Two Heads Not Better Than One

I am two people right now. No, not in the "quick get the crazy pills" sense, but in the "philosophers might have some fun with this" sense. This miracle of life can get pretty mind-boggling at times. To think that this child can't survive without me is pretty daunting. My body is sustaining myself and Junior. And meanwhile, Daddy is only having to deal with some second-hand impacts. Lucky duck. He contributed some nucleic acids, maybe some vital proteins, and that's it. Everything else has been all Baby and me. That leaves me wondering exactly how men came to be and still are the "dominant" sex. I don't mean to sound bitter or sexist. It's just one of those things you think about during a bad bout of morning sickness. Right along with the thoughts of "we've been doing this for HOW many thousands of years and evolution hasn't found a better way to create new life" and "can't we just lay eggs like lizards".

But back to the two people, one body thing. I can definitely say that two heads are most certainly not better than one. Simple case in point: food. I miss steak. Juicy, spicy, covered in A-1 steak. Baby clearly is not interested in this delicacy. I'll think about the taste of steak and start to salivate. Then I think about swallowing a bite of steak, and my stomach gives the negative anticipatory rumble. This dichotomy has me bothered enough that I haven't even tried to repeat this thought exercise with something like salmon. I should really start building menus that I can stash somewhere and just start having all of these Lost Meals as soon as Junior's out and about. That's assuming that the little runt won't decide to take issue with any of the Lost Meal byproducts showing up in breast milk. At least then I'll be able to pass the kid over to Mark for him to deal with whatever unfortunate results occur.

Similarly, having Baby's input on my life right now makes getting work done interesting. I'll be all excited about getting some writing done, and Baby will promptly decide it's Nap Time. It's to the point where a successful weekend is one in which I've conned this child into letting me clean the bathrooms or balance my checkbook. At least I can get a lot of reading and TV-watching and music-listening done. Baby seems to enjoy the Simpsons and Whose Line and CSI, but can't be bothered to let me stay awake through the Star Wars trilogy and finds Law&Order unimpressive. Baby loves Carol Berg's fantasies and Nevada Barr's mysteries, but isn't very interested in Lemony Snicket or the morning paper. Tori Amos is a fave, especially the really melodic piano bits, and the string-quartet awesomeness of Bond is appealing, but nearly all radio stations are a no-go--at least while I'm driving. In short, it seems Baby really likes me to laugh and think and dream. While I certainly loved these activities before, I get extra joy and reward from them now. It's interesting.

OK, so I guess two heads can be better than one. Rather, this second person growing inside me is finding some ways to give back as it takes sustenance from me. Maybe Baby will feel so generous as to let me enjoy a big steak this summer.

Snap, Crackle, Pop

I finally snapped last week. All because of warm milk and turkey sandwiches, or rather the suggestion of them.

Week 15 of my pregnancy had been fantastic, notwithstanding all the damn car minutiae we were going through. Week 16 brought back the joys of bad sleep and morning conversations with Earl Chunks, my trusty green bucket. By the time I got to Week 17, I was starting to fall asleep in meetings at work and losing concentration during simple tasks. I called my OB to try to convince him that the normally trivial pregnancy symptoms of exhaustion and morning sickness were having a profound impact on my life and health. I thought for sure that mentioning that I had run a red light and caused a car accident most likely due to exhaustion would finally get this guy's attention. But no. He comes back with warm milk and turkey sandwiches as the next fix to try. This came the day after I was seconds away from quitting my job because I had just gotten a new pile of work and no help to get through it. I lost it.

Week 18, this week, of my pregnancy saw me at home, taking a week off from work (without pay because my three remaining vacation days are spoken for with family trips) so I could try to get some sleep and get on top of all this stress. And, of course, find a new OB. I did get a lot of sleep, and most of my mornings were fine, although Baby can't seem to let me go longer than ten days without finding fault with something I ate for breakfast. But trying to get on top of the stress has been rough. I had some heart to hearts with Mark to find the best ways for the two of us to deal with my stress and his stress without creating more stress. I progressed further in my quest to accept the reality of my current situation: energy levels that I can't depend on, rough mornings, lots of naps, strange reactions to even the mention of some foods, etc. But when it came to figuring out how I might handle returning to work, I kept coming up empty.

Then I realized a couple of things. One, that I've dealt with exceedingly stressful situations before in my life and emerged just fine, and even weathered the storms with a helluva lot more grace. Two, that in those previous situations I had the comfort of knowing exactly where I was going in life (career in research) and of good, unwavering health. Three, that while I now have life goals and direction again, I am unable to proceed toward them with the gusto I would like due to Mark's needing to finish up his degree and my needing to bring home the bacon until he's got the letters after his name to do so. Four, that I can't rely on my body at all to be healthy at any given time. In short, nearly all of my strength is tapped in just getting through the unique stress and health issues of each day, sometimes each hour. So it's no wonder that a downward spiral in my work situation combined with the extracurricular joys of a car accident and root canal are all converging to make me a basket case on a regular basis. I've got to learn new coping strategies because the fallbacks of life direction and health are no longer givens that I don't have to worry about.

So while I don't necessarily have any answers to make the months leading up to October 3 any easier, I at least have a better understanding of where I am and why things get to feel so overwhelming. And knowing those things will hopefully help me see warning signs well in advance of the snapping point I hit last week.

One Day I'll Learn

I've been grousing a lot about how icky I feel. And I got to thinking about how that might be misrepresenting both me and pregnancy. Let me make this clear: I am not a wimp or a whiner, and pregnancy isn't this awful condition to be feared or avoided lest you feel as miserable as I've been describing or worse. It's just that, with Mark being "stuck" in grad school for another year or so (pray for cooperative fruit flies so we can lower that number), I'm the major breadwinner for the family. I feel this responsibility acutely. And it's driving me crazy that the one time I absolutely need my body to be 100% so I can provide for this child in the future is the same time that I have to make every concession my body asks of me in order to provide for this child right now.

So I'm getting a tad irked with my pregnant body for not letting me work the 40hours or more without collapsing from exhaustion every night and weekend. I'm rather pissed at this mortal casing for not letting me finish a book that I could try to get published in time for Junior's arrival or shortly thereafter (yes, I know that's not all that realistic anyway, but this "gotta provide" thing is freakish in its primal, instinctive nature). And I'm really annoyed that I have to kowtow to my stomach before I can make weekend plans to work with some writing friends on putting together a consulting business. Does it matter that it would be unreasonable to consider 100% non-stop effectiveness while trying to work three jobs (the nine-to-fiver, writing, and consulting) even without the added "job" of pregnancy? Apparently it didn't to me.

I know--in the logic sense--that our financial situation is fine. Sure, it's not ideal, but it's very capable of keeping Mark, Baby, and myself fed and well cared for. Even with the unexpected car loan foisted on us last week. I know that we'll find a way to keep day care costs and frequency of use to a minimum. Mark is a genius when it comes to finding ways to make the best of tight money and time situations. But there's that illogical, emotion-ridden part of me that feels the weight of this child growing in me and knows that I want more than "we'll find a way" for this new life. I have a feeling I'll be fighting this part of me for the rest of my life, and that I'm in no way unique as a parent to feel this. I'll always try to find even more resources to give this baby. Always be willing to run myself into the ground to get those resources. Because, after all, my life isn't nearly as important as this child's. So sayeth the illogical, emotion-ridden, Mother Bear, instinctive part of me.

And so I grouse about the exhaustion and the morning sickness. I get frustrated every time I have to set aside weekend plans. I feel the stress levels rise every time I think of the long list of items I haven't been able to get to since February. I take on more and more at work, hoping to compensate for all the sick days I've taken and all the times I have to leave early or arrive late and make up the time at home or on the weekend. Every "relapse" into exhaustion and morning sickness after a day or so of feeling good drives me insane. Not because I can't hack it (though I'd much rather NOT have to deal with these symptoms), but because it's keeping me from being in what I think is the right position to provide what I want for this child.

But I'm trying to be easier on myself. Every woman experiences pregnancy in different ways, and I can't keep denying the way my body's responding. And railing against it doesn't do anything for my blood pressure or general state of being. I'm trying to live better with this, give myself evenings to just read and watch TV without feeling guilty, actually take lunch breaks even if it means working an hour or so on the weekends (which I can now do from home, a definite plus). Funny how it all works out. I've spent much of my life living for others, working for others, beating myself into oblivion to make everything around me run smoother. Now I'm facing a situation where in order to work and live for someone else, I have to work and live for myself because that someone else is physically a part of me.

This child is a blessing in so many ways.

The "New-to-Us" Car

Bought a used car last night. It's another Saturn, same year as our dearly departed car, less miles, a few upgrades. The big selling point for me was that it had cruise control. Ever since I had surgery on my right knee, I'm unable to drive for more than an hour and a half without cruise control. Otherwise fluid builds up in my knee and things get stiff and very, very, very painful. Thankfully, anywhere I have to drive in the area rarely takes longer than an hour and a half to get to. Unfortunately, I can only spell Mark for an hour and a half whenever we go on road trips to see sights and visit family. He doesn't mind too much, but I do, because I do enjoy driving, especially in the Southwest. I'm also far more alert than he is in the morning, and it'll be better if I take the first leg while he gets a few more winks of sleep.

Other cool bells & whistles: keyless entry, power windows & locks, CD player. It's one detraction: it's gold with tan/brown interior. Not my fave color combo. If we had been a bit quicker yesterday, we could've gotten almost the exact same car but in silver. Oh well. I'll live with the color for all the other perks. Here's hoping we're not having to do this again in another four or so years.

