new and fascinating
Obviously from the title, I have not lost my ability to tell outrageous lies. There's nothing new or fascinating going on around here.
Not that that will stop me from posting, although lately I've been doing the morning pages in a notebook. The daily brain purge greatly reduces the urge to spew every bit of minutiae onto LJ though.
I put the tree up on the 23rd, the little table-top one. I wouldn't have minded looking at the lights a while longer, but it was keeping poor Oliver from looking out of his window, so. Since he'd graciously refrained from flinging it to the floor for the dogs to snack on, I decided to repay the favor and take it down last night. I did this while--sort of--watching Blair Witch, which film I seem to have lost my taste for.
Never again will I buy these little plastic $mas light clips. Not including the ones Cobie chewed up, half of the ones I did use fell almost immediately, and the other half are refusing to be removed by any means yet discovered.
Midway through the de-treeing, I carried some of Zor's things that had been under the tree to the office (she was in bed) and I noticed a faint but unpleasant odor. My first thought was, oh no, Dmitri's dead, because it was that kind of stink. I discovered, however, that his bottle is leaking (again) so I replaced his wet bedding and got the bottle to stop dripping (again, for now). He came out and eagerly guzzled down three or four drops of water, poor little rodent guy. I put a new bottle on the shopping list, and also food, because a good part of his hoard got wet and I discarded it. I don't always let him keep his hoard, depending on how much he's pooped in it, but this bunch was a mess.
This morning I awakened to the sight of Miss Kelly's schnozz, which she placed between my boobs like a hotdog on a bun. One of my favorite times of life is after I wake up but before I have to get up, and my bladder cooperated today and gave me some drifty time. I thought about how Kelly's volume is not the same as the space she takes up, and about the different meanings of the word volume. I thought about how Jim Dear and Darling were pretty much boobs and Lady deserved somewhere better to put her schnozz. And of course I thought about Voices, which is the working title of my next manuscript, with it's premise that consists roughly of two idea spores. Not even seeds, just tiny dots the size of roach poop.
(RIght now the critters are in the living room, jostling for possession of the window.)
So yeah, I have roach poop as my novel premise, but at least I have two poops now instead of one. Either poop alone is lame, but if I can get them together, well at least I won't be stuck working on that old NaNovel I keep threatening to go back to (but I'd rather clean the utility room, and maybe I will.)
The second piece of poop has already made me not like the working title as much, but Voices stands for what I started with, so for now it stays.
I had a conversation earlier where I felt a little as though I was defending (again) my decision to write speculative fiction instead of real life-y material. This comes up half-often in my life. I secretly think I don't really have a choice. I don't know that I choose stories. It really seems more like they choose me. Any character, theme, or setting (especially houses) that show up and look lively are subject to inclusion.
I think, anyhow.
Regardless, I only want to write stories that are fun for me, because when you come right down to it, the vast majority of the time, that's all you're going to get. Approval, publication, all that are big ol' IFS...so go for the fun, I say.
I just took the distractions (dogs) out to chase squeerils. Never fear, the squeerils are safe on their high wires, but that doesn't stop the ever hopeful mutts from trying to chase them. It's half warm out there. All that fresh air has made me sleeeepy. Either that or I'm concussed. When I took the crockpot down to put soup beans in, the lid slid off and bonked me hard on the forehead. I then trapped the lid between my boobs and the refrigerator, but my hands were full of the crock and when I tried to put it back up there to free my hands the lid escaped again. I caught it a second time, briefly, with my knee, and then it rolled onto the floor. At least nothing broke, except possibly my head.