Cliodhna is in a head space right now that is not good. It’s all my fault for putting her there, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad for her.
And, just like me, she handles stress in two ways. Drinking heavily. Or never getting out of bed again.
So I combined the two and let her take a bottle of Johnny Walker Red to bed. I’m not a complete bitch you know.
I was asked where I get my ideas. No one likes this question. And there is never an answer that will satisfy the asker.
I left Clio #2 as it was, tweaked a few paragraphs, and viola! The Muse wanted to play.
Which is good, since I don’t think I’m getting any work done on the book today. Thunder Butt has been going off at regular intervals with the ‘big dog’ bark she only uses to scare squirrels and cats. Too bad we’re inside and all those other things are outside.
And now, for me to shove my opinion down your throat.
I’m very ready to just scrap the entire chapter. I know, it’s only ten pages, but it’s ten pages that took forever and I’m too damn stubborn to just say “screw it” and hit delete on the words that took me (literally) weeks to get out.
More than likely, I just cut and paste them into another doc and keep them as a ‘just in case’. I’ve got close to a dozen of those sort of files floating around my hard drive. I can’t stand to delete anything that might prove useful later. Nor can I toss out anything that MIGHT be needed twenty years down the road. My storage closest are full of stuff that I couldn’t bear to part with, but that my apartment has no room to hold.
Maybe if I stab the WIP with my good butcher knife, sprinkle it with holy water from the church on post, and wrap wolfsbane necklaces around its pages it will behave….
Getting up before 0500 yesterday did not do me any good. I finally fell into bed around midnight, and had just fallen asleep when Thunder Butt started growling. Someone was standing outside my bedroom window last night talking. Well, two someones I guess, as I’m pretty sure I heard two voices.
And Thunder Butt is laying in bed beside me, her fur standing on edge, and growling deep in her chest at the people who dared disturb her realm. (I don’t actually rule this domain; she just lets me think I do) The talking got louder, so did her growling.
For a hour that went on, their voices raising and lowering, her growling going up and down depending on them.
I eventually passed out with my head buried under two pillows and my arms holding the edges of the pillows down. The threat of suffocation wasn’t as bad as the lack of sleep.
Saturday seemed the day for things to go wrong. First, my husband had to work all day. Never fun to work on Saturday. (He also had to work Sunday, and about one hour ago I dropped him off at the company for a week of field training. So it’s just me and Thunder Butt holding down the fort)
Then, D. decided to make leberkäse. Liver cheese. It’s actually really, really good. I wouldn’t have tried it if I’d know the name, but she didn’t tell me, and I loved it. Anyway, back to D. making it. First, she tried using a hand mixer to grind the meats and onions up very fine. No luck. Then her blender. Which leaked. Then my blender. Which liquefied the contents right at the blade, but nothing else. We finally hit on my food processor, which ground everything up to a pureed texture. Perfect!
Then we realized it’d be after 7 p.m. before the leberkäse was done, and no way would the kids wait that long for supper. So in the fridge it went to sit for the next day.
During our little foray in the kitchen, C. was outside changing my oil. Because he’s good like that and they love me dearly. (At least I hope so.) Well, he goes to drain the oil, and finds out the drip pan wasn’t in the right spot. So oil spill number one. Move drip pan, catch oil, everything is going well… until he went to move my car out of their driveway so he could put his truck back in its spot.
C. drives a truck, D. drives a SUV. I drive a little 4-banger Honda that’s so low to the ground snakes don’t slither under it. I tell you this to explain why there was the second oil spill: the old milk jug that caught the last bit of oil from my car was still under my car when C. backed up… and spilled its contents all over their driveway.
So then he took an emergency trip to get kitty litter.
D. and I go back inside from watching C. finish changing the oil, and we both manage to step on and smack a child. I stepped on Baby E’s toes and then whapped him in the head with my palm when I tried to catch him from falling backwards. D. stepped on Little J’s toes and then popped her on the head with her elbow when she tried to see if Little J. was okay.
I think one of us broke a mirror. Or walked under a ladder.
I refuse to think we just have that sort of luck.
Abuse has been in our society for years. Verbal, mental, emotional, physical. It happens every day. Men, women, boys, girls, teens, adults, single, married. Label doesn’t matter, it can happen to anyone on any day and thinking “it won’t be me” doesn’t mean squat.
Go here, order the bracelets, print the poster, and tell your children, your friends kids, your family members, anything to keep this kind of shit from continuing.
I think that’s the fairy tale I remember. With the magic walnut shell that holds three dresses for the ball?
As I have no life outside of that in my own head, I joined Twitter. Because nothing is better than a woman in her mid-twenties who talks about her dog and imaginary friends.
I wish Mother Nature would figure out what she wants for us right now. A few days ago, I was dripping sweat by the time I walked the twenty or thirty feet to my car. Today, I’ve got to wear a hoodie when I take Thunder Butt outside or else I freeze.
Back to living in my own head, at least there I can be on a white-sand beach sipping a cold drink and getting a great tan.
First, Carrie, I accidentally marked one of your comments as ’spam’ instead of ‘approve’. This is why I should not do anything on my blog until I’ve had at least one cup of coffee. Oh, and I should make sure I’m wearing my glasses. That would help. Seeing is believing and all that.
Have you ever had the urge to just bash someones head in? Not a random person, but someone who, based upon your knowledge, really deserves it?
And bashing is actually too messy. That whole blood splatter testing and evidence thing, and then the fact they can test the DNA in a wooden baseball bat to see if that was the weapon of choice. Science, for all it’s wonderful progress, has made it really hard to be an arm of judgement. (I’ve watched The Punisher and Boondock Saints way too much. But Thomas Jane and Sean Patrick Flannery are just sexy.)
No, fast acting poison would be better. No muss, no fuss. Again though, too girly a way to kill someone. Where do you think poison rings came from? Because humans, especially women, can be really ruthless when it comes to taking something out of their way.
Can you tell I got crappy news yesterday?
I got home from D’s around midnight I think, and I checked my email. Olivia Leigh had warned me earlier that there might be bad news, but I thought “nope, not for me, it’s always someone else.”
Well, it was me.
And I’d already had a bad night too boot, so that just rounded everything out to one crap-tastic evening.
Then I saw something this morning that just made my blood boil over from “just don’t let Marissa near the knives and everyone is fine” to “Marissa is going to be nice and sweet and polite and smile while she guts you and sews your skin into bedroom slippers”.
A good friend of mine is going through some rough patches in their relationship, and their spouse was having a serious medical rough patch on top of the relationship rough patch. With me so far? Two very big rough patches. Now, I don’t care if the divorce papers are in the car waiting to be signed, when someone is worried about their spouse, you offer to help hold them up and try to keep their head from exploding with worry. You be supportive in their time of worry, to both people, and let all the stress and crap like that stay outside where it belongs.
You do not insert a bitchy attitude into it.
And I’ve now gone full circle, as the “bitchy attitude” is the reason I want to bash someones head in.
My attention span is improving. I no longer go from “asshole bastard did that” to “I know how I’m going to knit the mittens” in less than a second.