May 28th, 2004

wild rose

Day: sleep, plasma, writing group

I opted against waking up early this morning, as I was up until 4 with evil, evil cramps. Instead, I slept.

Didn't get through to Darkside, but that's only to be expected. I'll request Friday off anyway as that's my birthday and I want it off. If I elect to go in, I can be a wallflower.

Plasma, yay. Movie of the Day was Predator. I was not intrigued. Too much shooting at invisible things for me, and too much gratuitous tree and plant death. Instead, I remained firmly faceplanted in Nelson DeMille's Plum Island. Hooray mysteries!

My schedule was wacked, but I actually made it to the writing group on time, or near enough to same! Amazing. There were people. I was underprepared. I did read the polite letter of decline for a business transaction (my parody of the genre, written in Mrs. Byer's class as notes). Evidently my reputation in the writing group is of extreme irreverence. If it's Just Plain Wrong, or if there is anything I can poke subtle or not-so-subtle fun at by twisting it around, then I will do so.

Somewhere in there, I should probably write some sort of rant about wishing to be taken seriously as an artist, but I guess I brought it upon myself, from age 14 on. When you declare to the universe and yourself at age 14 that life is a comedy and from now on you will be the one taking the pratfalls and cream pies with good grace as an example/inspiration/comic relief for others, then... well... yeah, you were asking for it. ectogenesis was spawned from that...

Not that I don't write decent serious stuff, but I'm becoming known in group for the silliness, which is probably about par for the course.

After group, the usual get-together. Power hugs, grumpy waiters, the snowflake from the wall, job politics, world politics, DDoS attack on Washington DC, parents, kids, orbiting baby demons, inherited traits, the works. It turns out that Joshua the nice waiter (who came over to socialize even though he wasn't our waiter) is going to the same college that marxdarx just left, and recognized him (skinny guy with a black leather hat with a pirate thing on it, black leather trench coat, long black hair) from my description. He's 3D animation major as well. Hee! Small world.

Went home. Plotting for bubbles. I must see if my frog skirt will fit easalle. Cat piss tales. Since the three cat piss moments seem to have had notable external causes (litterbox nasty, piss on rug; litterbox nasty, piss on pillow; Eris in heat, Shammash ignoring her in favor of the floozy from next door, piss on Shammash's laundry) decatting the little grey lady may or may not help with the problem.

Walked to the store after that. Came home with orange Dew, cherries, and a cat-carrier. (We had to return the one to Wally's last night because it was broken; I may have to return this to Fry's because I don't think it's quite big enough, even though it is folding.)

One of the things that The Artist's Way has us do is list out things that we really enjoy, and note how recently we've done some of them. I couldn't remember the last time I actually had a bubblebath, even though I did have a nice bath last night while talking on the phone. So, tonight Plum Island and I had a nice bubblebath. I am almost out of bubbles. I will have to buy some more. Decisions, decisions.
Little Fayoumis, Nephew

Children.

It's not just Marx right now -- I had to tell him to turn it down three times before he actually did.

Summer is going to be ... interesting.

He's almost eight. That's when the fun starts, right?