little_tristan: (Rat)
Mark wanted to get up at work time so we'd be tired enough to go to bed early and get up on time tomorrow. It worked. I'm really tired. Being out of bed has its perks, though. Mark's washing the bedding. And yesterday I had my first shower in two weeks. Being clean is fun.

My shoulder hurts but that's not Mark's fault. Murphy slept on it funny. I don't much mind. It's better than not being slept on at all. How do people sleep without furry creatures being furry all over them? I used to know but I've forgotten.

I've decided to tweet DJ Qualls after every Legit ep, just in case they're factoring in viewer responses in deciding whether or not to renew it for next season. He didn't tweet back this week, but he did favorite it. Maybe it's a good tweet to show the network.

Still trying to sort out my feelings about this Michelle Shocked thing. I've admired her for so long, as a person and a musician, and now she's come out as a born again homophobe. One of the things I always admired in her music was the blend of modern life and old style Christianity. Of course I also kind of assumed she was gay. Nothing I've read about her, or in her newsletters, implied otherwise. But here she is with her hate the sin, love the sinner rhetoric, and we're in the end times because gays are getting married.

Anchorage was always one of my favorite songs. It reminds me of my dad. Now it's probably always going to remind me of outdated hate.

The rest of my day is all paper work. Yesterday we got five pieces of mail. One of them wasn't from Kaiser. We're trying to get on their financial aid program to help pay Mark's hospital bill. It only covers his expenses at their hospital, which aren't too bad, but we need every penny to pay what they won't cover at ours.

And I'm late for paying bill, just 'cause of the zombie state. Also, I have an appointment to do our taxes next week, and while I have all the stuff, it's nowhere near in order. I hate tax time. I never know going in if we'll get a refund or have to pay more. And my accountant goes to what used to be my church and is always asking when I'm coming back. I just can't sit there in her office full of angels and explain that I'm not. It's a very stressful event all around.

But good to have over. All the H&R Block and Turbo Tax ads on tv have been wigging me out since January.

Yet I remembered just now that I haven't done Russell's yet. I use Turbo Tax online for that, but they didn't send the eight or nine email reminders that I usually get. Hope that's not going to be a problem.

I'll find out soon. First Russell and I have to go to the store and hunt up food that Mark will eat.
little_tristan: (Kitten Monster)
I spent the morning in chat with [personal profile] valis2, who designed the most beautiful jewelry for me to give as Christmas gifts. If you haven't visited her shops, you probably should. If you wear jewelry or like beads, that is. I'm terribly excited about giving these pieces to the people they were made for. Custom jewelry is the best.

NaNo and its unaffiliated Mini Challenge are over so I'm going back to writing in my random, haphazard way. Never having worried about word counts before, I'm interested in seeing if I do more or less work without the mild pressure.

Self-imposed goals might be good. But feeling like a failure because the muse wasn't there and I didn't reach the goal, or I wrote badly for the sake of getting more words on paper, would be bad. Feast or famine, it's a fine line.

I've pretty much given up my book goal for the year. I'd have to read a book a day from now til the end of the year and that's not going to happen. Unless I read all the Star Trek: TOS novels on the shelf. I could probably do two or three of those a day. But they aren't what I want to read right now. Quality tops quantity once again.

Yesterday I saw a Criminal Minds ep from S5 that I've never seen before. 4 to 8 episodes a day on two different channels and I'm still finding new ones on the DVD. It's fun trying to guess why certain ones aren't aired. This one is about an outbreak of suicides among high school kids in neighboring towns. Is it the teen suicide angle? The identity of the unsub? Garcia's hair? (I adore her, but does she start getting ready at three to be at work by eight?)

It'll never be one of my favorites, though, because they're all mean to Reid on the plane going home, listing things they hate about him. He looks so sad and no one even apologizes.

I can't wait to get to S6. I know I'm missing a lot there. And one that I have seen is one of my favorites.

