bourbonneat: (Bourbon Neat)
I went to work with a nasty migraine today – because, let’s face it, most days you just don’t have a choice – for a big project meeting and to meet a tight deadline on another project. Yup, it was a putting the FU in fun kind of a day.

But I came home to Legos and cookies so, really, it wasn’t all bad. Not at all, at all actually.

My grinning husband greeted me at the door with gentle hugs and a ‘how are you feeling?’ and then he said, ‘for you, one rogue’ and handed me a Lego microfighters Millennium Falcon. Um, wow! I do like flowers, but they’re so ephemeral that buying them always seems wasteful somehow. But spontaneous Lego purchases are forever…or something like that.

*gentle, non-head shaking, happy dance*

See, I have a massive thing for well written rouge characters – a proclivity of which my husband is well aware, he being my forever rogue and all – and I often say that my first rogues were Han Solo and Alan Breck. So a Lego Han Solo is just so many of favorite things all in one place. And after I passed out for two hours with my meds and a heating pad on my head, we built Lego fighters and he baked cookies. Yes cookies!

I could have seriously done without the pain, but the evening turned out to be a really nice one – a really nice one, actually. And, as a side benefit, I now know that Legos work great for me post-migraine. Once the pain is gone, I get the shaky hands, really uncoordinated, fuzzy brained thing for up to a day after and this seemed to help...sufficiently so that I have written something more or less coherent here at any rate, though my typing is highly suspect. Cool beans.

Now if only the personal writing were going so well. I’m having a lot of fun with it, but definitely in between bouts of ‘I am a complete and utter hack and I hate every word I write.’

I started out writing one TGS fic that I figured would be a good, short-ish, getting my feet wet sort of fic back in October. Somehow, my short-ish idea has become 56k words and counting – 32.5k of it is even consecutive at the moment, the rest is very Lot 666 as we say in my house (a chandelier novella in pieces). And, yikes! I love it. I hate it. I’m kind of stupidly proud that I’ve at least gotten this far. I’m smitten with some of my own ideas. But I also worry that, in the end, I’m going to turn around and find that I have written some 75k words of absolute crap.

In the middle of writing the big, crazy thing (which does actually have a real name now, so I suppose that means I’m keeping it) my plot bunnies had plot bunnies – because, well, bunnies – and I started writing two shorter TGS things, shorter meaning probably 8 to 10K words. This is good because a) maybe I can finish something soon-ish and b) the big, crazy thing is angsty, so it’s nice that one of my shorter things is just post race happy sexings. In fact, the post race happy thing (which has a real name now too, just this week actually) is almost done…should be almost done…but I’m frankly terrified of the ‘after I finish it’ part. I think this is why I’m dragging my feet so much finishing it – once it’s finished I should probably post it and that’s just plain scary. That and I’m definitely in a hack-feeling phase this week.

Aaaaaand another self-imposed deadline whooshes by and I don’t post anything in March either. Love that sound…grumble, grumble. But I guess what I really should be taking from this is that I’m writing and I care enough about what I’m writing to be thoroughly annoyed by it…oh, and I have Legos. *nods*
bourbonneat: (Bourbon Neat)
I’ll admit that my personality leans a lot more toward the cynical side of things than the bright and sunny. A lot, a lot more. I tend to think of this as being practical rather than anything negative and I suppose that speaks volumes. But I don’t usually think that the Universe is just plain out to get me. Not usually. This week and change however? Yeah, this week made me wonder.

So, last week a big scary wildfire more or less ended at our doorstep. It’s Los Angeles. We have so many wildfires here that we’ve named an entire season for them and I do live tucked up in a canyon one highway turn below Angeles Crest Forest, as do many people across the northern border of dozens of cities the entire breadth of LA County. So, while this was our closest call yet, it does happen from time to time and none of this is anything remotely special. Unpleasant, frightening in the moment, but no more than that and our house and 99% of the others are all still standing so, yay!

It follows then that this week started with the aftermath of that unexpected little adventure. Coming home after two days evacuation, the house reeked of smoke because, hey, the hills that end right across the street were still smoking, and looked like it had been ransacked by two people in a twenty-minute frenzy for anything important and easily portable because, well, that’s pretty much what happened.

I was expecting all of that. Unpleasant, yes, but in a weird I’m really fucking grateful kind of way. That I could have dealt with. Unfortunately my poor cat is quite elderly and the shock of the whole thing plus breathing all of the ick in the air was too much and crashed her system. We had to put her to sleep on Tuesday and I just – we weren’t – that was just too much. We only lost her sister in October and she was fine – for sixteen-year old cat definitions of fine – just before the fire and, wow, unexpected and kind of brutal, really.

So that set the tone for a week filled with seemingly nothing but varying degrees of ick, from the anniversary of the death of a very close friend that’s recent enough to still be a pretty raw wound to just the garden variety work level of ick – too much work on my end, too little on his – to the lingering, prickling kind of sad of going through the daily household routine without my usual calico shadow alternately purring and scolding me.

We’ve all been there before and no single piece of it is anything I just can’t handle. Hell, I can even handle all of it at once, I just really, really, didn’t want to. Especially with all of the petty, little stuff mixed in, my week sounds like some sort of early Hollywood serialized melodrama, one too stupid to even be a campy kind of good, so it’s shown in the earliest reel before most of the audience has filed in. It is to the point that, when my tire blew coming home from the office Friday night on particularly bad for this sort of thing stretch of freeway – Naturally! – once I found enough shoulder to pull over to and landed there I just started laughing. Really, Universe?! Really?

But, it’s Saturday so this should all be over now and next week has simply got to be better, right? Thank Bob for a quiet Saturday brunch with my husband and books. And for sangria, lots and lots of sangria. And probably for more wine later, most likely lots and lots of that too. And for a quiet weekend in where nothing more can get us.* Cheers!


*Editor’s Note: Bourbonneat would very much like the Universe to note that her assertion should in no way, shape or form be taken as a challenge. Bourbonneat is already quite thoroughly impressed with the Universe’s powers of messing with her life and requires no further demonstrations of same, thank you very much.

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January 2015

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