Turning Point

I think I might have felt Baby kicking and punching last night. I felt a few odd fluttery spasms on one side of The Womb, and then the same thing on the other side a while later. It could've been Junior thanking me for the yummy dinner. Or it could've been gas. Or just some new symptom of pregnancy. Can't seem to run out of those. Still, it was neat and got me looking forward to the coming weeks.

I seem to be out of the first trimester woods. I'm getting five hours of sleep every night, and they're good hours. If I time my schedule a bit better, I may even be able to get six or seven hours consistently. I still wake up every morning at 4:30 AM, but now I can climb back into bed and get a few rounds of 20-minute light naps in before the alarm goes off at 6 AM. And my stomach isn't unsettled in the mornings anymore. It's nervous. I can't explain it, I can't seem to appease it, but at least food goes down and stays down.

But all of this could change by the weekend. Who knows? I don't think it will, though. It's like I can tell my bod's adjusted to Junior's presence. I feel more active, more alert, more stable. I think this finally means that my weekends are finally mine again. I don't think I'll need to spend this entire weekend passed out on the couch or in bed, recovering from a work. This has me so excited! I have a ton of stuff to catch up on. Like my on-line writing course assignments. And research for a writing consultant business so pals of mine want to start up. And how 'bout actually WRITING some more, eh? And then, once I get caught up, maybe I could start participating in housework again and give Mark a breather from running the house. The possibilities boggle the mind.

Total Loss

Our four-year-old car is totaled. Just like my last car, I managed to mangle the frame just enough that trying to fix the thing would be way more than the car is worth, and probably wouldn't be anywhere near as safe and stable as it had been fresh off the assembly line. And, of course, the car has grossly devalued in the past four years. Shockingly so, actually. So we're looking at a small loan to get even a decent quality used car. I'm of the "in for a dime, in for a dollar" school of thought when it comes to loans. I figure we might as well get a brand new car and try this again if we have to get a loan anyway. Mark's much more financially savvy than that, but if we can get a steal of a deal on financing for a new car, then he might think about a new one.

Last night we visited our young, dead auto at the tow lot and cleaned the puppy out. This was the first time I got a good look at the damage. Yipes. I really beat the shit out of that car, considering I was only going 30mph. Managed to hit the other car with enough force and at the right angle that it spun and slammed into me, smashing my rear bumper to bits. In addition to crumpling the front right side like an accordion.

And the car still reeked of that godawful airbag dust. But hey, at least I've got my Tori Amos CDs back.

A New Family Tradition

When my mother was about 14-15 weeks pregnant with me, she was in a car accident. Crossing a state road, got clipped at the rear by an 18-wheeler. Did a 360 into a ditch and a 180 back out of it. Gave her some bruising and whiplash, decimated the groceries in the trunk. Probably rung my bell a bit, too, but I turned out just fine (except for a few pesky genetic issues that were already set in stone by then for me).

So Friday afternoon I decided that I couldn't let my mother outdo me and a root canal while pregnant certainly couldn't compete with a car accident while pregnant. Yup, good a reason as any to run a red light, right? Before I give all the fascinating details, be reassured that I am fine and Baby is fine. I have a small scrape on my arm from the airbag deployment, a tiny bruise on my knee from hitting the bottom of the steering wheel, and a few sore muscles on my neck and where my seat belt kept me in place. Oh yeah, and my ego's a bit battered, but it can take it. Baby's ticker is still going at 159-161 bpm (my nurse says this is an indicator of a girl), and we even heard some more kicking and punching today, not that I can feel it yet.

It all started Friday morning when I decided that Mark and I needed some Mommy and Daddy time. We arranged to take the afternoon off and grab some lunch together and then maybe pick up a baby toy or some baby books or something equally sappy. I was on my way to pick him up, listening to Tori Amos and getting a little day-dreamy about the whole "and baby makes three" thing. The sun was shining, creating all sorts of fun shadows, and I was about to head under a bridge just before a stoplight. The car next to me slammed on the brakes, my first indication that perhaps the light was red and not green. I checked, saw the red, immediately slammed on the brakes, and started swerving to the left to avoid the car already pulling out into the intersection. For a few blissful milliseconds, I thought I had stopped in time. I relaxed and exhaled, only to come to a half-second later, trying to catch my breath, staring at a deflated airbag, a bumper (not mine) twenty feet in front of me, and a neatly crumpled hood (mine).

By this point, the delusion that I had avoided the accident was looking mighty preferable, and I had a hard time getting back to the present. Then I started to freak. The baby, the car, the money, the bay, the car, the money, THE BABY OHMIGOD THE BABY WHAT HAVE I DONE WHAT HAVE I DONE. Then I started to multitask like I've never multitasked before. Other people were out of their cars, checking on me, bystanders were calling the cops, I was trying to answer everyone's "are you OK" questions, assess the damage of the car, my own personal "broken/good" gauges, apologize profusely to Baby, call my husband, and sob. While trying to assure Mark that I was OK, but to just get here now, I realized the car was smoking slightly. In a strange haze of "what do I save", I fumbled for my purse, took my glasses off because they had been knocked askew by the air bag (and in my disheveled state I had failed to realize that I just needed to resettle them on my nose), and got the heck out of my smoking, greenish-yellow fluid-leaking car.

I made it to the curb and the sobbing started in earnest. By this point, two people had attached themselves to me: an EMT who happened to be there, and a very nice woman named Linda who took it upon herself to get me calmed down. The driver of the other vehicle stayed with the cars, checking out the damage. I'm pretty sure he was the first to ask me if I was OK, but I honestly don't remember. Eventually Linda got me calmed down and joking about the fact that my mother had been in an accident while pregnant, how we had just the day before replaced the car battery, how a root canal wasn't excitement enough for Junior, etc. This gave the EMT time to take my pulse (an adrenaline-fueled 120 bpm). And then the cops and paramedics started showing up. This was a haze of very kind faces making sure I was OK, taking care of all the details like getting the other guy's info, clearing the intersection of debris, towing the cars away, etc. At some point, the put me in a neck brace and started to get me on a backboard. I asked them to wait a few seconds until Mark got there so he didn't have to show up just as I was getting wheeled into an ambulance, because this was all precautionary, not necessary.

For those of you who have never been on a backboard before, I really don't recommend it. For the first half hour, it's not so bad. But by the time you've been on the damn thing for two frickin' hours, you're ready to invent an entire new language using nothing but profanity. Any pain I had in my neck from the accident was nothing compared to the back pain from being stuck on that damn orange backboard for two hours.

Everything slowed down and became basically ordinary at the ER. Some Xrays, a CAT scan (here's hoping Baby takes the trace amount of scatter radiation and turns into the Stops On A Dime Xman), a quick fetal heartbeat monitor, and we were ready for our friend PJ to drive us home. All in all, while Mark and I got to spend quite a bit of extra time together this weekend, this was not the manner in which I had hoped to spend it. I slept away most of Saturday, waking up only long enough to pick up the rental car after Mark found out that his driver's license had expired. Sunday I was supposed to host a writing group, but we were hammered with a decently impressive snowstorm yesterday and had to cancel the meeting. And I didn't have to mess with Earl at all this weekend (excluding the intense conversation we had Friday evening; note to self: Baby does NOT like spicy pork BBQ).

I was quite content not having any exposure to the reality of what emergency response folks do. But now that I've experienced their skills firsthand, I'm truly amazed and grateful that we have people like that in the world. Everyone who helped me get through Friday afternoon was amazing. I felt safe, protected, cared for. It was nice to have a moment to look around and realize that everyone wants to help.

Now I'm just waiting for the phone call that will tell me whether or not the car is totaled. If it is, this will be the third car Mark and I have lost since we've been together, two of them within days after replacing the battery. I think I've satisfied my adventure quota for a while. Hopefully at least for the next six months.

Good Stuff

I was so absorbed in my little "woe-is-me" tirade on Sunday that I neglected to mention the big, awesome news from last week. My brother is back from Iraq, safe and sound in the good ol' US of A. Of course I can't see the pipsqueak until he has time to drive up here in May. But he's back, and he'll be out of the Marines by the end of the week, maybe even done with Reservist duty. Big Sis is very happy. About that, anyway.

I actually had a somewhat normal morning, excluding the fact that it started at 4AM. But my stomach seemed almost pre-pregnancy stable. The "almost" reared its head when I tried to eat a nice bagel, egg & cheese sandwich Mark whipped up for me. The concept of such a breakfast sounded good when I asked Mark to make it for me. The concept started losing its appeal as soon as it was placed in front of me. I took a test bite and my stomach advised me that taking another bite would be most unwise. So Mark got a spiffy little breakfast instead. But at least there was no bucket hugging this morning. (And I've decided that the bucket's name is Earl Chunks.) And I also found a blog that made me realize things could be a lot worse. This poor woman. She seems to have the support network she needs to get through this, and she doesn't have to be anywhere for 40hours a week for that silly money stuff. But I had a brief glimpse of what she must be suffering on Saturday when I couldn't get anything to stay down until I finally passed out from exhaustion and gave my stomach time to sort itself out. If every day of the past 14 weeks had been like Saturday morning, I would be making appointments for a vasectomy and a tubal ligation the day after I delivered.

I'm so glad my body is behaving today. I was just so tired of it all last night that I cried for a good ten minutes. I needed today to be a good day. Who knows what kind of day tomorrow will be, but at least today is good. At the moment. :)

Bad, Bad Week

So much for pulling out of the first trimester woes. They were back with a vengeance this week. I'm thinking of naming my constant companion, the green bucket of former mopping yore. Afterall, we're getting to know each other fairly intimately, especially after yesterday morning. It took my stomach five hours to realize that it actually wasn't supposed to return the items I kept trying to give it. And then there's this whole sleeping issue. Junior seems to think that it's not all that important. That four hours of sleep is enough to enable a pregnant woman to get through a forty-hour work week. This child and I are going to have words if next week doesn't show some glimmer of improvement.