We stayed up a little late last night, since we were sleeping in a bit this morning. But I ruined it by getting sick after about 3 hours' sleep. Lately I've been haunted by a mild, lingering sense of nausea. Possibly from smoking so little pot this last week. Mark dragged me out of bed so I could throw up for a while and smoke a bowl, and then we went back to sleep. It was very strange.

Possibly the strangest part was that when I first woke up, Big Orange Roy was catloafing on my ribs and shoulder, in what has always been Murphy's place. Murphy was on the pillow when we went to bed, but he decided not to stay. He doesn't move to my side very often anymore, probably because of his balance problems.

What's weird is that no cat besides Murphy has even slept on me like that before. Roy's lived with us for 12 years and I never would have guessed that he even wanted to. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's just a status thing.

People are supposed to like animals because they look up to us like gods. I've always found that rather awkward. I wonder if that's how God feels when people fight over religion. I'm big enough for all the cats to sleep on, but they don't want to share.

And the dogs are even worse.
little_tristan: (Bunny)
All the library books are read and ready to be returned. I worked out a recycling system for Murphy's little tin cans, and found a great deal on his food on Amazon. They not only have the good stuff available by the case, it's Subscribe & Save eligible. And the cases are variety packs, so I can have two sent every month and get six or seven flavors.

Murphy's definitely better in some ways. He loses his balance more than ever, but the problem isn't new. He was less than a year old when the guy we were living with sprayed him with a toxic chemical and Murphy licked a lot before I could wash it off. I don't know if it's a neurological problem or an inner ear one, but ever since then he falls over when he shakes his head. Now he falls over when he tries to groom, too. The other night he wanted to sleep on my ribs and went rolling off down my back four times before he got settled securely. I love his determination.

The good thing is that he's put on a little more weight. And the skin breakdown on his rear legs, the part kitties sit on, has reversed. The little sores are all healed over and starting to grow new fur. Even his coat, which has always been amazingly glossy, is suddenly more so.

On the subject of pretty coats, Ranger's having a good winter, too. Her prior recurring problems haven't come back, so we know the meds are working. Other winters she's been having treatment instead of preventative care, which made her fur turn dusty grey and fall out. Constantly. In ridiculous amounts. This year she's as pretty as a puppy.

Willow's being extra pretty too. I wish the light had been better in that pic the other day. It didn't really do her justice. I've been spending more time on her coat, raking the fine hair behind her ears and on the backs of her legs so it flows properly. She likes to play in water and mud. We have a lot of that in the yard right now and much of it comes inside on her legs. I don't know why it's on her head.

I woke up at one this morning needing to fix my blankets. Mark is a terrible blanket thief. But I couldn't budge them because there was a cat in between us, weighing them down. I couldn't even get my hand under the cat to reach Mark. Murphy's gained weight, but he's not that heavy. He is, however, the only cat that sleeps at the head of the bed. There are rules. I got my hand out from under the blankets to feel the cat and discovered it was Big Orange Roy. (12 years old and still 13 pounds of lean muscle and attitude.) He was so happy to be petted he stood up and started licking my hand so I got the blankets. Then he curled up on my pillow and went back to sleep.

Mark says Roy can never have Murphy's place. He'll never be Head Cat of Gilead, even if that means the post stands empty after Murphy moves on. I agree that Roy and Kenny aren't Head Cat material. But I hope he lets one of them sleep on my pillow anyway. Roy's been sleeping between our feet for a decade now. He deserves some face time. If he promises not to lick our faces while we sleep*.

I finished online Christmas shopping yesterday, and the cards I ordered arrived. They're so very cute. If you've never gotten a card from me and want one, PM with your address and I'll be happy to add you to the list. If you've gotten one before, you're already on it.:) (Except maybe [personal profile] amine_eyes, because you keep moving!)

Heather's coming over soon so I need to get writing or I won't accomplish anything today. Except for all the stuff I was doing earlier, but that hardly counts.

