Sleep is for the weak and sickly. Bastards.
My biggest problem with travel: my near-instant adjustment to the local time. It's 4:30 in the morning in California; it's 7:30 in the morning here. Guess who got woken up by her internal alarm exactly when she'd expect to be woken? Good guess. It's sort of a pity, because I was hoping for, I don't know, some actual sleep, and also because I was dreaming a weird sort of Federation CSI show, and that was cool. Even though I didn't get to be a Trill.
Jon and Merav have a living room which contains Rock Band. You have no idea how much calmness and joy this has brought me. Also, I have introduced them to the joys of Playing For Pants, the fine art of going on tour solely to earn money with which to re-clothe your avatar. It's a funky way to play the game, but I take a perverse glee out of turning every single little piece of clothing that Rock Band has to offer either orange or green.
It is so early that while half my body is up and alert, the other half is swearing in exotic languages and trying to beat the rest into submission. Typing is actually hard right now. It's fascinating.
How stressed am I? So stressed that I've actually blocked out the first six books in a series with the potential to go to ten books (since it's a sort of Women of the Otherworld-esque 'every narrator gets two books' thing). The first narrator is Verity Price, and she gets Discount Armageddon and Blue-Light Midnight Special. Behold the crazy my brain commits when it's otherwise occupied with going slowly mad.
Yesterday was Batya's birthday party, which was goodly and full of good things, like Oreos, Will, and close proximity to a 7-11 (a rarity here in New York, where people prefer to purchase their convenience from privately-owned neighborhood stores that make me feel like I've just wandered into Shaun of the Dead). Will subsidized an impromptu trip for the weirdest ice cream in Queens, which was happy-making, and then after the party, Merav, Jon and I went for Indian food. Every Indian place we went into had goat on the menu. HAPPIEST BLONDE EVER.
I'm going to be out and about most of the day, so here's hoping you all have a fabulous Monday, and don't accidentally set anyone on fire.
Jon and Merav have a living room which contains Rock Band. You have no idea how much calmness and joy this has brought me. Also, I have introduced them to the joys of Playing For Pants, the fine art of going on tour solely to earn money with which to re-clothe your avatar. It's a funky way to play the game, but I take a perverse glee out of turning every single little piece of clothing that Rock Band has to offer either orange or green.
It is so early that while half my body is up and alert, the other half is swearing in exotic languages and trying to beat the rest into submission. Typing is actually hard right now. It's fascinating.
How stressed am I? So stressed that I've actually blocked out the first six books in a series with the potential to go to ten books (since it's a sort of Women of the Otherworld-esque 'every narrator gets two books' thing). The first narrator is Verity Price, and she gets Discount Armageddon and Blue-Light Midnight Special. Behold the crazy my brain commits when it's otherwise occupied with going slowly mad.
Yesterday was Batya's birthday party, which was goodly and full of good things, like Oreos, Will, and close proximity to a 7-11 (a rarity here in New York, where people prefer to purchase their convenience from privately-owned neighborhood stores that make me feel like I've just wandered into Shaun of the Dead). Will subsidized an impromptu trip for the weirdest ice cream in Queens, which was happy-making, and then after the party, Merav, Jon and I went for Indian food. Every Indian place we went into had goat on the menu. HAPPIEST BLONDE EVER.
I'm going to be out and about most of the day, so here's hoping you all have a fabulous Monday, and don't accidentally set anyone on fire.