Random Drive-By Posting!
I will spare you the doings of the past few days, all of which would either involve copious amounts of carpet cleaning, weed control, and TMI (not related), and simply cut to the chase.
Item One: I have a cold of some kind.
This is utterly stupid, as it's topping one hundred degrees outside with fair regularity. For you people who don't measure temperatures in American, one hundred degrees is about the temperature at which Naamah stops functioning. Coincidentally, it is also the internal temperature at which I appear to be running. Aren't fevers fun?
On the bright side, I've always been one of those lucky bitches who gets really cool fever dreams, and when I have a fever I write extremely well, so it's not all bad news.
Item Two: I am going to murder my cats.
Fish and Mathurin don't give a shit about each other, or any of the other cats. They are not the source of the problem. It's the other two. You know. The two I've had longest and who should, by rights, know better than to fuck with Mommy when Mommy does not feel well.
Tazendra has taken it upon herself to hiss and moan every time she sees any of the other three, and Sif has gone feral, and will attack any of the others who come within ten feet of her. Yesterday she attacked the dog.
Let me make this clear. The dog is, by my math, seven and a half times her size. And yet she latched onto his snout like one of those goddamned Garfield window-hangers and lacerated his snout, only narrowly missing his eyeball. The provocation? We have no clue, as the dog generally leaves the cats alone and will not attack even if provoked. Obviously. She scratched the crap out of him and all he did was yelp and hide, leaving her no recourse but to attach herself to his helpless ass like a dyslexic facehugger. Since they are both yellow and stripy, it looked like some kind of depraved mating ritual.
Oh, sure. Laugh. I'm scarred for life here.
I cannot pass a single hour without screaming deathmatches disrupting my train of thought. Cats come rolling through the room like hairy, spitting tumbleweeds. The doppler effect of their high-decibel shrieking makes them sound like some bizarre futuristic spaceship from a twisted Jetson's alternate reality that uses human infants for batteries.
When I scream at them to stop they split apart and then one or both will tear off in a different direction completely, most often taking a detour to run over my naked, unprotected foot, thus drawing blood. There they hunch and cower under any available furniture only to ricochet out, pinball-like, when yet another conflict sends yet another another animal rocketing into the room. At this point, one or both will either deposit some form of bodily effluvia in a highly inaccessible spot, or knock over the garbage in an attempt to eat something potentially lethal such as tinfoil, snake poop, and apple cores. During these brave excursions, the cats inevitably encounter one another again, and history sighs and repeats itself.
Item Three: The trailer for the Brothers Grimm movie looks very cool. Yes, I said I hate trailers, and I do, but sometimes they serve a purpose I neglected to mention in my rant. They serve to convince Sargon to take me to see a movie. This one might be in the bag, folks. Heath Ledger, Monica Belluci. Something for each of us.
Item Four: Unintentional humor is writing several pages of bondage porn, only to look down and realize that you are wearing a Punisher tee shirt.
My drugs just kicked in, and I'm feeling like sleeping. Finally. I think that's all for tonight.
Item One: I have a cold of some kind.
This is utterly stupid, as it's topping one hundred degrees outside with fair regularity. For you people who don't measure temperatures in American, one hundred degrees is about the temperature at which Naamah stops functioning. Coincidentally, it is also the internal temperature at which I appear to be running. Aren't fevers fun?
On the bright side, I've always been one of those lucky bitches who gets really cool fever dreams, and when I have a fever I write extremely well, so it's not all bad news.
Item Two: I am going to murder my cats.
Fish and Mathurin don't give a shit about each other, or any of the other cats. They are not the source of the problem. It's the other two. You know. The two I've had longest and who should, by rights, know better than to fuck with Mommy when Mommy does not feel well.
Tazendra has taken it upon herself to hiss and moan every time she sees any of the other three, and Sif has gone feral, and will attack any of the others who come within ten feet of her. Yesterday she attacked the dog.
Let me make this clear. The dog is, by my math, seven and a half times her size. And yet she latched onto his snout like one of those goddamned Garfield window-hangers and lacerated his snout, only narrowly missing his eyeball. The provocation? We have no clue, as the dog generally leaves the cats alone and will not attack even if provoked. Obviously. She scratched the crap out of him and all he did was yelp and hide, leaving her no recourse but to attach herself to his helpless ass like a dyslexic facehugger. Since they are both yellow and stripy, it looked like some kind of depraved mating ritual.
Oh, sure. Laugh. I'm scarred for life here.
I cannot pass a single hour without screaming deathmatches disrupting my train of thought. Cats come rolling through the room like hairy, spitting tumbleweeds. The doppler effect of their high-decibel shrieking makes them sound like some bizarre futuristic spaceship from a twisted Jetson's alternate reality that uses human infants for batteries.
When I scream at them to stop they split apart and then one or both will tear off in a different direction completely, most often taking a detour to run over my naked, unprotected foot, thus drawing blood. There they hunch and cower under any available furniture only to ricochet out, pinball-like, when yet another conflict sends yet another another animal rocketing into the room. At this point, one or both will either deposit some form of bodily effluvia in a highly inaccessible spot, or knock over the garbage in an attempt to eat something potentially lethal such as tinfoil, snake poop, and apple cores. During these brave excursions, the cats inevitably encounter one another again, and history sighs and repeats itself.
Item Three: The trailer for the Brothers Grimm movie looks very cool. Yes, I said I hate trailers, and I do, but sometimes they serve a purpose I neglected to mention in my rant. They serve to convince Sargon to take me to see a movie. This one might be in the bag, folks. Heath Ledger, Monica Belluci. Something for each of us.
Item Four: Unintentional humor is writing several pages of bondage porn, only to look down and realize that you are wearing a Punisher tee shirt.
My drugs just kicked in, and I'm feeling like sleeping. Finally. I think that's all for tonight.