*He'll totally lick our faces while we sleep.
little_tristan: (Kenny)
Yossel is harder to read than I expected. It's a what-if story by a man who missed the Holocaust by leaving Poland in 1926, the year of his birth, wondering what would have happened if he'd grown up in his Polish village. I don't think he's going to make it.

Murphy Sloane, otoh, is getting better. I didn't expect that. We thought he was failing due to age, and his appetite was falling off accordingly. Now that he's been getting Fancy Feast two and three times a day (basically whenever he asks--he doesn't take advantage), he's visibly plumper and less wobbly.

The only thing weirder than his willingness to starve himself for better food, is the incredible speed of his recovery. It's happened before but he's so old, we're always slow to catch on. The vet has told us it's normal at 14, 15, and now 17, but all he wanted was different food.

Maybe he really is immortal. *fingers crossed*

Mark ate and slept all day, too. He doesn't put on weight like Murphy, but his eyes get brighter. That's nice to see. And Russ bought him special food at the store so he'll eat more. He wanted something different, too. I wish Purina made a variety of People Chows. Dry for snacking and a dozen flavors of canned food to heat up and eat with bread. We could go for years on that. So long as there was still chocolate in the world.

I finished Yossel after starting this post. It made me cry. But I totally recommend it to Holocaust buffs (is that the right word?) and fans of great graphic novels. It would be worth owning for the Introduction alone, but I'd suggest that anyone who can bear the subject give it a read. If the dialog typeset looks familiar, Joe Kubert invented it. It's used in nearly every comic book I owned as a teenage collector.

Apparently he invented graphic novels, too. I'm not stupid. I've asked myself numerous times how much art and culture was lost with young Jews who never had a chance to develop their talents. But Joe Kubert nearly was one of them and Yossel forces you to see that in a way that almost can't be borne.

And all he did was draw comic books that changed comic books and their art forever.
little_tristan: (Default)
Sunrise here, at least. It could be noon where you are. I don't know.

Murphy Sloane is eating! Mark brought home a Fancy Feast assortment and he took right to it. This means it will now cost as much per month to feed one seven pound cat as it does Ranger, a 70 pound dog. But it's Murphy. He has to eat.

I can't stop thinking about the scene I wanted to write for The Dancer but couldn't fit in. Now I'm thinking about sliding those two characters into the new story that I'm thinking about. Not as a sequel, it would stand alone just fine, but it would happen to involve them. That may or may not be a good idea. I'll probably throw some words on paper soon and see what happens.

Today I have to call all those people who haven't been calling me back. Heather's making plans to come out tomorrow with Tammy and take our VW out to the mechanic. It has no taillights right now, and an incorrect number of turn signals. We've made all these plans, and yet haven't actually talked to the mechanic about it because he doesn't answer his phone.

The dentist didn't get back to me with an appointment date on Tuesday and my teeth hurt. I hate to nag her since I'm such a bothersome patient, making them put out the ramps, and put me in the big chair of loathing. But my teeth hurt. And our insurance might change again. There's always a waiting period after it changes.

I'm going to watch Supernatural until everyone's open.

I forgot to mention that our fridge is fixed. There is water again! I'm even remembering to drink it sometimes.
little_tristan: (Default)
Watching Supernatural while writing and waiting for Tammy. New SPN frustrates me so much, wanting Sam and Dean to get over their shit and be happy and go kill monsters as the awesome team they are. Old episodes remind me how great that was. I'm watching The Usual Suspects right now. (Netflix streaming! Woot!) They don't spend very much time on screen together at all, almost none, but they're still working as a team at all times. It's a beautiful thing.

I think I'm going to finish The Dancer soon. I know for sure two scenes that I want to write, one of them the final, and it shouldn't take long to get there. Maybe a week or ten days. So I'll need something else to complete the MiniNaNo challenge.

For a long time I've thought that I wouldn't write any new books, just rewrite and repair the ones I've had in mind forever, and then quit. But the other day I got an idea that might be a decent full-length novel. I'd forgotten what it felt like to get a fresh idea and jump all over it. So maybe I'll do that for the rest of the month and see where it goes.