And don't even get me started on the DDJ. Or my writing. Not after this week.

Survived

I made it through the first and the worst of the three-part root canal experience. The next two appointments will not be as long and won't involve nearly as much rooting around in my mouth. The worst part about yesterday's appointment was anticipating it. My stomach was a mess yesterday and the day before. And the minute I walked out of the dentist's office, I felt 100% better, back to the normal I've been feeling since the middle of last week. Yes, mornings are still strange, and apparently Junior really likes having me up at 4AM every morning. But everything's really calmed down from what it was throughout the first trimester.

I've got a couple posts nattering around in my head, mostly about my adjusted writing goals for the year and such. Hopefully I'll start posting at least a couple times a week soon. It all depends on the DDJ and if things start to settle a bit here.

Wha?

I had a post about entering my second trimester that went just before my little snippet about getting a root canal. I know I didn't hallucinate it because I even had some comments on it. I'm confuzzled.

Can We Say Fun?

The mildly annoying toothache that started up this weekend just became a real pain in the ass. Turns out I've got enough decay in one particular tooth to make my dentist cringe in sympathy pain. Thursday will see my initiation into the Wild World of Root Canals. Thankfully the procedure is just like having a cavity filled only longer (well, "just like" from my perspective, at any rate). And our dental insurance is nice enough to keep the price tag on this way down. But, wow. Didn't expect to deal with this kind of a first during my first pregnancy. Joy.

Ten Weeks Down

I got on-line over an hour ago to post something deep about myself and my pregnancy. I made the mistake of trying to catch up on my blog reading first. (See, I've been out sick after lasting a glorious half-day at work yesterday. I keep having pep talks with Junior about letting me sleep through the night and operate with a passably normal stomach so I can go earn that silly little thing called money that will be very important for things like food, clothing, and diapers. Sometimes they take.) Sheila linked to a post by Patrick Nielsen Hayden about some crank's fun ideas about women and hard SF. The ensuing comments on the topic sucked an hour out of my life. It had its entertaining moments, lots of headshakers, but it left me with an overall thought that The Battle of the Sexes will be perpetuated forever, with women always having to prove something and men never having to do so. So that hour was a pretty sad hour.

But it wasn't why I hopped on-line. I wanted to post because I'm now a quarter of the way through my pregnancy. That's not the milestone I'm most interested in, of course, not when I still feel like a foreigner in my own skin. Not when I still can't guarantee I'll be able to get through a full week of work. Not when breakfast still decides to make a return appearance a couple of times a week (though thankfully not this week...yet). As I went through yet another day spent at home instead of at work because the thought of being more than twenty feet from my bed and my fridge makes me not only nervous but faint, I thought that I might be having a better time of the first trimester if I actually enjoyed my job. Wouldn't it be easier to work through my feelings of ickiness if I liked what I do for fourty hours every week? Maybe, maybe not.

Such thoughts lead me to consider why I don't like my job...and why I didn't like the one before that...and so on. I can make excellent arguments for why I haven't been happily employed ever since I realized that I didn't want to get my PhD. And all of these arguments skirt around a greater potential issue: the problem isn't the job(s), it's me. No wonder I skirt around it. But something about being pregnant at the same time that my brother's in Iraq, my mother's going through her own private hell at her job, my grandfather's been diagnosed with lung* cancer, and Mark's grandfather just survived a heart attack, really got me thinking and analyzing and taking a severe look at how I perceive myself and my life.

At some point during my childhood, I told myself that life would be "happily ever after" once I finished school and got married. I'd get a job and be successful, as would my husband, and we'd have a perfect nuclear family, and eventually we'd retire to go RVing through the country and harass our kids. But here's the thing: that "happily ever after" mentality led me to the grossly inaccurate assumption that life only required effort through school and finding a mate. That everything would be peaches and light with no active input on my part. Disney's probably the biggest culprit behind such a horribly flawed reasoning. I mean, we never see the "happily ever after". It's just assumed that everything will be OK from then on out. That just getting together was the hardest thing they'd ever have to face in their lives (sometimes worked in with another Big Issue that, miraculously, always resolved itself seconds before or after they got together; nice timing). This combined with my parents' big push for me to get a college degree before I got married (with the unspoken caveat of "or you'll end up like us"--which sounds way harsher than I mean; my parents did have it rough until my father became an officer in the Air Force, but things always seemed to be more or less average middle class after that; of course, I could be wrong, I was only 6-18 at the time :)), led me to the conclusion that life wouldn't be anything to get worked up about after college and marriage.

Gotta love those fun, debilitating delusions. Even though I just blamed Disney and my parents, it was a more or less conscious decision on my part at about the age of 12 to come to that incorrect conclusion. And then, genius that I am, I let that flawed logic rule my life until a few weeks ago. The logic hasn't been working so well the past couple years, always leaving me bewildered when I realized that I hated whatever job I had at the time and that I couldn't do the work I wanted to because life circumstances just don't allow me to not have a guaranteed income at the moment. That twelve-year-old inside me as been crying out "no fair" for a while now, causing a lot of hurt and confusion and depression and general ickiness. I never understood how I could be so unhappy with true love beside me and a successful education behind me and gainful employment to boot. I started to think something was wrong with me, that I was just a bad person. Mark kept insisting that this couldn't be true because he loves me and he wouldn't if I were a bad person. Since I trust his judgement of character pretty much implicitly in all other things, his argument made logical sense. But I wasn't buying it.

Then I got hammered with the reality of Life After School and Marriage over the past month. And one thing became very clear: "happily ever after" is not a passive thing that just happens. It requires the same effort that life required before. Even as light bulbs starting flaring to life in my noggin, so did a whole lot of frustration and shame. I couldn't believe that I had honestly deluded myself for so long that life could require anything other than my active participation to be a happy thing. How much of the past 2-3 years have been a hell of my own making because of one stupid mistake in reasoning in my childhood? I could really go on, railing away at myself, but I suppose that's something best reserved for my next session with my therapist. And, honestly, I know enough about myself that at least 75% of the diatribe would be more for the sake of drama than anything else. What can I say? I'm a writer with a long history of Drama Queen tendencies.

My big cathartic moment most likely came in the middle of a crying jag after a sleepless night and while my stomach was debating the pros and cons of retaining whatever I had just fed it. I had probably just missed a good day or two of work and gotten some odd comments on it. And the realization that my body, this vessel that I've known for more than 26 years, that I've grown accustomed to, that I know so well, is suddenly as unfamiliar as an undiscovered planet--all that combined to make me realize that Life Just Happens. You have to deal with it as it comes, preparing when you can, analyzing when you can. But you can't sit back and go "it wasn't supposed to be like this". For starters, it's hard to get anything done that way. And, the longer you sit around and look at something in dismay, the more new things there'll be to shake your fist at once you stop.

This realization took greater shape as I really looked at the way those I loved were dealing with their own unique events. My brother still cracks the same annoying younger brother jokes in his emails and calls. My grandfather insists he only knows he's sick because some doctor keeps telling him he is. My mother keeps "getting back on the horse" and doing what she has to do to make a bad situation better and she still manages to find the time to ease her daughter's "ohmygodwhatshappeningtome" fears. And then there's Mark. Taking all the cooking and cleaning and grocery buying in stride and always finding a way to make sure he has the right comforting things to say or do when things get rough for me. After I get over the initial reaction of "I'm a selfish twit of a person who doesn't deserve all this", I realize that I must be doing something right. No matter the silliness of "happily ever after" and how long a part of me clung to it, there had to have been at least one part of me doing the right thing and actually living my life instead of railing against the things I couldn't control. Otherwise, all these fabulous people in my life wouldn't be in my life.

I know that was a lot of personal junk to throw at you. It's worth it if any of my readers stopped and thought about their own "happily ever after" notions clinging to them from childhood. And I'm not exactly one to shrink away from airing my dirty laundry to the world. Probably part of that Drama Queen stuff again. Sometimes you just have to share those insights, even if they should have been obvious, even if they revealed a flaw you might be a tad uncomfortable with. Now the only thing I'm left to ponder is how long this insight would've taken were I not pregnant.

*I originally typed that as "lunch" cancer. This could be a sign of that other pregnancy sypmtom, something about reduced mental acuity. Damn horomones.

Baby's First Picture

At my appointment on Tuesday, I was surprised with the opportunity to do a sonogram. Not the one with all the bells and whistles that's going to happen at Week 20, but a sneak peak of baby all the same. The little tyke (and there's just one, so either the psychic thinks I'm going to get pregnant again this year--and I bet you can hear my joyful whimper at that prospect--or she was a tad off) was barely 1.5cm at the time. So click here to look at Junior's first opportunity to say "cheese".

SciFi Friday

Friday nights are great. First of all, it's the start of a weekend, and that's ALWAYS a good thing. Second, I get to hang out with some writers in an on-line forum and toss around ideas and jokes and such. Third, I get to watch three great science fiction shows: Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, and Battlestar Gallactica. Lotsa fun. Last night was no exception. SG-1 likes to do clip shows on a fairly regular basis, and they usually do a decent job of weaving the clips into a passably entertaining story (defending their jobs to the ever-annoying Senator Kinsey, revealing the existence of the stargate to other world governments, etc). But last night they really outdid themselves. The backbone story for the clip show was about a guy who, seven years ago, stumbled across a piece of Ancient technology at a garage sale. This little device gave him the ability to see SG-1's adventures through the eyes of Colonel O'Neill. He started writing it down as stories (which, of course, were always rejected by the top SF mags). The whole show was about this guy's life and what knowing of SG-1 did to him. His reaction to Daniel's departure at the end of season 5 was priceless. The writers obviously had a good time using this story-telling device to reveal the show's inconsistencies, dropped storylines, fan criticism, etc. It was great.

