There’s wordcount to be done, vital gluten to measure, a poolish to whisper into bread, cavy nails to clip, all the laundry I didn’t get done yesterday because the kids were doing theirs (not complaining) and various other bits and bobs to do. First, though, a run, during which I’m sure B will try to kill me. (HIJINKS WILL ENSUE.) Let’s hope I’m rolling 20s on my avoid-ass-over-teakettles.

Over and out.