After nearly 18 years of amazingly good health, Mr. Sloane is suddenly on the decline. He doesn't want to eat and is getting steadily wobblier. I think he's having trouble chewing and swallowing, although his teeth seem to be fine. Mark's going to stop at the store on the way home and pick up some kitty-spoiling canned food. Murphy's never liked it much, but now that he doesn't want kitten food anymore, he might've changed his mind. It is a cat's prerogative, after all.
little_tristan: (Books Not Blogs)
But first, today: Blasted Heath is giving away a Kindle book TODAY ONLY that sounds like a lot of fun. If you have Kindle capabilities, or are interested in downloading the desktop reader, grab your free copy of Fireproof.

Now yesterday:

Apparently I was so busy, I forgot to play FarmVille. This is a good thing. My crops withered in the fields like Biblical justice, but my hoard of foals is fine. Animals that are cute and don't die are awesome.

Heather brought her son and the babysitting (babysat?) girl over yesterday. It was a little rough. I adore them both, but the girl is a bit scared of me. She's five. She's terribly like I was at five, which means scared of almost everyone, yet really, really needing to talk to them. I think she's afraid I'll yell at her, because I yell at the boy so much. But he's horrible and his mom can't do all the yelling. It's exhausting. He needs people working in shifts to get it all done in a day. Otherwise his parents would have to yell at him while he sleeps just to stay caught up.

The girl is smart and imaginative and able to obey as well as carry on conversations so I never want to yell at her. Except when the boy is climbing on something and there's about to be a smash of broken glass and I nearly run her down getting to him because she decides she needs to get there first and help yell. I'm afraid I hurt her feelings then, but it's better than breaking her leg. They never understand that it can really happen until it does.

But Heather did round up all the returnable cans that we've been saving in random bags (and strewn across the floor) and carry them away. She has a recycling center near her where they give out barcoded bags. When you return them, they count up the cans and bottles and add it to your account. We give her ours to buy gas to keep visiting. Luckily we drink a lot of rubbish with deposits.

More this week, since there's suddenly no water from the fridge. The tap water here is unpleasant so I rely on the Whirlpool and its inline filter. But the waterline from the basement ruptured somehow (Mark says it looks like it was deliberate, which is deeply strange) and now there is no water. The arch-nemesis, who is weird about ice, can't cope with this either. Only he fails to cope by trying to get ice two or three times a day and making us explain each time that it's just not going to happen. (For fuck's sake, just drink the whiskey neat, old man!, is how these talks usually end.)

I stopped drinking water, which also isn't smart, but is less annoying for other people. Heather brought me a couple of bottles yesterday. It's very good, but I'm trying to make it last. Maybe the boys will get me more today. I need to send someone to the library. There's probably a store with water between here and there. I miss going to the library. But it got to freezing last night and not much higher since. The light outside is yellow, like there's going to be thunder.

I hope there's going to be thunder.

Murphy Sloane is slowing down at last. He sways so continuously, and falls down often enough, that I've taken to calling him Wobbles. It's a fun word. I asked Mark if he thought it was insulting to a cat of Mr. Sloane's age and position to be addressed as "Wobbles", and he said no. In fact, he thinks it's cute and that it should be the name of our next kitten. They are adorably wobbly.

I predict that theoretical kitten to be at least five years out, though. Plenty of time to come up with a name for the litter-mate we'll also need.
little_tristan: (Otters Significant Otters)
The nemesis pitched a bitch over room temperature, as he does most days, because it was only 74 degrees and he was chilly in his flip flops and Hawaiian shirt. I didn't want to turn it up because I was wearing a heavy skirt and three shirts. It's October, after all, and this year it's the start of winter. (In 2006 October was summer. We never know which it'll be until it happens.) But I did turn it up, I always do, and got screamed at anyway.