I'm still waiting for something with all three shows, though. Don't get me wrong: I like them and think they are excellent. But they've also all set themselves up for something more and they're not delivering as yet. SG-1 has had a strange season because they wrote themselves into a bit of a bind by having O'Neill run the SGC instead of remain a part of SG-1. So the usual "go off-world and battle the bad guys" storyline is rarely used. And Atlantis seems to be trying to pretend it's in a third or fourth season instead of its first, so we don't have nearly as much situation set up as I would've expected. Sometimes that's a good thing, but sometimes I get frustrated at the obvious depth of the world they live in that we just don't see. Granted, Battlestar Gallactica just started its series run in January, but a few things already bother me. It seems to me that a civilization capable of FTL travel and such should have medical technology a bit more advanced than our present day standards. I mean, what does it say about humanity if we can populate twelve worlds, chase the stars in ships, create a robotic race like the Cylons, but can't cure breast cancer or speed up the recovery of a knee injury? What exactly have they been doing since they left Earth? Everytime something medical comes up in that show, it always throws me right out of the story. I just can't believe that we'll be so far advanced in everything but medicine in a few millenia.

Anyway, despite my grumblings, I really like these shows and they make for an excellent Friday night.

The DDJ Strikes Again

I was right. The Dreaded Day Job is now even more dreaded. They took away my new responsibilities and the hopes I had of getting a new position. Which is really funny considering this is the second time this has happened, and I've only been aware of the new positions because OTHER PEOPLE in the company have shoved me into their path. I'm getting whiplash here. Do you want me to advance or don't you? Do you want to take advantage of my six years of higher education or do you want to keep me in a job that I could have easily done in junior high? Figure it out, people. It may not be the easiest thing in the world to get a new job while pregnant, but I'll find a way if this shit keeps up. And there will be Hell To Pay if I find out that I was denied the new responsibilities and position because someone got wind of the fact that I'm pregnant. If that's what happened, then I'm going to have a rollicking good time getting the DDJ to cough up the money we need to guarantee that I won't have to go back to work anytime soon after Junior's arrival.

Update: Seconds before I went to publish this post, my manager called me and my counterpart into his office and told us that we would be attending an intense training session with project managers and data management employees about addressing problem areas in the company. Not a new position, but it certainly is a change from the attitude of "no, we won't give you that opportunity and we also won't do anything to help you get any other opportunities". So things might be improving. Maybe. I won't believe anything until it's been happening for weeks and has been signed off by everyone in the company, thought.

The New Fail Safe

Jello. Jello is the only thing that works in the mornings now. Once I've had a bowl of Jello in me for about an hour or so, then I can move on to the apples and yogurts and such. If this stops working, then I'm going to look into the Unisom+Vitamin B6 tablets to see about making breakfast a more successful endeavor. The good news is that the nausea and bucket-hugging is primarily limited to the morning. Sometimes dinner is a challenge, but chicken seems to work very well there, so we're adjusting our menus accordingly. Now, if the chicken dinners keep working, then maybe I'll feel brave enough to start taking my prenatal vitamin every evening. Right now, I have to gauge how stable my stomach is feeling. I'm not too worried about Baby, because the little sack of cells is going to take everything it needs right out of my system. I AM worried about my own health if the prenatal vitamin intake is so spotty this first trimester. Especially with my history of anemia. But the docs are watching that stuff, so I'm sure I'll be fine.

We had our first appointment today. It was just an informational class with other pregnant women, and then we had to bleed for the docs. My first one-on-one with the nurse practitioner is next week. And then the next appointment after that will be the one where we'll hear the baby's heartbeat. We're excited about that one. That'll be in a month. I'm pretty sure that we could see/hear the fetal heartbeat with a sonogram either this week or next week, but that's not part of the health plan. So we'll just have to wait. It was hard coming in to work after all that baby talk this morning. I would've much rather spent the day at home with Mark, planning and making lists and being all gushy with the parents-to-be stuff. But there's yet another meeting this afternoon to discuss my new responsibilities at the DDJ. (Basically, they're trying to take them away from me now and just make me go back to the boring world of only faxing and filing. Yes, more fun changes afoot. Gotta love this place.)

On the writing front, I had a great session with my crit group. I was a bit nervous because I had brought a rather racy Masque scene (the word "breast" made an appearance--always a toughie to say aloud in the Borders cafe) and I had no idea if I had written it well. But they liked the scene and had a lot of good comments to make it even better and bring out a few plot points that were a bit too subtle in the midst of a hot and heavy kiss. You'll also note that "Princess Incubus" is now in creation, with a grand total of 407 words. It's a rough beginning to write, I'm finding. Going to need a lot of work in revision. As for getting new words in The Masque, I've got a lot of ideas to work with to push myself past the latest roadblock, thanks to a great Think Tank session at Forward Motion. So hopefully I'll start making some progress there soon.

Things are feeling more normal. But that's been known to fluctuate over the past couple weeks, so we'll see how it continues.

The Fail Safe Failed

For the past few weeks, I've been dealing with my new biochemistry to varying degrees of success. But the one constant I had was that apples and yogurt made up the perfect breakfast for me. Not so this morning. I could really gross you out with the details. Suffice to say that my stomach said an emphatic "hell no" to the apple and then to the yogurt an hour later. It's been appeased with Sprite and crackers. Soup for lunch should be OK as well. The really funny thing is this is the best I've felt all week. When I was semi-concious in bed on Monday and Tuesday (yay! more missed work), I remember thinking that morning sickness would be preferable to the insomnia and over-active acid that refuses to let my stomach stay full for more than a half hour. And I'm very surprised to find out I was right. It's amazing what you can tolerate if you've had a full night's sleep and less than eager stomach acid.

Mind you, I'm still very much looking forward to the second trimester when all this fun stuff is supposed to go away. It's like I can hear my bod going, "What the HELL is this new horomone? And you want me to prepare for WHAT? I'm sure the genes are in here--somewhere--for this, but do you know how long it's going to take me to find them and get them going and get this thing ready for THAT? Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll do it, but I don't have to like it." I'm thinking I might wear my "I survived the first trimester" badge with more pride than the "I got through delivery" one. That's probably NOT what I'll be thinking in the middle of contractions, though.

On the brighter side, it seems like my writing might just be able to get shoved into a schedule again. I was about to go crazy without it, but I've been so tired at home and busy playing catch-up at work that it just hasn't happened. The one saving grace there has been the Two-Year Novel course I'm doing at Forward Motion. I've had to address something writing related once a week since the beginning of the year. That keeps me from getting too far adrift in my other projects. And it keeps me sane when I just can't get to the other projects.

Intuition

About ten days before the home pregnancy test yielded two pink lines instead of one, I had a vague sense of being pregnant. Nothing physical, nothing scientific, just a mild case of intuitive insight. It happened when I went to the dentist and they asked if I was pregnant before doing Xrays. I told them it was possible--something I've had to do before at a doctor's visit and felt absolutely ridiculous doing because the chances were slim, but the scientist in me knew it was possible so I couldn't say no. But it was different this time when they opted not to do the Xrays until I knew for sure that I wasn't. I didn't feel ridiculous. I didn't think much of it at the time, except to file the information away in the "that's interesting" stash in my brain. By the end of the next week, I noticed that I had some mild nausea every morning at about 10. Nothing that a couple of Tums or just a quick bite to eat couldn't fix. Again, it went to the "that's interesting" pile. Then I was brainstorming some writing ideas the following Monday and on a whim decided to take a home pregnancy test. (Yes, not your average whim, but I've never claimed to be average. Or even sane.)

It was an interesting moment when Mark and I saw that positive test. Joy, excitement, peace. All bundled together to make for one of the most amazing feelings I've ever experienced. No doubt. No panic. Nothing negative. Over the course of the next few hours (in which Mark made me take two more tests before we let ourselves get too happy) I was in awe of the sense of focus that pumped through me. I knew everything was going to be fine, that this was right, that this was supposed to be happening. I knew. The only other time I've felt that way was when Mark and I decided to get married. That's not to say that I was so blinded by joy that I couldn't think rationally and consider the challenges of such a life-changing event. Instead, I realized that there would be challenges, and that we would survive them.

Since that Monday night, I've had fears and doubts and negative moments. Kinda hard not to when your body is dealing with an onlsaught of new chemicals and physical changes. But every time those swings start, I give myself a moment to remember how I felt when I first found out I was pregnant, and it takes the edge off.

Now, if only I could have such a focusing, intuitive moment regarding my writing, I'd be set.

Change

I've got a really good reason for the recent lack of posting, so good that ever other reason I've given before seems remarkably dull and inconsequential in comparison. And that's about all the lead-in I can think of. Better brace yourself for some big news.

I found out last Monday that I'm pregnant.

And now I can't think of a way to transition into the post about how that news has been impacting my life. I guess I better get the basics out of the way first: Mark and I have been planning for Junior's arrival for a while now, so we're absolutely thrilled and as prepared as anyone can be for this sort of thing; our families are extremely excited, giving us lots of fun phone calls and well-wishes and warm-fuzzies all over the place; everything seems normal and healthy at the moment; and I'm due October 3 (date definitely subject to change). This child will be the first grandchild for both Mark's parents and mine. The first great-grandchild for both my mother's and father's parents, and I believe for Mark's mother's. I'm pretty sure the first great-great-grandchild for my grandmother's mother. And I suppose now's as good a time as any to mention that when I had a free psychic reading done a couple months ago at the same shop that sports all the great Amy Brown stuff, I was told that I would have twins by the end of 2005. Of course, we're waiting for Baby's First Sonogram before we start buying double.

