Oh hi
December is: cookies in the oven, laundry in the machine, way too many pills to take every day (because multivitamin and calcium supplements also), and basically, my insurance has already paid for itself because my new prescription would have cost $1,800 a month without it. December is Snow Wars, real and virtual, new dragons on Dragoncave, a Transformer sneaking into roleplay-musespace even as I go down from ten Tron characters to six, staring at a half-done Newton Geiszler sleeve which has been sitting on my desk for months because my blue fabric pen is too dark for the design, barely staying ahead of the dishes most of the time, and not vacuuming since the previous month. December has been delaying phone calls and emails and non-rp social networking because they'd mean explaining where I've been and why I needed silence. December brought new music and complete meatspace filing system fail and general inability to can.
December's been not doing a tenth of the things I think I should be doing because of long commute and because being sick keeps landing me home every evening with no energy. December's been having too much to write (here and elsewhere) and, for lack of strength to write it, not being able to write anything. December's this ramblepost because at least I can pretend it's poetic.
December's had lots of paperwork. And lots of delays. And some things no longer delayed, which helped.
December's a new Doctor. And confirmation of a whole new regen cycle, which was cool and one of two excellent callbacks to The Five Doctors. Smith and Gillian made me cry. The footage was beautiful. The script was a gigantic festering mess of plot holes and incompatible emotional beats. I am immensely dissatisfied, still certain that a Weeping Angel did away with the script editor last season, and eager for Capaldi's run.
December's been the end of my interest in Sherlock. I'd lost interest before Martin Freeman said that thing he said, largely for the same reason I haven't watched any of Elementary yet despite Lucy Liu (and still have no interest in Supernatural or Teen Wolf): apparently there's only so long I can be bothered with shows based on reveling in how horribly codependent and bad for each other the characters are, how they will never, ever be able to escape each other, and how very much they can hurt each other if the writers really, really try. The trailer clinched it for me: everything in it was not what I'm a Holmes fan for. And then Martin Freeman said what he said in that Hobbit interview, which I'm not going to talk about because the fact that it exists and that he hasn't apologised yet (aside from the fact that it was said half in character, which is a whole different layer of wrong) is... exhausting, basically. I have noped out. The Vik has left the building.
December is discovering that I did actually back up my writing: up to July, which means most of it is there. A giant folder of screencaps and resources and two years' worth of art development is still gone. I haven't given up on getting my laptop back. But I have my writing. Now all I have to do is stop shaking and keep at it.
Originally posted on Dreamwidth. There are
comments there so far.
December's been not doing a tenth of the things I think I should be doing because of long commute and because being sick keeps landing me home every evening with no energy. December's been having too much to write (here and elsewhere) and, for lack of strength to write it, not being able to write anything. December's this ramblepost because at least I can pretend it's poetic.
December's had lots of paperwork. And lots of delays. And some things no longer delayed, which helped.
December's a new Doctor. And confirmation of a whole new regen cycle, which was cool and one of two excellent callbacks to The Five Doctors. Smith and Gillian made me cry. The footage was beautiful. The script was a gigantic festering mess of plot holes and incompatible emotional beats. I am immensely dissatisfied, still certain that a Weeping Angel did away with the script editor last season, and eager for Capaldi's run.
December's been the end of my interest in Sherlock. I'd lost interest before Martin Freeman said that thing he said, largely for the same reason I haven't watched any of Elementary yet despite Lucy Liu (and still have no interest in Supernatural or Teen Wolf): apparently there's only so long I can be bothered with shows based on reveling in how horribly codependent and bad for each other the characters are, how they will never, ever be able to escape each other, and how very much they can hurt each other if the writers really, really try. The trailer clinched it for me: everything in it was not what I'm a Holmes fan for. And then Martin Freeman said what he said in that Hobbit interview, which I'm not going to talk about because the fact that it exists and that he hasn't apologised yet (aside from the fact that it was said half in character, which is a whole different layer of wrong) is... exhausting, basically. I have noped out. The Vik has left the building.
December is discovering that I did actually back up my writing: up to July, which means most of it is there. A giant folder of screencaps and resources and two years' worth of art development is still gone. I haven't given up on getting my laptop back. But I have my writing. Now all I have to do is stop shaking and keep at it.
Originally posted on Dreamwidth. There are
comments there so far.