It turned into a bigger problem when Ranger got sick. I'm not sure what her initial problem was but she self-medicated by eating dog shit, rocks, and those needles off the tree out back that we haven't identified. And then puking it up all over the house. She didn't care for the heat either, but the nemesis doesn't like her so her vote didn't count. She just slept against the front door crack all day.

Mark was closing up the house for the night when his dad caught him and ordered him to order me to turn up the heat during the day. They yelled at each other for a good ten minutes about heating costs and my right to be comfortable in my part of the house (not unlike his right to keep his part of the house at 90 degrees and make us pay for it), but that didn't count for much, either. He insists he only wants 15 minutes of extreme heat while washing dishes and flat out denied the two other times he walked into the kitchen that afternoon, shouted Christ, it's cold in here!, and stood around waiting until I turned it up for him. It's similar to his version of asking (How about some damn heat in here already?), but he says it doesn't count. I guess because I cut off the screaming before he made it a question.

Anyway, I went in there and ended it when I heard Mark ask him if he understood what muscular dystrophy actually is, and he said of course he does, he's been living with me for years. I can not hear that from the person who puts my food on the highest shelves, leaves broom handles lying across doorways, and routinely locks me out of the house because he can use the door with the key and I can't. If he refuses to grasp that I can't change my clothes when it gets too hot or too cold, he doesn't get to claim to understand anything. But just because we got to go to bed, that doesn't mean it's over.

We didn't give Ranger her pills or supper, the vet thought her stomach needed the rest, but we left the bedroom door open so she could sleep with us. I didn't want her thinking she didn't get fed because I just went to bed and forgot about her. But she wasn't very happy and didn't want to lick my hand when I said goodnight.

It got better, though. First because having her curled up beside the bed kept Mr. Sloane on my pillow much longer than usual. I do love sleeping with a peaceful, fuzzy cat in my face, but he leaves early when the room is too warm. Unless there's a dog present. We even have a saying for it, recited to the tune of shave and a haircut: Dog in the cat-room, oh no!

The nemesis got hold of Mark again this morning, waylaying him by the side door on his way to start the truck and sending him all over the house in search of a bathrobe which may or may not exist. The a-n says he bought it years ago but none of us remember it. Mark never found it, but he was late to work so the point was made. Stupidly, of course, as it's very cold in this old barn in the morning and all the heaters were on everywhere. But he wouldn't be able to torment Mark later, so he had to pretend to be cold and blame us for it while he had the chance.

Fortunately Ranger seems to be all better. That overrides senile stupidity and lets me say my day is off to a good start. Her nose is cold and wet again, which I couldn't help but notice when I got my crazy happy morning hand licking, and she ate her supper for breakfast. Although she did eat it lying down, which tells me her joints hurt and I ought to give her a pain pill to make up for the one she didn't get last night. Then we can be stoned and happy together.

Last night I was kind of sad about having so few people friends, at least in RL. (I understand it and it's my fault, but it still makes me sad.) But when I have a giant wet dog nose under one hand and a warm furry kitty under the other, it really doesn't seem to matter that much. Fortunately the world will never lack those two things.
little_tristan: (Default)
The last 24 hours have been sort of an off and on anxiety attack that I don't want to treat because it would make me more tired. And I've already lost control of ALL THE THINGS. My books are not read, my prompty things aren't filled, my commitments outside the house are neglected, and worst of all, my dogs are not brushed.

Well, maybe that's not the worst. But it's bad because I could just go over there and fix it. But then my arms would be too tired to do anything else for the rest of the day and I would FAIL AT MORE THINGS.

I miss Mark and Russell. When they're not in Canby at their daily work, they're at the shop down the street at their personal work. They work EVERY DAY. ALL DAY. They're working RIGHT NOW. Then we eat and sleep and they go away again in the morning. Mark holds my hand while he falls asleep, but he always turns over before I'm done.

I'm failing at being married, too.

