The kidlets and I were watching Max & Ruby, and I asked where the parents were- they talk about Grandma but never about Mom and Dad. Little J., who was sitting next to me on the sofa and playing sweetly, pipes up with “they’re dead.”
A child after my own heart.
My window problems are becoming an epic saga of errors. The man who was supposed to fix them didn’t show up until 1140 yesterday (it wasn’t yet noon!). He looked at them, and at 1150 he said “I’ll come back after lunch”.
Now, before I go on, how long is lunch for those people who are able to leave the office and eat? About a hour, right? Well, apparently, the housing workers get a 3.5 hour lunch break, because that guy didn’t come back here until after 1500. And he was here just long enough to say “I won’t fix them today. I’ll be back sometime this week to work on them, but it won’t be tomorrow {well, today now} but it will be before Friday!” Which is when my head exploded all over the room.
What if I was working right now? What if I had classes I had to do? Or doctor’s appointments? So, I’m calling housing again today and setting up an actual appointment with the head honcho of window sealing.
At least I can take my frustrations in fiction. High body counts are good, right?
Last week, the housing people decided to clean up the buildings with pressure washing them. Which is great as it means I don’t need to rent one of the stupid things. It is also bad, as it also broke my doorknob and made my windows leak.
No, I’m not joking. My front door locked me out one night last week- it refused my key and I had to call to have housing break in for me. Because of how easy it was for them to break in, I now sleep with a hatchet and a KBAR near at hand. Never screw with a military spouse, we got weapons all over the house, and we know how to use them.
As for the windows, I had gone to open my curtains (which I do on sunny days) and discovered that the sills were wet on the inside and the curtains were sopping wet where water had leaked in. Ew.
While waiting for housing, I’m back to work on BLOOD BORNE, the Cyndra short I’m hoping to have for the antho. There still isn’t romance in it (Bad Marissa! It’s a romance antho you’re subbing to!) but I’m not ruling it out yet. Not yet at least. There was a reason I had Clio mated and done with it, because I’m more realist than ’some day my prince will come’ when it comes to relationships.
Where did the week go?! I swear, yesterday, it was Monday. Three weeks ago.
The deadline is looming ever closer for the antho contest with a romance epub that I wanted to enter. But I don’t think I’m going to make it. Not the writing bit, but the romance bit. I cannot write at this point it time, I don’t know if it’s me or if it’s the time frame I’m writing in, or what. But me no has the romance. I can write sex (though, I write them like a guy, if that makes any sense) but the romance element just don’t happen.
Mainly because my idea of romance is vastly different from the accepted sequence of events.
“Supposed to be” being the key phrase there. It’s still humid enough to make my hair curl wildly whenever I step outside, and poor Thunder Butt does a Lab tap dance across the patio to get the grass to do her thing. Hot cement isn’t nice on bare paws.
I cannot read traditional romance novels. Well, I probably could, if the covers weren’t so… well, bodice ripping. I feel like a dweeb when I’m holding that book and reading the back of it.
Of course, then I find things like this:
“It’s an age-old war. Like the werewolves and the vampires. I think Underworld was actually originally about crocheters and knitters but they thought it would be too controversial so they changed it to vampires and werewolves.” - Joss Whedon
And share it with everyone.
I should just embrace the dweeb and read new books.
Thunder Butt is spoiled. I made her that way, so feel free to tell me to shut up and deal with it.
She thinks that anytime I don’t look busy means it’s time to play, and drops toys on me until I finally throw one. For reference, her idea of “not busy” includes anytime I’m sleeping, reading, writing, knitting, or in the bathtub. And when I’m in the kitchen, she is underfoot, convinced that if she gets in my way often enough, I will give her some of what I’m cooking just so she’ll go away.
And the walking and the playing. No, I’m not saying I don’t like taking my dog out, but she decides she has to go out at the worst times. Like *right in the middle* of a scene, and if I dont’ take her out then, she does something nasty to my shoes. Or plants toys throughout the house in places that are promised to trip me and knock me into a wall.
Today, I figured I’d outsmart her. I turned on a CD of wolf howls I use to relax and told her to ‘find the puppies’.
She knocked the CD player off the bedside table and is very pleased with herself for finding the puppies.
Dog: 1, Marissa: 0
That’s the reaction Thunder Butt had this morning anyway. Once a year the military housing people decide to “spruce up” the place by pressure washing everything. Which would be great, if it actually worked. Instead, they just knock off a few paint chips and make us clear off our patios at an unholy hour to get the work done.
Sometime between the pressure hoses turning on, and them starting to spray down my windows, Thunder Butt decided that they were Satan’s minions and should be stopped at all costs. I’m hoping she’ll stop barking sometime tonight so I can get to sleep.
I had my final on Friday- and I passed it with room to spare. I pulled a solid B for the whole class, and while I’d have preferred to keep the A average, I’m just glad that it is both over and done, and I don’t have to retake anything.
So now, the great job hunt begins. Right now, the closest job to me is a four hour commute one way, and that’s if the lights are with you and no one else is on the road. So, yeah, we’re not really looking at that job. The cost of gas alone would be more than what I’d make working there.
Writing, however, has been great since I left my final the morning of the 18th. Without the stress of the final and the “OH MY GOD, my WHOLE LIFE is based on this one test!” fear, it’s much easier to let the voices in my head take over.
If only they’d stop taking over when I was taking a shower, I’d be happier.
Not to mention safer- computers are not water friendly.
I have no idea where the dragon eggs came from, but I asked my husband last night to please not squash them, and to feed the dragons or they’d eat the dog. Sadly, that’s one of my more normal “asleep but functioning” requests.
I won’t be updating much this week, I’ve got my final coming up on Friday, and right now, graduating is more important than keeping the blog updated. Granted, the nearest job opening to me is in Atlanta, and would be the commute from hell, but there is always hope for another position opening closer to home.
Now, off to go over the Phlebotomy Exam Review. Exciting stuff, really.
Today, I’m not going to turn on the television. I’m not going to listen to the news on the radio. I’m not going to read the papers. I’m not going to look at news sites.
I can’t take another rehashing of what happened on that Tuesday morning.
I remember exactly how I felt when I got back to my work-study office and saw the plane fly into the Tower. And watching those Towers fall.
I felt the same sense of disbelief sitting in my aunt’s living room, watching the news anchor say that Jonathan had died in Iraq.
I felt the same gut-shredding fear as I stood in my carport as I found out Tyler was killed in Iraq.
I’m remembering, in crystal clarity, but I cannot take another day of seeing those videos, those images, and still maintain my ability to function. There is only so much despair a human body can take before it breaks.