Seasick
There comes a point at which you just have to wonder if the world will ever quit throwing you around. I'm seasick from riding this crap out. I don't feel good. For two weeks I've been panicky and tense for no real reason, and it's only gotten worse the past few days. I have no appetite, which is rare for me. I actually feel rather ill.
I went to see my mother yesterday, to take her some things and maybe try to cheer her up a little, since she's been down. She saw the doctor last week, but won't tell me what he said. I'm not upset that she's holding back - I'm the youngest and she wants to protect me and all that - but I wish she didn't feel like she had to. I get what I need to know from my sister, anyway, so it's not like it saves me any pain.
The outlook at this point is somewhat grimmer, and she may be taking a turn for the worse. I hate seeing her like this - the grand old bitch is just whipped. I don't know if I'd call her strong, but Mom has always been snappy, like me, and when an ill-tempered animal doesn't bite you, you know something's off.
It's killing all of us, this dying by degrees, and it isn't fair to anyone.
On a bright note, I go out with friends tonight to hit a book signing by Ellen Kushner and Delia Sherman, and I'll be attending a one-day writing workshop with them on Saturday.
This is huge news for me - huge - since I am a fan of modest physical proportions yet GREAT PSYCHIC ENDOWMENT. One reading of Swordspoint and The Fall of the Kings taught me more about writing than I've learned from years of listening to people talk. I fully intend to tell them this tonight, if I can manage more than monosyllabic grunting and frantic gesticulation. I will no doubt be far too overcome with awe to tell them that Fall was one of the most rampagingly erotic things I've read in ages.
In other light news, I should mention that I tried to kill myself this morning, and not in the "I'm so sick of it all" kind of way. This was the "failing to notice the cats have batted flammable objects onto the stove" sort of way. I almost missed the large cardboard tube lying RIGHT NEXT TO the burner. Thankfully, I snapped out of my sleepiness long enough to snatch it away before it could do more than singe.
Actually, strike that. I don't want to kill myself. My cats clearly want to kill me.
In the vein of cat-related homicidal urges, there is a link going around like bad acid, and I suggest you take a look at it. This wonderful person has pointed out something about humans and cats that I think bears more contemplation. If we had roommates that behaved this way, we would all live in terror. Go, look, laugh your head off.
This is a brief, creepy movie clip that is perfect for Halloween. Great stuff, no more than a couple minutes long. Besides, how can you resist watching a movie called "The Cat With Hands"?
And to think people ask me why I don't sleep with my cats in the room. Hah!
I went to see my mother yesterday, to take her some things and maybe try to cheer her up a little, since she's been down. She saw the doctor last week, but won't tell me what he said. I'm not upset that she's holding back - I'm the youngest and she wants to protect me and all that - but I wish she didn't feel like she had to. I get what I need to know from my sister, anyway, so it's not like it saves me any pain.
The outlook at this point is somewhat grimmer, and she may be taking a turn for the worse. I hate seeing her like this - the grand old bitch is just whipped. I don't know if I'd call her strong, but Mom has always been snappy, like me, and when an ill-tempered animal doesn't bite you, you know something's off.
It's killing all of us, this dying by degrees, and it isn't fair to anyone.
On a bright note, I go out with friends tonight to hit a book signing by Ellen Kushner and Delia Sherman, and I'll be attending a one-day writing workshop with them on Saturday.
This is huge news for me - huge - since I am a fan of modest physical proportions yet GREAT PSYCHIC ENDOWMENT. One reading of Swordspoint and The Fall of the Kings taught me more about writing than I've learned from years of listening to people talk. I fully intend to tell them this tonight, if I can manage more than monosyllabic grunting and frantic gesticulation. I will no doubt be far too overcome with awe to tell them that Fall was one of the most rampagingly erotic things I've read in ages.
In other light news, I should mention that I tried to kill myself this morning, and not in the "I'm so sick of it all" kind of way. This was the "failing to notice the cats have batted flammable objects onto the stove" sort of way. I almost missed the large cardboard tube lying RIGHT NEXT TO the burner. Thankfully, I snapped out of my sleepiness long enough to snatch it away before it could do more than singe.
Actually, strike that. I don't want to kill myself. My cats clearly want to kill me.
In the vein of cat-related homicidal urges, there is a link going around like bad acid, and I suggest you take a look at it. This wonderful person has pointed out something about humans and cats that I think bears more contemplation. If we had roommates that behaved this way, we would all live in terror. Go, look, laugh your head off.
This is a brief, creepy movie clip that is perfect for Halloween. Great stuff, no more than a couple minutes long. Besides, how can you resist watching a movie called "The Cat With Hands"?
And to think people ask me why I don't sleep with my cats in the room. Hah!