What I want to do is read Ghost World, which I can do. It's right over there. (Points at shelf three feet away that you can't see, but trust me, it's there.) And watch Criminal Minds, which I can't do because I don't have any more DVDs. If the postman had come up onto the porch on Thursday when I had an outgoing disc, I'd have gotten a new one yesterday. But he didn't because we didn't get any mail. A&E never shows the episodes where Reid talks about being a drug addict so I didn't know that was going on. There's a lot they never show, apparently.

I miss Reid.

My arms hurt already and I haven't even brushed a dog. I wasted all my energy writing this and it doesn't even mean anything. But I'm trying to catch up on comments since last time (only 10 days ago!) so maybe I'll say something meaningful and non-failurey then.

My cat bite didn't get infected and it looks good, but it still hurts. Mr. Sloane never fails at what he sets out to do, be it four foot standing leap onto a slippery shelf or majorly fucking up my thumb. And if he stays on the dresser all day he isn't letting anyone down. In my next life I'd like to come back as my own cat. Yes, I see the obvious flaw, but a girl can dream.

I'm going to go see if Reid is on tv. I miss him so much since yesterday.
little_tristan: (Kitten Horror)
Hopefully it will be a while before I lose the use of any more digits. First it was the Murphy bite on my right thumb that got infected within seconds and cost me the use of my right hand for typing purposes. I got an antibiotic that I was told could cause mild stomach pain if taken without food. Substitute mild pain for agonizingly violent, inside-out level vomiting and it would be closer. But it's working, and Mark has almost forgiven Mr. Sloane. I don't need to forgive him. He gave me a warning. Not quite fair warning, imo, but the cat's opinion of fair is the one that counts.

On Sunday I shocked my left thumb trying to plug in the battery charger for my broken chair and it was numb for the rest of the day. I didn't get anything done after that. My only consistent internet presence is Twitter, because I can use my phone and it's super easy. (You can follow me @bonnybedlam if you want to keep up. It's kinda boring, though.)

The good news is it's making it easier to read and catch up on tv. I'm on book 3 of The Dark Tower, The Waste Lands, and I'm pretty sure it's my favorite. But I haven't read the newest one yet, which goes between 4 and 5. It's very exciting having new Roland stories to look forward to. Now that I can comment again, I might even take a whack at LJ. Probably still too tired to resume writing--it's a terrible strain on my hands taking up for injured digits--but maybe soon.

Criminal Minds is fascinating me to the point where I wish I was still completely irresponsible so I could buy the whole series on DVD and watch it in a week. This one disc at a time Netflix thing is getting old. Maybe I can drop some of the cable channels we never watch and go up to two at a time. It's a tough call, since the cable is shared with people who don't get to add discs to the queue. The real villain here, of course, is A&E, which refuses to air the syndicated eps in order. Maybe they're getting a cut of the DVDs.

My broken chair, btw, is still broken. The repair guy brought new batteries and wheels, but the seat tilt actuator the other guy ordered was wrong. Like, nowhere near the right size or shape. And the last guy didn't even write down on the work order that the motors and trannies are bad. That's why it needs fixing. The drive wheels don't even turn at the same rate anymore. If I'm going down a ramp, the right wheel will start to go faster than the left and it'll whip around in a left-hand circle if I don't stop it in time. Stopping is also a problem with worn gears, btw. I got out of it when it started rolling down curb cuts on its own.

Apparently insurance companies are tired of paying for the motor/tranny replacements every year, though. At 2 for $3000 I'm not sure I blame them, but their solution sucks donkey. The guy wants to come back with a programmer for the computer (which he didn't have with him yesterday, because why would you carry a programmer for a chair you're going to be working on?) and see if he can make it "compensate". Meaning the programming is correct but the parts are worn, so maybe he can fuck up the programming so it brakes more sharply or the left wheel turns faster or something. Not that it will solve the problem, the parts will just get worse, but it might mean Providence won't have to pay for it until later.