The immensity of this change is at once both joyfully and terrifyingly overwhelming. The physical impact of this change hit me hard last week. I was up all night with acid reflux and insomnia, one night only getting a grand total of 30 minutes sleep. I stayed at home Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, trying to figure out just what kind of food my stomach was going to prefer and seeing about getting at least a few hours sleep here and there. The stomach fun lasted into the weekend, making it impossible for me to do anything but sit in bed and crochet Baby's First Blanket (I'm halfway done, thanks to the ickiness last week). Things have been pretty good physically this week. My stomach likes the morning routine I've set up for it and is pretty happy with the food for the rest of the day. I make sure to eat something just before I go to bed to last me through the night, and I now sleep sitting up, so the acid reflux is minimal. I'm still pretty tired, I've got to deal with a propensity to be a lot warmer than I'm used to, and then there's the whole "I didn't think I could ever pee this much" issue. Mentally, wow. Having most of last week off was both good and bad. Good because it gave me a chance to sit back and go "This is HUGE!" and actually start to absorb the life-altering reality of being pregnant. Bad because I was so far removed from my normal routine of work and basic health, that the change got a bit too overwhelming at times and I felt like I would never feel "normal" again.

I actually looked forward to work this week. I wanted to get back into a regular pattern of living and start weaving this new piece of my life into that. It worked very well this week. It also helps that the Powers That Be at work finally figured out that it would be a Bad Thing to keep making me do my current job without acknowledging that it's far beyond my original job description. So they're going to update my job description and check with HR to figure out if I should have a new title or salary. That's a load off my mind. And it makes the frustrations of the DDJ easier to handle. I don't care if my new duties don't warrant a raise (which I really think they will)--I just wanted the acknowledgement that I'm not doing what I was hired to do.

Now the big task is to weave writing into this new situation even better than I had before. I'm pushing my way through some Masque blocks, and sticking to as much of my writing routine as possible. I'm still planning on finishing a draft of this book by the Pikes Peak Writers Conference. 2005 is definitely going to be an interesting year.

Another Week Looms

OK, here it is. Another Sunday night. Ask Mark: this is usually the point where I go a little whacko thinking about how far away the next weekend is. Tears, anger, frustration, resigned silence, you name it. Nothing good. I was going to say that I started that before things got crazy at work, but that's a lie. Things have been crazy at work since mid-November when I found out that one of the temps was quitting because of my counterpart. And then people started getting fired and quitting. And then rumors sprang up like wildfire and no one's even trying to put them out. And then management got really fucking good at double-speak and chasing their tails. Yeah, downhill for a while. Here's hoping my resume is being considered at the places I've sent it.

But I didn't start this post in order to bitch about the Dreaded Day Job. I started this to talk about my great weekend. Yesterday, Mark and I had barely pulled ourselves out of bed when someone from my crit group called and asked me to go with her and another of our critters to a writing workshop down in a southern Denver suburb. All that was required of me was to help said person set up coffee and cookies. I said sure. We got there and set up in no time, only to have not even a dozen people show up for the RMFW business meeting scheduled for just before the workshop. Somehow I ended up being impromptu secretary for RMFW's shortest meeting ever. (The minutes are about three lines long.) And then we all went to lunch and chatted. The best part of that conversation was when someone said to me, "You're published, right?" Glad to know I look the part or present the impression of being published. Then we had the actual workshop given by Sharon Mignerey, all about how to deal with this crazy job description we writers have. At one point I asked a question (basically revealing again in front of fellow writers my personal psychotic perfectionist tendencies - more on this later), and got a free signed book out of it. Always nice.

And today I read that book for a bit, just relaxing and pretending that the Dreaded Day Job was just a demented figment of my imagination. Later I sat down with some brainstorming software and mapped out the status of my writing. It wasn't quite as cathartic as I had hoped, but it did help to get it all out of my head and visualize it. Then I mapped out all of my ideas for "Princess Incubus". Everything from the original inspiration to the research to the plot outline. All on one brainstorm map. It's a very busy map, but I like it. Again, nice to have it all in front of me, with clear deliniations of relationships and ideas.

Tomorrow night I hope to do some brainstorming for The Masque, or actually write some of "Princess Incubus". It'll depend on what, if anything, the day takes out of me. Still, I'm pleased with the weekend. It was a nice assertion that the Dreaded Day Job (aw, hell - I'm just gonna start calling it the DDJ from now on; the world never has enough acronyms) isn't who I am, it's just what I have to do at the moment.

On the Recent Silence

I could've also titled this post "Why I LOOOOVE My Job - Ha!" Why? Because I've been given new responsibilites. I just cut a few lines of a rant that threatened to go on forever; they were cut because a couple of people I work with know this link--not that I think they'd run and tell anybody what I said, but CYA.

Anyhoo, I've been insanely busy learning new software, attending training to get the basics of just what my company does in the first place, and general craziness revolving around new people in new positions (not me; pittance raise, but no promotion in sight; but things are so unstable at the moment, so who knows). The past two weeks, I've come home (usually a couple hours later than usual) and collapsed on the couch, sometimes having the energy to turn on the TV. Any free time at work is usually spent speed-reading my blog list and email to give me some sort of break from all the insanity. And lunch, what's that? But I think next week might start to settle a wee bit, so maybe I can get back to my usual sporadic blogging routine.

As for the writing.... Not going well. All the recent work upheaval has made my mind so unbelievably scattered. When I've tried to focus it on my writing--ANYTHING about my writing--it's like I'm trying to hold water in a collander. Just ain't happening. So I've taken to listening to writing-related music on my commutes and letting my mind slip-n-slide all over the place with writing. Sometimes a few thoughts will gather substance and stay put for a bit. I tend to put the songs that generate that on a repeat loop and let that substance build.

After briefly toying with the idea of going into work this weekend (and those of you who know me--at least since I left the PhD program--know that ordinarily the thought would never, not in a million years, not if I earned 100x my normal pay, ever cross my mind; THAT'S how bad things are getting at work), I've said an emphatic hell no and decided to do skitterish writing things as they pop up in my head. Brainstorm several ideas, converse with my characters here and there, work on "Princess Incubus", outline revision ideas for The Masque, whatever. I'm looking forward to it. And I finally bit the bullet and decided to have my crit group read HD and give me all the painful comments in June. So hopefully by the end of the year I'll have a final decision on that book's fate. :)

The short of it: Work Be Nuts, and it's messing up my writing in nasty ways. Next week's task will be to assess the ways I can remedy the situation (other than apply for other jobs, which I'm already doing).

Quick Plug

I was remiss last week in trying to beat into all my dear readers the absolute necessity of watching the Battlestar Gallactica miniseries and series premiere. Not this week. So, here's the plug: WATCH SCIFI FRIDAY TONIGHT!!!!! BG is wicked cool, and you should already know that SG-1 and Atlantis rock the Kasbah. Get with it and watch these awesome shows. Thank me later. :)

I'll write more about my silence in a couple hours.

I Have Seen the Enemy

Went to my new dentist today. Let's just hope there won't be a repeat of what happened the last time I was able to say that (i.e. I got fired before I could get my cleaning after the initial "my don't your teeth look lovely" visit.) I really like this new dentist. She has lots of groovy new toys. A laser tool that can check teeth for signs of deacy. A tiny camera to get upclose and personal with me teefies. This was actually a little daunting because I could watch the camera's output on a 20" TV. Blech! I ain't never gonna be no dentist! I actually got to see the plaque buildup in all its disgusting, yellow glory. Don't get me wrong: it was wicked cool to see what my teeth look like. And it was nice that they could get a sense of decay without doing myriad Xrays. But yipes! I think I may have been permanently spooked into flossing daily for the rest of my life.

Nah. Who am I kidding? :)

Annoying

Maybe I just didn't attend enough meetings at IBM to notice it there, but upper management at my current company is remarkably adept at carrying on a conversation without saying anything at all. Or worse yet, they'll say all the wrong things and create more work for the "underlings". I never thought a simple question such as "When is the next training class?" could generate five minutes of useless, barely even tangential, verbal diarrhea. And this, unfortunately, is the future of my life at this job. Gotta find a way to deal with this and stay sane. I thought such conversational gems were the province of politics. Obviously, I was very much mistakent. Grrrrrr.

Self-taught

Didn't get any writing done this weekend for The Masque. Basically, I had hit a chapter where I only had vague ideas of one or two things that needed to happen. I kept hoping that Muse would get her act together to give me at least a thousand words over the weekend, but no. So I used the time for other things. On Saturday, I read all the relevant bits of a book on Satan and his crew to finish up the research I wanted to do for "Princess Incubus". Got a few more ideas about that story, and I should be able to start oulining shortly. (Incidentally, I've marked this story with the status "in worldbuilding". That phrase as come to be my personal indicator for "pre-writing". Not sure why, just seems to make sense to me that way.)

I figured Sunday would certainly see a few bits of inspiration trickling from my fingertips, but no. I even tried to sit down and force just my questions and vague notions about the next chapter, but my thoughts kept sliding all over the place--to the point where I sat at my desk, pen poised, notebook open, and all I could think about was the chorus of a song I had just heard and it kept repeating for large chunks of time. I eventually got pretty pissed at this, so I put together a rather long playlist of good songs that strike me as appropriate for The Masque and the characters therein. I probably won't be able to write to it all the time as the songs, while good and relevant, can often distract me from the writing. Instead, the CDs will serve as driving music on my commute. I get a lot of good scene and idea sketching on that drive, even moreso with the right music.

