I am still pretty vertiginous from the trip. I am also just plain stupid amounts of tired from the stress and difficulty resting this week. It was a pretty worrisome week in spots, and the vertigo did not help me sleep any better, and...buh. I am the level of tired where I start something and then suddenly remember that I absolutely must dash off to do something else, and if I do not start a third thing in the middle of those other two things, I will completely forget the third thing. I have been adding just idiotic things to my to-do list, because I am the level of tired that is just sure that if I do not write it down somewhere, I will forget it.
(I'm not wrong. I went over to my to-do list to write down two more of these things and could not remember either of them. Sat here staring at them until they finally came back to me. Uff da.)
I wrote another short story last week, after I finished "Carter Hall and the Motley Lions." It's called "Rituals of Optimism," and it will need more revising than the Carter Hall story, but I wrote it all the way through, and it is mine, and last week it was nobody's, and that is something. This is good. I needed to write more short stories sometime, and last week I wasn't prepared to work on novel stuff anyway, so two short stories should definitely be scored a win. However--now I have the stuff to do with those two short stories and all the stuff I didn't get done while I was gone.
Figuring out how this goes might take me a day or two.
Here is an example of how stupidly tired I have been. Last night I was home, and Dad had just left, and I was drinking milk from my favorite big blue mug and beaming weary beatitudes upon
markgritter and
timprov and Ista and
porphyrin and Mike and the kids. Suddenly it hit me, and I shared my revelation with the room at large: "I don't think I shaved my right leg! [pause] Like, all week! I don't think I shaved my right leg all week!" Now, some of you shave your legs, and some of you don't, and I support both choices; there is no one right answer here. But I do think that probably "one of each" is a suboptimal answer by whatever metric.
Fear not. I am now symmetrical again. I know some of you were worried out there.
Symmetrical. But not--in most of the possible senses here--balanced.
I am promised sushi and ice cream this evening. I hold people to promises like that.
(I'm not wrong. I went over to my to-do list to write down two more of these things and could not remember either of them. Sat here staring at them until they finally came back to me. Uff da.)
I wrote another short story last week, after I finished "Carter Hall and the Motley Lions." It's called "Rituals of Optimism," and it will need more revising than the Carter Hall story, but I wrote it all the way through, and it is mine, and last week it was nobody's, and that is something. This is good. I needed to write more short stories sometime, and last week I wasn't prepared to work on novel stuff anyway, so two short stories should definitely be scored a win. However--now I have the stuff to do with those two short stories and all the stuff I didn't get done while I was gone.
Figuring out how this goes might take me a day or two.
Here is an example of how stupidly tired I have been. Last night I was home, and Dad had just left, and I was drinking milk from my favorite big blue mug and beaming weary beatitudes upon
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Fear not. I am now symmetrical again. I know some of you were worried out there.
Symmetrical. But not--in most of the possible senses here--balanced.
I am promised sushi and ice cream this evening. I hold people to promises like that.