The repair guy, if that's even the correct name for someone who would suggest such a solution, seemed quite calm about it. I'm scared almost to death. I mean, even if I do survive the winter depending on a doubly-fucked machine, what about when it does get fixed? Will they even remember what they did to the computer, or bother putting it right? Somehow I doubt it. These are the same people who used to give me loaner chairs that were literally broken worse than the ones I brought in for repair and tried to tell me they slewed and dog-tracked because "the speed is set too high". Which makes exactly the same amount of sense as passing off a car that automatically self-destructs at 50 mph. If it can't attain factory approved speeds without jittering around like a bug on a skillet and slamming into walls, THAT MEANS IT'S BROKEN, ASSHOLE. But what do I know? He's been out of Screwdriver Turning School for five minutes and I'm just a cripple who's been living in the gorram things for 12 years. How the hell would I know when something's wrong? And why do I deserve to have it fixed when he can just fuck it up worse and write the job off as complete? Which will also make it a lot harder to get it fixed for real later. Actually, given the sheer number of wheels they tried to slip through on this invoice (10! for a 6 wheel chair that actually got 4 new wheels), I wouldn't be surprised if they were planning to charge for the motors anyway.

I've looked the other way on a shitload of Medicare fraud over the last 12 years, but if they do that, I'm SO turning them in. There comes a time when the line must be drawn. This far! No farther!

And on the subject of broken down stuff, the a-n has decided to grasp at straws in spite of his apparent determination to die. Heather and I are taking him to Portland next month to meet with a vascular surgeon and see if he can be saved. His doctor told me that the only procedure that can be used on him doesn't always work and isn't possible to do on everyone, and his chances of survival were summed up with, "His health is not good, you understand." But he wants to do it now. (The a-n, not his doctor.)

I've explained all of these things to him, how he may not be a good enough risk, and the replacement part might not fit him anyway (it's very new still and they just have the one size), but his only question, repeated ad nauseam, is, "Are they gonna do the procedure the same day [as the initial visit]?" The one time I got him to comprehend that they might not do it at all, he asked what they would do instead. Being me, I told him the truth. Nothing. They won't try if it means he dies right then, where it's their responsibility. He didn't seem to understand the implications, that medical intervention has its limits, and went back to asking if they'll do it the day of the first meeting. I'm not entirely certain they'll even find him competent to consent at this point.

He's considering giving me medical power of attorney. I wonder what I'd do with it.
little_tristan: (Tanzer)
It was a big one! First we did birthday related things, involving cousin Heather and my sister. That was good. Sadly, Steve's grandmother died in the middle of it and that's been hard. Being one of your typical Southern men, he doesn't talk about it much. At least not to me. I hope he's talking to someone, but even asking him that infringes more on his feelings than he likes. So he's been doing a lot of binge drinking in the evenings and we've been letting him, as we all understand the urge. Interestingly, he does talk more during the day. Just not about that.

Anyway, he got an opportunity to work a few days in Portland this coming week and in addition to not wanting to deny him the chance to make a buttload of money in very little time, we figured it would be good for him to go blow off steam with his friends who stay up past seven. We did talk a little about it yesterday, how blackout level drinking indicates a problem and that worries me a bit, and he said he'd be over it when he came home. Probably Thursday. So that's good. We just have to feed ourselves (and I have to not fall out of my chair) until then.

On the subject of feeding us, I found out yesterday that Steve is even more valuable than I'd thought. Just having a meal ready when the boys get home from work is great, and the food is tasty and much more healthy than we're used to, as I've mentioned. The one thing he can't really do well is gravy, which Russell is a master at, so no more ladles of yummy butter and pork fat on everything. Instead, we get baked chicken or roasted pork with steamed broccoli and rice, and broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, lettuce, spinach, onions and celery on the side.

Not only is that yummy, too, but at the doctor's office yesterday I found that I've lost 14 pounds in the last 4 months. Some of the credit goes to whoever invented the My Fitness Pal app, which lets me scan barcodes and search fast food websites so I actually know what I'm eating every day. (Gut Gott, I say at the Burgerville drive through. Forget the fries and make that a small shake!) Something about watching all those 100 calorie, 15 grams of sugar entries stack up makes the cookies a lot less appealing. And there's always fruit and low-fat cheese in the fridge now, which looks way better on the daily tally. Letting Steve do the shopping is just as important as having him cook.

