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Via metaquotes: Freezer-burned roast. Cat. (hysterical)
Slut. (disturbing)

It's a vocation. I can't always sit down with my fictional people and write about their fictional lives, but I do have to sit down at least once a day and write out how it happened. What I did. Where I was. Who I was doing things with. It can be long, it can be short, but it has to happen. It can be e-mail, IM, paper and pen, or LJ, but it has to happen. Other people don't get a choice about their fiction. I don't get a choice about this. I look at my assorted friends who are compelled to write fiction on a regular basis, or who may not be literally compelled but sit down and write their words regularly, and I think, They're real writers. Will I ever be a real writer someday? But what am I doing in LJ, chopping liver? They may not be words in the direction of any one given project, but they are words, they are real, and I should not discount them. I may eventually apprentice at the feet of essayists rather than mistresses of fiction, but I am writing. Any day I update LJ, I am writing. I should not forget this.

Today I went to work and got distracted and got things done and got told that there were huge gaping holes in my documentation and oh my god what will they ever do when I leave! and it would really make sense to give this to someone who actually likes this and knows what to do with it. And IRC was sweet and welcoming and had links full of hilarious, and I didn't have to pay active attention to them, they were just there and helped me get through my day. And the cherries I had gotten were not good cherries, and I was sad because of this. Cherries make my day happy. When I was done, I went to give plasma, and I had one of those penny books I'd never read. I'm not all the way through it yet, but it's making me not scream so far. I had a bad stick to start with, and there was digging around for my vein, until someone came over and fixed it. There were two people who came over. I don't know why I didn't cry. Maybe I've a higher pain threshold these days. After that, I knew I needed groceries. hcolleen was almost out of Pepsi. I have been craving chicken. (Why?) Chicken and bread. (Too much fruit?) And to get the chicken home safely, I needed something frozen. So, a bag of berries. And that was $29.51; I paid all my plasma money and a penny and got two quarters back. (It's a lot of chicken, a lot of Pepsi, and a lot of berries. With rice like I'm thinking, two chicken breasts might stretch a week, and that's a lot of weeks in that package.) There's an orientation session on Wednesday for the new job, and I'm excited and scared all at once. I'm so very lucky at my current job; I'm so very well-loved and they're willing to work with me on this. I'd be a fool to throw that away, so I'm not going to. jai_dit was here when I got in. myrrhianna was working late. I gave him a ride home. I left Dawn a message; we've been out of touch. Alas.

My adventure with gender recognition. (amusing)
It's our loss too. (heartbreaking)
Glad it ent in my state. (*pear*)
Whose law? (hilarious)
Invasion of the Carrot People! (lovely!)
Beware the Fish! (unsettling)
Korman Kissing -- a mixed bag of Korman ficlets with kisses. (fun)

I realized something about my participation in suggestions. I sometimes have to label my comments as me playing Devil's Advocate, because not only am I determined to get something useful out of any given unintentionally hilarious, and socially and technically dubious suggestion, I also try to absolutely shred any request I actually do like. I want to find all the flaws in it, all the ways it could be perverted or misused or done wrong, and I want to jump up and down on them and figure out what to do with them until no more can be done, or at least until my ability to troubleshoot goes dead for lack of experience. I'll be harder on a suggestion that I love than on a suggestion that I hate. It occurs to me that some of the people suggesting things that I love might think that I'm not liking their suggestion very much, from the way I dive right in and tear enthusiastic holes in it. That's not it at all. I love it, and I love LJ, and it's my duty to find every potential problem I can before it even hits the developers so they can discuss it.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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