Lots of elevens today
So, November. This year it's looking a lot prettier than October, as the leaves changed very late. I wish that I were making good use of my time, writing furiously or something. But this is the problem with writing short stories (at least if you are me). You get one where you haven't figured out how to finish (I actually did finish it, but I know it's not right, and my Thursday group, big cheerleaders that they are, were decidedly lukewarm about it), and then what do you do? At least with a longer project there's almost always something you can do with it. If you're stuck in one place, you can work on a different spot, or you can outline (uh, if you're not me, that is -- I hate outlining and am lousy at it) or at least think hard about all the characters and work on their backstories and their relationships in your head. But when stuck on a short story, if I don't know where it goes, what else can I do? Start another one, which will soon land me in the same predicament? Or try to finish one of the other half-finished ones -- and all of it kind of needs some sort of idea to descend upon my brain.
So, I wish I were working on a long project. I wish the two interesting scenes I've got in my head went with even the vaguest notion of a plot or setting. Or that I knew what to do with the three or four novels I've started that fizzled out around page 60. I used to be better at this. I used to scoff at the idea that one needed "inspiration." But I have to admit, I kind of do. Send some, please, if you have any extra lying around.
Lung fluid is apparently coming back (according to X-ray Monday) but much more slowly -- I don't feel it at all, I'm not out of breath and can sing just fine. The thoracic surgeon's office was supposed to call this week, I thought, but maybe they decided there was no emergency and they would wait before doing anything. Notice I didn't call them. Meanwhile I keep getting things in the mail -- "Your stay at Brigham and Women's Hospital", a brochure and giant package of advice about my upcoming hospital stay -- and from Blue Cross, an approval for my upcoming surgery. And I'm like, WHAT upcoming surgery? To my knowledge I haven't been scheduled for surgery, I've told them I really don't want to do the surgery unless it becomes absolutely necessary, which it obviously isn't at the moment. It feels like a conspiracy, like whispered voices in my ear: "Do the surgery." Hopefully it's just some sort of bureaucratic mistake.
Cats. They are nice. Even though they can also be incredibly annoying. Teco has decided that, as part of her ongoing project to be around me every minute, she should drape herself around my neck whenever possible, like at dinner or when I'm on the computer. This is all very sweet, what with the purring in my ear and so forth, but then the claws come out as she starts to slip down my back, and I scream and throw her across the room. It's a little routine we have going. Figgy is much more dignified and satisfies himself with walking all over the keyboard and accidentally typing Google searches for "++++++."
Now you can see that you all have way more interesting lives than I do!
So, I wish I were working on a long project. I wish the two interesting scenes I've got in my head went with even the vaguest notion of a plot or setting. Or that I knew what to do with the three or four novels I've started that fizzled out around page 60. I used to be better at this. I used to scoff at the idea that one needed "inspiration." But I have to admit, I kind of do. Send some, please, if you have any extra lying around.
Lung fluid is apparently coming back (according to X-ray Monday) but much more slowly -- I don't feel it at all, I'm not out of breath and can sing just fine. The thoracic surgeon's office was supposed to call this week, I thought, but maybe they decided there was no emergency and they would wait before doing anything. Notice I didn't call them. Meanwhile I keep getting things in the mail -- "Your stay at Brigham and Women's Hospital", a brochure and giant package of advice about my upcoming hospital stay -- and from Blue Cross, an approval for my upcoming surgery. And I'm like, WHAT upcoming surgery? To my knowledge I haven't been scheduled for surgery, I've told them I really don't want to do the surgery unless it becomes absolutely necessary, which it obviously isn't at the moment. It feels like a conspiracy, like whispered voices in my ear: "Do the surgery." Hopefully it's just some sort of bureaucratic mistake.
Cats. They are nice. Even though they can also be incredibly annoying. Teco has decided that, as part of her ongoing project to be around me every minute, she should drape herself around my neck whenever possible, like at dinner or when I'm on the computer. This is all very sweet, what with the purring in my ear and so forth, but then the claws come out as she starts to slip down my back, and I scream and throw her across the room. It's a little routine we have going. Figgy is much more dignified and satisfies himself with walking all over the keyboard and accidentally typing Google searches for "++++++."
Now you can see that you all have way more interesting lives than I do!