But still my thoughts kept skittering away every time I tried to focus on them. I thought a movie might be nice, and "The Fifth Element" was on TBS. But I found that I couldn't even concentrate on the movie because of the regular commercial breaks. I got sick of this pretty quick and decided to trek over to WalMart and pick up stuff to teach myself how to crochet. My grandmother taught me--or at least tried to teach me--the basics a good fifteen or so years ago, but I never got into it then. And I've been wanting to learn for the past couple years so I can crochet while watching TV or movies that we've already seen. I picked up two little how-to booklets, the needles, some yarn, and a bigger cross-stitch hoop just in case I struggled too much with the new craft and wanted to go back to something more familiar. Then I put on our videocassette version of "The Fifth Element" and went to work.

My practice pieces are certainly nothing spectacular, but I've got the basic stitches down and enjoyed the learning a lot. My thoughts were still kind of skittery when it came to writing afterward, but at least they had settled with regard to every thing else. And then once we had dinner and settled into watching some "Simpsons" episodes...THAT'S when the writing ideas started clicking into place. And then they kept me up past midnight. That's my muse, though.

Taken Out of Context...

My husband abandoned me today, just like he did yesterday. Said he was off to collect virgins. He'll be impregnating them later this week. Such are the joys of being married to a man who does research on fruit flies. As he also studies their sex determination genes and proteins, asking him about his day often involves intriguing statements that might be rather shocking when not heard in the right context.

New Look

It took three hours, but I think the blog is stable for a while. I'll probably continue to play with it over the next few weeks (particularly the archive list - ick!). But I like the color scheme and layout. And I've figured out this whole title thing. I guess I'll have to think of another reward for writing tomorrow - assuming I can get Muse to clue me in a bit more on what exactly my characters are going to be doing in the next chapter.

Adventures in Astronomy

Mark and I braved the cold and snow last night to try to catch a glimpse of a comet, the Orion nebula, Saturn, Andromeda, and the Perseides (sp?). We managed to see the Orion nebula (pretty, whispy blues and greens) and Saturn (with the little bright speck of Titon right next to it) before his telescope decided to go on the fritz. One teensy, tiny screw broke, thus preventing the scope tube itself from resting appropriately on its stand. So we had to call it a night early and rush home to partake of amaretto-laced hot chocolate. And, of course, Mark has to special order that teensy, tiny screw at God-knows-what price before he can use his telescope again. I'm sort of mixed about this problem. On the one hand, there's a lot of cool stuff that I want to see and that Mark knows how to find and when to best view it. On the other hand, it was really, friggin' cold out last night! :)

Be Prepared

I'm getting ready to change things on the blog. The title. The template. Maybe some sidebar links. That's a reward for writing on Saturday. So probably Saturday or Sunday should see the big changes. Or maybe tomorrow night if I write a lot tonight. Just wanted to give fair warning.

Goals for 2005

I've been able to sketch notes on this idea, but anytime I tried to sit down and actually craft a post or something on the topic, I just couldn't. My mind was remarkably blank on anything but the vaguest bullet-pointed list of goals. Hopefully I can force something out of myself on the subject.

Personal Goals: Get better and better at living in the moment instead of always looking ahead to "better days". Stick with the daily journaling and exercise--this took a bit of a hit during the holidays. Figure out how to make the job work for however long it takes until things change. That one's going to be the toughie.

Writing Goals: Implement a reward system for my writing. I've actually already started this. Since I started writing regularly, I've used guilt tactics more often than rewards to keep myself writing and writing well. No more. The rewards can be as simple as putting a better spin on the stuff that I want to / should do anyway. For example, if I can get a particular chapter finished during my writing time tonight (doable), then my reward will be to continue some background reading and plotting for my short story "Princess Incubus" (and I did figure out why that title works).

Finish, revise, and submit The Masque. I'm still basically on track to finish a draft by the Pikes Peak Writers Conference. Then I'm going to let it sit for about a month while I do other things (such as submit "Princess Incubus" to a few SF & F magazines, outline The Masque, Book 2, and continue work for an on-line writing course). I hope to revise it and have it ready to submit by the end of the year, hopefully sooner.

Stick with a two-year on-line writing course. I'm going to use the course to write Strings of Betrayal. The course started this week, and I'm really looking forward to the rest of it. I like the syllabus and format. I think I could learn a lot to further adjust my writing system to my liking. Plus, it would be great to finally start So'B moving.

And at some point this year, I should really decide what to do about Human Dignity. I'm also hoping to start some kind of formal mentoring program with a published author or two this year. Hopefully they can help me with my various dilemmas about this book.

So that's a more fleshed out version of my goals for 2005. My overall goal for this year will be "improvement". Last year was balance. Without balance, you can't improve because you're never sure which way is up. Now I'm sure.

Dream House for 2005

In keeping with my previous post, click here to check out HGTV's Dream Home 2005. Probably wouldn't hurt to enter while you're there. I've been trying to check out the pictures (other than the front of the house, which is wicked cool), but our home connection stinks and it's taking too frickin' long. I'll oggle at work.

Dreams for 2005

I've got a longer post in the works about my specific goals for 2005, but it needs some extra time to rattle around in my head. So until then, I've got some dreams that I'd love to see come true this year.

First, the dream of Professional Writing Success. This can take the form of either winning a writing contest, getting an agent, or getting a book contract. Or all three. Though I might wonder what the flipside of all that good luck in one year might be...

Second, the dream of Better Employment. This can take the form of a new job for me, improved conditions at the current job, or Mark finishing up his research in record time and landing a perfect job in Tucson. Then we can start looking for a house and stuff.

Third, the dream of Time Travel, of sorts. All I really want to do for this dream is to make tomorrow June so my brother will be home and out of Iraq for good.

Those are the big dreams. I'm sure I can think of more, like perfect health for all my family and friends, better employment for them as well, financial security, etc, etc. But those three jumped out at me as I wrote, so posted they be.

Farewell, 2004

I've been blessed--in some odd way--to have had enough good things happen in any one year that I can never write off an entire year as bad no matter what icky things happened. Or maybe that's just a sure sign that I'll never be successful at pessimism. Take 2002. In that one year, I quit a PhD program and a teaching job and as a result shattered the self-image I had spent more than a decade cultivating. The situations surrounding both departures were not pleasant, and I spent a good deal of that year sobbing and trying to figure out just what in the hell I was going to do with myself for the rest of my life. But 2002 was not a bad year. Mark and I were married that year. That summer, I discovered my muse, found a critique group and several writing communities, and started seriously writing HD. Mark and I took two amazing trips that year, and I was able to build a fantasy world out of the beautiful parks we saw. I could never call 2002 a bad year.

I find myself looking at 2004 in the same way. I started this year with the realization that I was bored and heading toward depression each day I stayed at my secretarial job. My writing was suffering for it, and I was no closer to addressing the issues that made 2002 so life-altering. I decided to find a job that would still let me write but also keep me more engaged for forty hours every week. Good plan. Said plan was still in its infancy when I was laid off. Five months of unemployment while the hubby is in grad school do not a happy Kellie make. At first I thought that unemployment would be a great way for me to get my writing on the right track. Instead, those five months were essential for me to get myself on the right track. I learned so much about myself in those months, most importantly that the self-image I had shattered in 2002 was a false image to begin with. I found the culprits behind some personal demons and put together morning routines and rituals to help me stay true to myself and lessen the hold of those culprits and demons a little more every day. How can such a year be bad, even if I was unemployed for five months and am now facing yet another unstable work environment?

Also, I finished my first major revision of my first novel this year. I did a lot of research, outlining, and planning for a new novel that I'm nearly 30,000 words into. I went to my first science fiction convention and made some writerly connections. I submitted HD to about ten agents. I wrote an eight-page synopsis in a weekend that actually reads very well and submitted it and the first twenty pages of HD to a contest. I wrote two short stories (I guess they're technically novellettes) this summer, and they sparked a universe for The Masque. I created a comfortable and personalized writing space for myself. And, possibly my greatest accomplishment of 2004, I beat both Final Fantasy X and Final Fantasy X-2. :)

2004 wasn't easy, but it wasn't bad, either. I started the year hoping to achieve balance in many ways: work and writing, play and writing, past and present and future. I spent the year tossing the dead weight that kept pulling me to the sides and depriving me of balance. I've still got a ways to go before I've got the kind of balance I dream about, but I'm solidly on my way there. It will happen.

2004 was a growing year, and those can never be bad.

Holiday Scam

It was lame when it was "genuine", and it's even more lame now that it's not. Try again, Local Internet Hoaxer.

Lazy Holiday

Spent most of the weekend staring at the TV in some fashion or another. Watched a lot of Simpsons (we'll be picking up Season 5--one of Mark's favorites--this weekend when we do our Costco shopping as they have the best price), played video games. Our big accomplishment of the weekend was cooking the big turkey meal. Oh, and we did the laundry. And I guess you can count a quick trip up to the local gambling town (Blackhawk; and we broke even).

Mark did get me a (much more affordable) copy of that Amy Brown book I was drooling about before. My father's package didn't arrive before Saturday, so we'll get to celebrate Christmas again sometime this week. And Sheila decided to do something very Santa-like and give galleys of her March 2005 vampire book to everyone who entered a recent drawing. Have I mentioned lately how much I adore this woman? :) Go read her books!

