green are your eyes in the morning when you rise
I keep procrastinating on posting because I've been procrastinating on Other Things and didn't want to not have a status report... but I am actually working on it. So. There's that.
These last several days have felt like autumn, and I have been revelling -- baking great batches of gingersnaps (dark and spicy and chewy and addictive), drinking entire pots of tea, wearing sweaters and scarves again: most lovely. I do need to go through my pile of sweaters and discard the ones that fit awkwardly -- for years I could barely find any sweaters but am always so cold in winter that I made do with the ones I could find, which generally fit oddly and had to be disguised with waistcoats. (I think I keep hoping I am going to find a replacement for my too-short orange turtleneck sweater, because orange!) Do they just not make sweaters for busty ladies? (Well, it wouldn't be the first time.) It is very confusing. I also desperately want a Classic Red Sweater, which is another one of those seemingly basic things that are mysteriously impossible to find. A nice soft crimson knit sweater, probably a bit textured -- that's all I ask! Why do you not exist?
(And on the subject of clothing and busty ladies, I dream of winning a drawerfull of magical bras that fit comfortably and do not wear out in three months. At any time I may begin having literal dreams about this the way I do about expansive libraries. Decent bras are expensive, and when you are, well, my size, you really have to go for quality or you will regret it shortly. ARGH. I shall soon go insane.)
In pleasanter news, Dad and I went for a drive on Friday, and for the first time I think I mostly enjoyed it. We were out on some rural roads, as usual -- fewer cars for me to inconvenience (and heavens, do people get testy, even in small towns, even when there are two of us on the road; if I'm driving too slowly or what have you, you can easily pass me), and fewer things for me to have to keep track of while I'm concentrating on pure mechanics. It was the hour before dusk, with the sky all streaked blue and pale gold and cloudy, and there's a soft hint of autumn about the trees, and soaring down a lonely, ever-going road between trees felt magnificent. (When I say 'soaring', I mean 'at fifty-five miles an hour', because I drive like an elderly lady.) And then Sunday we drove out in a different direction to test me out on some very winding roads, and the sun was glowing through clouds and trees and lingering golden on the road in my rear-view mirror.
I need to keep reminding myself that this car has excellent speakers and I do want to go for a drive all alone blaring something lovely: therefore, acquire license! Learn to drive without panicking! Also I need to relax my hands. I have managed to work the tension out of my back and legs and most of my brain when driving, but I may have done that by sending it all into my arms, because I keep having to remind myself to relax, especially because after a while one of my arms gets stiff or jerks and that makes me swerve a little. Usually by then I discover I am clenching my teeth. I AM TOO YOUNG TO DIE.
I also keep reminding myself that it took me a really long time to learn to touch-type, and now I type at a truly intimidating speed. Of course, your eyes only have to be in one place when you type, and you don't have to worry about crashing into other typists and dying horribly.
Other Saturday adventures: the Goodwill warehouse had another sale. The warehouse sales are really fun sheerly from a visual perspective, because everything is all spread out over the parking lot and you can pretend you are at some sort of open market. It makes discovering things more exciting. The clothing racks were this time extremely lacking in anything I would even consider wanting, but we scored fantastically in the furniture department (which we rarely do at the proper Goodwills, even). I have been needing a new desk chair, er, really since we moved two years ago and I finally traded my much-loathed pink and white pre-teen desk (hand-me-down from church people) for Mum's old elegantly battered classic wood one. I have been sitting in a straight-backed chair with a woven seat for the last two years, and it is Not A Comfortable Chair, though it did look rather nice. But now I have a vintage green swivel chair, the only danger therein being that I may spend all of my time spinning in it until I vomit. Mum achieved her life-long dream (seriously, I have heard her declaim about it since early childhood) of owning a gigantic swivel globe, and apparently we can write on it with wet-erase markers which makes it even more awesome. We also found a sort of stool/sewing-notions container, with removable legs and a Colonial pattern in brown and orange and turquoise, and I shall begin keeping DIY materials in it as I am getting quite enthusiastic about that sort of thing. Also we had a massive pile of books and I found a skirt slip. And Leandra delightedly rode on the furniture cart, crying "Wheeeee!" and making my entire week.
Later I went to the library and while they are still out of books argh they gave me all of their obscurer L.M. Montgomerys that they were getting rid of. (No-one may take Jane of Lantern Hill away from me! And this copy of The Blue Castle is missing the first page, but is in otherwise fine condition and in public domain anyway so I can print a replacement and trim it to size. Now I just hope they either don't get rid of A Tangled Web upstairs, or I am watching keenly enough to snatch it when they do.)
Bartholomew, our large black cat, has chosen my bed as his primary nest for the week. It is very sweet waking to a yawning cat, though also a little scary to have no idea he's there until you hear a licking noise.
Now I am drinking coffee with a vengeance and hoping it will turn me into some kind of superpowered awesome lady, and really wishing I could go get my hair cut already. I have a Terrifying Letter that I need to finish, and must find someplace to put all of the things that are on my floor, and also more plot for my NaNo would be good. (I think that is my mantra. This is supposed to be the easy one! Although I am, at least, considering using The Hounds of God as a working title, and it has been a very long time since I have had a working title or any kind of title at all for a project. I fear, though, that if I ever finish and try to publish it as YA it will not be seen as a very marketable title and they will change it to something stupid, like Cilla or [Blank] Manor/Hall/Whatever. I do need to figure out which intimidating British surname I want to use for my werewolf family. Also which one of them has died just before Cilla arrives and why, because if they are fighting Evil there must be some specific Evil that is causing plotly trouble, and how on earth do Cilla and Sebastian actually figure into the plot when it's werewolves doing stuff? GNGH. Also: wow, am I ever incoherent.)