In other news, Murphy Sloane turns out to have retractable claws after all. He just stopped caring for them at some point in the past few years and they were grown out to ridiculous lengths. I didn't know that could happen until [ profile] catyah mentioned trimming her kittens claws. Mark didn't think it would be possible to capture and hold onto Mr. Sloane while messing with his feet, so he wasn't too into helping. But the Murph and I go way back and he's always been pretty tolerant of my idiosyncrasies, so I trapped him in the bathroom the other day and gave it a shot. With the really good pet nail clippers, of course.

He didn't seem to notice much when I did his front feet, but his back feet must've been more sensitive because there was a little biting. I think walking on those claws for so long was probably getting painful, but with a lot of petting and head scratching, we got it done. Now he can walk around on me at night and not wake me up over and over with his pointy little claws digging through my nightgown and catching in my skin. Even his leaps onto the bathroom sink have gotten smoother, with a lot less slipping and falling in. I know I sound like a terrible pet parent now, but all I can say is he's 17 years old. I've never known a cat that old, at least not one that wasn't being kept alive with great effort, so I generally don't know what's normal and what I can fix. Now that he's feeling better, I'm going to trim them up again this week, and maybe after that he can get back to maintaining his feet on his own.

Sometime today I'll be going to a wedding. Those of you who were friends back in 2009 might remember that I lost a cousin in early April. He was riding his motorcycle when he crossed the center line on a curve and hit an oncoming car. It was shocking and awful, but life has gone on and this afternoon his widow is getting married. I haven't met the lucky man, but I've heard that they've been friends for a long time, they work together, I think, and he's gotten approval from her kids and most of the cousins. It will be sort of a strange wedding, with the bride's family, the groom's family, and the first husband's family, but I'm sure it'll work out fine. And maybe the Seattle/Sacramento cousins will come. They always liven up a party.

Now I'm going to get back to writing before Heather shows up. I'm really starting to love this book again. It's shaping into a nice love story, with a little extra porn for the people who thought The Bedlam Boys didn't get m/m enough. That's the promise here. Shorter, cheaper, sexier, sadder, and available sometime in June. Maybe July. Depends on if I shut up and get writing.:)

Quick question for my German friends: Which is the correct way to refer to a pair of mice? I started out imitating MIA's gender neutral das Mausen, but the dictionary says it should be the female die Mäuse . It works either way, but I want to get it right.
little_tristan: (Roy Tongue)
Okay, I've been compiling this gradually, a few lines a day, because I've been so lonely since the incident. Somehow I hadn't realized that not being able to type would cut me off so completely from humanity. Except for my cousin, who calls once in a while, and the boys, who spend ten or fifteen minutes a day with me (talking about work). It's been distressing, to say the least.

So what's new? Um, I've switched from Internet Explorer to Firefox for better web browsing. More or less. It has some minor flaws, but nothing like I was getting from IE9. It wasn't just that whole spending six hours trying to upload my book cover (which turned out to be a ten minute job), it also wasn't letting me reply to comments on AO3. And that was sad, because I didn't want people thinking I was ignoring them, but every time I clicked reply, it jumped from the page with the comment I wanted to reply to back to the first page where I could only leave a new comment. And when I tried that, in case it would magically apply it to the right page, I ended up making a new comment on the first chapter of my own fic, and then I couldn't delete it. There was a delete button, but the confirmation button flashed by so fast as to be unclickable. So Firefox solved that. Although it did allow a bunch of ads on my FaceBook page that I've never seen before. I found an add-on for that. I need more add-ons, but there's time. I'll find them.
Sad Mom stuff... )
Kenny Stuff )
Cat and Dog Stuff )
Random Dream and Book Stuff )
Monday Sucked )

Now my biggest irritation is suddenly having a plot bunny and no way to write it.


little_tristan: (Default)

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