My brother was able to call my mom for a few quick minutes on Christmas Eve. He was pretty excited that everyone in his platoon (or was it the entire battallion?) got two beers for Christmas. And he's apparently going to be moved from a field assignment to an actual base assignment sometime early next year. This means he gets to stay in an actual barracks rather than curling up in a sleeping bag under a tent or hanging out in a tent. And, wonder of wonders, he'll be bunked with only one other soldier and they will have their own shower. He's looking forward to that.

So, all in all, a great, relaxing holiday. A belated Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Happy New Year!

Best Christmas Gift EVER

It's nice to be crying happy tears for once. To see my brother's Christmas Video Greeting, click here* and select the "Hazell" link under the Golf column. Requires Windows Media Player. I'm so happy that technology has made this possible, and I will be playing this ALL DAY LONG today, tomorrow, and Saturday for sure.

*After a brief time up so family and friends could see it, I've taken the link down just in case anyone might click there with nefarious intentions.

Updated link: Click here

Creature Comforts

The snow, while pretty, didn't exactly get me raring to go outside and get to work this morning. So I decided to forego the journalling (with the Addy Cat sitting watch next to me) in favor of snuggling under a blanket on the couch and cuddling with Nosey, our "I think I may be canine" cat. Her warm fur and more than enthusiastic purring and meows gave me the smiles and energy I needed to get out the door.

Wild Card Ride

It's beginning to look a lot like playoffs. You know that something is going on in the Wild Card race when my husband, a diehard Buffalo Bills fan who refers to the team from Miami only as "The Hated Dolphins", cheers loudly and enthusiastically for said team. The reasoning? Because Miami beat New England last night, the Steelers won't be in a fierce battle with the Patriots for home field advantage when the Bills play Pittsburgh in a couple weeks, thus making a Buffalo win more likely. Ah the joys of football. Beyond all that, ya gotta admit that it was fun to see Brady tank that game. Evil spawn of Michigan he be.

Ugh & Stuff

The company party was Friday night. Lots of fake smiles and laughter, and a few unsettling hints about that spiraling situation I mentioned earlier. The food was dry and gave both Mark and I some serious indigestion. It was so bad that poor Mark had to go to the store at 2AM to get Tums because we were out and both hurting. But the chocolate mousse desert was amazing. Incredibly rich, but delicious. Most of Saturday was lost in trying to recover from the ill effects of the party. I did get out and about, but that's another post. Then I woke up with the worst headache I've had in years on Sunday. And the damned thing wouldn't go away. I plunked myself on the couch, played video games, napped, and generally tried to pretend my head and my body weren't all that attached to each other. The Bastard Headache from Hell left its progeny to keep me company today. As they are baby headaches, it's much more survivable.

This morning saw amazing high winds on the drive in. I think they just now calmed down. I drive a road that has a lot of high plains prairie type sections of it and let me tell you how much crap blew all over the car this morning. Rocks, dirt, tumble weeds, bark, bubble wrap, you name it. My favorite was a rather large tumble weed that smacked into the car and then lodged itself under the passenger side mirror. It hung out with me for a good five miles or so. I had almost decided to name the thing when it blew away.

I did get some fun ideas for The Masque on Friday and Sunday, but I haven't had much of a chance to do anything with them other than jot them down in a notebook. I'm hoping to get some writing time today at work (more dialog sketching than anything else in order to finish up a scene that's been open for a while) and then it's on to a Big Action Chapter tonight. Peril on Mars in those space suit thingies. Someone dies, someone else dangles into a canyon. Yippeee!!!

Tribute

A very touching montage of what our soldiers are doing in Iraq. You'll need flash, and be sure to turn your volume up to hear the music that accompanies.

Precious Diary

Excellent post. Must read later to appreciate full effect.

Distraction

I'm a master of this art. I distract myself with writing issues so as to avoid the writing. I distract myself with small, seemingly easily controllable issues in order to avoid thinking about the problems way beyond me. Currently I'm trying to distract myself from a bad, spiraling situation. It's not working very well. And as I pondered this, I realized that I had failed to mention an incident that occurred at Borders on Tuesday night during my crit group. Two high school kids set off alarms in the Cafe area as they bolted out the door with a stack of CDs. Fairly ballsy, I guess, but really, really stupid. They could've used some distraction. Plus, it didn't help that one of them went through the door first, setting off the alarm while the other was still five feet away from it, prompting him to have the most comical expression I've ever seen as he froze then ran out the door after his compadre. Of course, there is the possibility that these were two ill-timed yet unconnected thefts. Doesn't that suck for the second guy? He decides to steal something, only to have all attention drawn to him as some other idiot just a few seconds ahead beats him to it. But none of this matters anyway as there were cameras everywhere, catching them in the act. Good luck with that life of crime, gentlemen.

The Life Imitating Art Department

Remember how I got spooked into writing HD? How I left an ethics class and was terrified as to the loose way certain future scientists thought about things? That experience birthed Eugene and the entire theme and concept of HD. Here's a real-life example of that inspiration. The story gets even more convoluted here. And that Tramont guy keeps sounding more and more like Eugene. And boy, oh boy, do these articles get the story juices flowing.

After I got over the initial shock of similarity, I started really burrowing into this latest bump for the NIH. First of all, I actually understand a lot of the junk they're talking about, from both the AIDS science perspective and the clinical trial perspective--thanks to my job. That's pretty exciting, especially because the sort of audits that revealed the problems in Uganda is the work that I'm trying to do more and more of here. So it was pretty spiffy to see a direct application of the importance of such work. Second, doncha just love how Tramont can veto all sorts of concerns because he's got four decades of medical experience AND because he really doesn't believe the people raising the concerns could possibly understand AIDS. Aside from the flaming arrogance of that attitude, the implications of such a statement are just thoroughly horrifying as are other ideas expressed by Tramont. And finally, despite all the arguments from Tramont (and I think some other mucky-mucks at NIH) that the science of the study was just fine and dandy and needed to continue, it turns out that the drug confers a resistance to all other similar drugs used for AIDS treatment.

The Tramont-Eugene parallel is really eerie. This man obviously sees the dire need for AIDS treatment in Africa, especially for children of infected mothers. He finds a promising drug, one that there was likely political pressure for given Bush's plan to stomp AIDS in Africa. He sees some good science, some good reasons to get the drug into trials where people really need it. He gets sick of the bureaucratic steps that the FDA requires of anyone wanting to set up clinical trials for a new drug. He pushes a few things here and there, telling himself it's OK because the standards for Uganda human research have got to be different than they are here given the state of technology and living there. And, besides, the research is going to save lives, so push, push, push. Then the research backfires, the pushing is revealed, and it's determined that the pushing may have endangered more lives and perhaps even the NIH and all clinical trials in Africa. The road to hell, man.

This story gives me the creeps. A big shot at the NIH dismissed the opinions of those trained and paid to assess security, health, and regulatory concerns of clinical research because he felt he knew better. A big shot at the NIH altered reports to put a better appearance on troubled research so the Prez could endorse it and visit the sites without scandal. A big shot at the NIH sanctioned the idea that it was OK to have lower standards for health and human safety in clinical trials in a third-world country because the quality of life is so much different (read: worse). Basically, a big shot at the NIH took advantage of a situation and gambled big with the lives of Ugandans already afflicted with a terrible disease. And he lost. Those subjects are now most likely unable to receive any similar AIDS treatment because they're resistant. As if we needed more problems with pharmaceuticals and research and AIDS in Africa. And the NIH and Tramont are adamant that he did the right thing.

Excuse me while I consider removing HD from its very comfortable and concealing trunk and see if I can fix it. I hadn't realized just how necessary that thing was going to be so soon in the future.

Pardon the Silence

Before I get into the meat of why I've been quiet for almost a week THIS time, I'd like to share a completely random thought. I'm thinking about adjusting my blog a bit. Not the color scheme, or anything major, but the titles. "Experiments in Writing, Singing, and Blogging" has felt cumbersome since I first typed it, but I couldn't think of anything sufficiently witty or more original than "Kellie's Blog". Also, I'm not sure I like the format of post title and post being on the same playing field. Changing the former is difficult in that it requires friendly linkers to change their sidebars, and even more so in that it requires me to get creative (I know, and me a writer, whatever to do).

But back to task. My silence.

I'm still pretty freakin' afraid of my Writer Within. I thought I had analyzed it to death and dismemberment this summer. Apparently not. This fear is rather entertaining because it takes anything going askew in my life and puffs it up into Giant Writer's Block size, singing me songs of "everything would be fine if you didn't have to work and could just write full-time". It's a clever disguise of the real issue. It makes me think that I'm accepting the Writer Within and working with it because I'm just trying to get to that "full-time writer" status. Ingenious, devilish bastard. Meanwhile, all the moaning and wailing and gnashing of teeth about how Life Sucks and how Tomorrow Will Be Better conveniently keeps me from appreciating today and the energy, time, and passion I have to write at this moment (when not slaving away at the day job and dealing with boredom and stupidity there…. Oops, see how easy that was?).

I won't bother you with the details of how this fear tripped me up this time and how I figured out what it had done. Suffice to say, Mark will tell you that life with me is never boring and that I know how to fall off a horse (the writing, live-in-the-now horse, people) with great drama and flair. I will share an example of just devious this fear is, though. I got stalled out on my writing just over a week ago, telling myself that I was afraid of the revision process for this book, that I couldn't see the plot lines the way I wanted to, and that I needed to do some more outlining and research on revision before I'd feel comfortable with forward momentum on The Masque. See how that works? I cleverly diverted myself from my writing with other writing issues. Granted, those are things that need to be addressed, but not at the sacrifice of my regular writing schedule. Eventually I'll get smarter than this annoying fear, and it won't have this same power over me. That's the hope, anyway.