These last several days have felt like autumn, and I have been revelling -- baking great batches of gingersnaps (dark and spicy and chewy and addictive), drinking entire pots of tea, wearing sweaters and scarves again: most lovely. I do need to go through my pile of sweaters and discard the ones that fit awkwardly -- for years I could barely find any sweaters but am always so cold in winter that I made do with the ones I could find, which generally fit oddly and had to be disguised with waistcoats. (I think I keep hoping I am going to find a replacement for my too-short orange turtleneck sweater, because orange!) Do they just not make sweaters for busty ladies? (Well, it wouldn't be the first time.) It is very confusing. I also desperately want a Classic Red Sweater, which is another one of those seemingly basic things that are mysteriously impossible to find. A nice soft crimson knit sweater, probably a bit textured -- that's all I ask! Why do you not exist?
(And on the subject of clothing and busty ladies, I dream of winning a drawerfull of magical bras that fit comfortably and do not wear out in three months. At any time I may begin having literal dreams about this the way I do about expansive libraries. Decent bras are expensive, and when you are, well, my size, you really have to go for quality or you will regret it shortly. ARGH. I shall soon go insane.)
In pleasanter news, Dad and I went for a drive on Friday, and for the first time I think I mostly enjoyed it. We were out on some rural roads, as usual -- fewer cars for me to inconvenience (and heavens, do people get testy, even in small towns, even when there are two of us on the road; if I'm driving too slowly or what have you, you can easily pass me), and fewer things for me to have to keep track of while I'm concentrating on pure mechanics. It was the hour before dusk, with the sky all streaked blue and pale gold and cloudy, and there's a soft hint of autumn about the trees, and soaring down a lonely, ever-going road between trees felt magnificent. (When I say 'soaring', I mean 'at fifty-five miles an hour', because I drive like an elderly lady.) And then Sunday we drove out in a different direction to test me out on some very winding roads, and the sun was glowing through clouds and trees and lingering golden on the road in my rear-view mirror.
I need to keep reminding myself that this car has excellent speakers and I do want to go for a drive all alone blaring something lovely: therefore, acquire license! Learn to drive without panicking! Also I need to relax my hands. I have managed to work the tension out of my back and legs and most of my brain when driving, but I may have done that by sending it all into my arms, because I keep having to remind myself to relax, especially because after a while one of my arms gets stiff or jerks and that makes me swerve a little. Usually by then I discover I am clenching my teeth. I AM TOO YOUNG TO DIE.
I also keep reminding myself that it took me a really long time to learn to touch-type, and now I type at a truly intimidating speed. Of course, your eyes only have to be in one place when you type, and you don't have to worry about crashing into other typists and dying horribly.
Other Saturday adventures: the Goodwill warehouse had another sale. The warehouse sales are really fun sheerly from a visual perspective, because everything is all spread out over the parking lot and you can pretend you are at some sort of open market. It makes discovering things more exciting. The clothing racks were this time extremely lacking in anything I would even consider wanting, but we scored fantastically in the furniture department (which we rarely do at the proper Goodwills, even). I have been needing a new desk chair, er, really since we moved two years ago and I finally traded my much-loathed pink and white pre-teen desk (hand-me-down from church people) for Mum's old elegantly battered classic wood one. I have been sitting in a straight-backed chair with a woven seat for the last two years, and it is Not A Comfortable Chair, though it did look rather nice. But now I have a vintage green swivel chair, the only danger therein being that I may spend all of my time spinning in it until I vomit. Mum achieved her life-long dream (seriously, I have heard her declaim about it since early childhood) of owning a gigantic swivel globe, and apparently we can write on it with wet-erase markers which makes it even more awesome. We also found a sort of stool/sewing-notions container, with removable legs and a Colonial pattern in brown and orange and turquoise, and I shall begin keeping DIY materials in it as I am getting quite enthusiastic about that sort of thing. Also we had a massive pile of books and I found a skirt slip. And Leandra delightedly rode on the furniture cart, crying "Wheeeee!" and making my entire week.
Later I went to the library and while they are still out of books argh they gave me all of their obscurer L.M. Montgomerys that they were getting rid of. (No-one may take Jane of Lantern Hill away from me! And this copy of The Blue Castle is missing the first page, but is in otherwise fine condition and in public domain anyway so I can print a replacement and trim it to size. Now I just hope they either don't get rid of A Tangled Web upstairs, or I am watching keenly enough to snatch it when they do.)
Bartholomew, our large black cat, has chosen my bed as his primary nest for the week. It is very sweet waking to a yawning cat, though also a little scary to have no idea he's there until you hear a licking noise.
Now I am drinking coffee with a vengeance and hoping it will turn me into some kind of superpowered awesome lady, and really wishing I could go get my hair cut already. I have a Terrifying Letter that I need to finish, and must find someplace to put all of the things that are on my floor, and also more plot for my NaNo would be good. (I think that is my mantra. This is supposed to be the easy one! Although I am, at least, considering using The Hounds of God as a working title, and it has been a very long time since I have had a working title or any kind of title at all for a project. I fear, though, that if I ever finish and try to publish it as YA it will not be seen as a very marketable title and they will change it to something stupid, like Cilla or [Blank] Manor/Hall/Whatever. I do need to figure out which intimidating British surname I want to use for my werewolf family. Also which one of them has died just before Cilla arrives and why, because if they are fighting Evil there must be some specific Evil that is causing plotly trouble, and how on earth do Cilla and Sebastian actually figure into the plot when it's werewolves doing stuff? GNGH. Also: wow, am I ever incoherent.)