So hopefully posting will get back to the promise of regularity that last week offered. "Promise of regularity" is a rather disturbing phrase, isn't it?

Another Wow, But Not a Positive One

Via Sheila and Holly, the Mundane SF Movement. The basic premise is that SF has a duty to laugh off the futuristic improbabilities of faster than light travel, alien encounters, and all things space operatic in favor of the actual probable future of the planet and humanity. What bothers me most about this is the assumption that only Mundane SF can discuss "a new focus on human beings: their science, technology, culture, politics, religions, individual characters, needs, dreams, hopes and failings." (The indication that the forces behind said movement believe that adherence to the principles of the movement produces better SF is hardly surprising given the arrogance and ignorance of the previously mentioned sentiment.)

There are snippets in the Manifesto that give me hope that the Mundane disciples might not take themselves as seriously as the overall idea indicates, though. I provide the following as evidence that at least some of the creators were laughing at themselves and their ideas: "To burn this manifesto as soon as it gets boring." But then they go and say something like "we also recognize the harmless fun that these and all the other Stupidities have brought to millions of people and the harmless fun that burning the Stupidities will bring to millions of people." (The Stupidities including the improbabilities of human futures that are the stuff of space opera and, dare I say it, "popular" SF). Glad to know that I'm hoping to devote my life to "harmless fun" that can either be burned or read for mass entertainment purposes. They also think that any story that takes us to other planets and alien societies "can encourage a wasteful attitude to the abundance that is here on Earth". Wait a minute, I thought my space opera was harmless fun? I love it when my work is both dismissed as benign fluff AND deemed as conducive to the destruction of the planet. For more fun, arrogant inconsistencies, check out their piece on Evolution.

Also entertaining is the idea that Mundane SF is a minority, little-known subgenre of SF. I find this attitude fascinating because the general population is often only exposed to SF books in the form of Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 and Aldous Huxley's Brave New World and such other literary SF classics. Yeah, no mundanity there. I do have several suggestions for folks who seriously believe that the only good and worthwhile SF is that which sticks to humans, Earth, and our immediate spatial surroundings. The first being: remove head from sphincter. The second: SF and fantasy are often shoved together in bookstores; just consider space opera as part of that "fantasy" stuff and keep your little "we're the true SF" party to yourselves.

The overall point of my little rant? Science fiction that pertains to the mundane is as vital and necessary in literature as space opera, fantasy, romance, mystery, literary fiction, horror, Westerns, etc. We need all these genres because every person on this planet is different and they are reached in different ways. (Yes, people, I am saying that there are worthwhile themes and character studies to be found in ALL those genres - and it is in those elements that fiction tries to teach something, to contribute to the greater good.) As a secondary bonus point, I feel it's imperative to mention that the very nature of science is to question what we know (and when it comes to the realm of quantum mechanics, we know very little). Therefore, calling on SF authors to refrain from writing what science considers now to be so improbable as to be impossible and stick to the generally accepted probable goes against the entire purpose of science. As a scientist, I find this attitude rather offensive and much more destructive than writing stories in which we discover an abundance of life and livable ecosystems in the universe.

Wow

If at all possible, go see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra in concert. And if you can't do that, then go get all of their albums. And then make a Christmas wish that their next album (a non-Christmas one, I believe) is released as soon as possible.

The concert last night was amazing. Every single person on that stage was having the best time and just seemed absolutely thrilled to be doing what they were doing. And they really know how to put on a show. The music was phenomenal and the light and pyrotechnic elements wicked cool. And one of their singers absolutely has to be heard live to truly appreciate his voice, though the recorded version is still wonderful, of course. This man is a stage actor, and he definitely has the voice for it. I'd do quite a bit to get him to sing stuff from The Phantom of the Opera, assuming it's not too high for his range--I'm not good at discerning the male voice parts beyond Bass and Tenor.

If you haven't heard this band at all, change that as soon as possible. They are truly talented artists who love their craft and are all about entertaining.

And Now the Rest of the Story

Well, it's been over a month since I went to my first science fiction and fantasy convention. And I still haven't posted the second half of my report on the experience. Granted, what follows is not nearly as detailed as it would've been had blogger not eaten my first post about this. But I've apparently left a couple interested readers in the lurch, so here are the highlights at least.

The Panels: I didn't got to all of the ones I wanted to because I was so exhausted from the combo of insomnia and volunteering at 6AM in the game room. I did attend a couple, one featuring Elizabeth Moon and another with Connie Willis. They are both fascinating women. Connie had a lot to say about writing humor, and Elizabeth said much about writing and researching about autism. I had the chance to chat with Elizabeth after her panel, and she talked a lot about restoring her Texas prairie land. Really nifty stuff. I also attended went to the awards and closing ceremonies, and it was fun to see all the guests of honor together and cracking jokes and such. But, overall, I wanted to attend a couple of other panels. I'm going to manage my time and my insane need to volunteer better at the next con.

The Art Auction: There was some beautiful work at the art show. I had bid on a couple pieces. One of them I got free and clear because no one else bid on it, which surprised me because it was such an intriguing piece by a really gifted artist. The other went into a bidding war, which I'll talk about in a second. The last few seconds of the bidding brought me a run in with Guest of Honor Charles de Lint. While killing time until bidding was over, protecting my one bid, I found a piece of jewelry that no one had bid on and the bidding price was $3. And of course I was without a pen. I asked the woman next to me if she had a pen I could borrow. Her husband turned around and said he had one, and I found myself scribbling down my bid with Charles de Lint's pen. I'm surprised it was still working after all those autographs.

I somehow got finagled into volunteering for the art auction later that day. That was a blast. When I get published, I hope to use whatever popularity I have to put more butts in the seats at auctions like that. There was some amazing work there and it went for far too little to keep those artists eating AND doing their work. So if I become a hot author, I'm going to volunteer my services as a runner at those auctions. It was so much fun, walking around, displaying some amazing art like I was Vanna White or something. And the auctioneer was a riot. I happen to run the piece that I had bid on that had gone to the auction. The auctioneer had a blast with that, trying to get me to up the price or not really display it. It was great. In the end, I didn't get the piece. The price went up into the $30s, and I couldn't afford it.

The Costumes: I also got roped into manning the costume contest green room with one other volunteer. This made for an incredibly long evening (at one point, I was holding open a door for an hour straight; at least I was able to sit while doing so), but fascinating. There some amazing costumes. The winner's ensemble was titled "Dor'c, First Prime of Adoophus". When he told me how much it cost to make the thing, I was too tired to feel the sticker shock, but it was there. And I made a quick mental note that professional costuming was not in my future, no matter how much fun it looked.

The Authors: Despite being totally exhausted by the end of Saturday's festivities, I went to the Author Chat at the bar and somehow managed to stay up until 1AM talking with Carol Berg--and be coherent throughout. That last is the really amazing part. Carol, in addition to sharing some great writing advice and just being fun to hang out with, got me in touch with another aspiring writer. The reason I mention it is that this other writer is about my age and has left a scientific career for writing. I was beginning to think I was a unique creature in that regard, and I'm very glad to know I'm not. (By the way, I'm the aspiring writer Carol mentions in her own Con report; groovy, eh?)

Overall: I'd do this again in a heartbeat. I highly recommend checking out a local, well-done, middle-sized con as an introduction to the World of Cons. It's a little easier on the pocketbook, too, than just heading off to World Fantasy or World Con. I think that covers the rest of my experience there. I'm sure there was more that happened (probably just that I got locked out of my room a couple more times or something), but this covers the big items. It was a ton of fun, and I'm looking forward to the next one I can attend.

Sidebar Inspiration and Other Unexpected Things

I'm sure my observant readers noticed that I updated the "Currently Writing" section of my sidebar some time ago. My very observant readers might have noticed a project titled Princess Incubus and wondered how a male demon, the incubus, could also have a female title, princess. When I updated the sidebar, I meant to write "Princess Succubus" but my brain obviously wasn't quite in gear. It also took me a good day to realize my mistake. But I left it because something niggled at me about the way that incorrect title looked. A few times I've thought to correct the gaffe, but always that little "something's there" niggle stopped me. The really annoying thing is that I have no idea what this niggle is trying to tell me. The short story idea with this incorrect yet somehow right title is very much in the early development stages. So early, that I have no idea what's going to happen at the end. I think this odd misnomer holds the key, though.

In other writing issues, I've been a little cranky lately. I figured it was just backlash from my brother's horrid Turkey Day experience. But I've also been dying to write a particular scene and haven't found the time to do it this week. I finally just wrote during my lunch break, even though I grouchingly whined that a half hour was only enough time to get really immersed in something and then I'd have to stop it and get back to work and how would that make me feel better. I wrote anyway. Got 500 words and feel a whole lot better. So writing during the lunch break will become a must if I go through a funk like this again. Good to know. And wouldn't it be nice if I could write 2500 words every week a work over the course of all my lunch breaks?

Calendar Fun

In writing The Masque and even HD, I've been frustrated that I couldn't find an application to calculate what day of the week it was or would be at any given point of my book's timeline. I finally found one I like here. And this Mayan calendar calculator might be interesting for a few other ideas I've got. I'll have to let that stew in my head for a while. It's possible that if we dissolved all national borders and became a united world goverment and start living in space, on Mars, and in the Alpha Centauri system (as happens in The Masque) that our calendar might change. But I have no idea how, especially if the space- and non-Earthfaring life--not to mention the world government--is in its infancy. So I'm just going to stick with the calendar system we've got for now to prevent any unnecessary headaches.