Musings About Writing and Stories About Life
She's like the girl in the movie when the Spitfire falls
Like the girl in the picture that he couldn't afford
She's like the girl with the smile in the hospital ward
Like the girl in the novel in the wind on the moors
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2005-07-11 10:46 PM
Sunday: CSF 1500+
Monday: CSF 576
Whoosh! The sound of the weekend flying by, fluttering my hair as it passes and I blink, startled.
Stayed up way too late on Friday. Bah. Didn’t get us as early as we needed to on Saturday, but eventually we did, running by Meg’s house to pick up her iPod cords before getting to the garage sale. We puttered, helped out, and I tried to organize the items into a more pleasing, “buy me” arrangement. I also made off with three silver serving plates (buy an historic house, become mildly obsessed with silver. Who knew?) and a bunch of books (including one that I’d seen at Meg & Matt’s and written down to find for Ken). Ken bought a workbench cart from Keith and Andy (it was a two-family sale). We agreed that we would never, ever live in Van Nuys as we wilted in the heat.
Back at Meg & Matt’s, we packed some boxes for them, then schlepped boxes (full and empty) into the garage and basically cleaned up the living and dining rooms for the house-cooling party. I managed to dive into the shower and make myself presentable before too many guests showed up.
I was really ready to fall over by 7 p.m., but then I got some Advil and food into me, and it cooled down, and I took over as the Champagne Fairy, and things can’t be bad when I’m the Champagne Fairy, right? Poor Meglet was getting sad and stressed at the end, and so I threw people out and sent her to bed. Everyone, please think kind thoughts in her general direction for the next month or two. She’s got to pack a very full house and prepare for her Laurelling ceremony, and move across the country with a baby and a toddler, and start a new job; and Hobbesthepuppy, the most wonderful greyhound ever, is not long for this earth. So Meg needs a whole lot of mental hugs, please. I feel wretched that I can’t help, other than loan my most wonderful husband. Stupid job. Feh.
Needless to say, I ended up all sad and stressed, too. Reference above, most wonderful husband, who held my hand on the way home, etc.
Sunday, we ran some SCA-event-running-related errands, then went to Best Buy (useless non-Mac place, ptui) and CompUSA (rotten customer service; years ago I think I got a manager fired). I think perhaps I finally understand the concept of Retail Therapy. I’ve always scoffed at it, because I hate buying clothes (when I’m rich, I will have a personal shopper who understands all my eccentric clothes desires and spends her time tracking them down—or, better yet, I’ll have a personal designer), don’t possess the Female Shoe Gene, and think wandering around malls is dead boring. (Wandering around museum gift shops, on the other hand…) Book shopping is good but sometimes stressful because I’m not rich enough, nor do I have nearly the time, to buy and read everything I want to.
Computer peripheral shopping, however, may actually have some Retail Therapy merit.
So now I’ve got an iCurve, Apple wireless keyboard, and I think I’ve found the right wireless mouse online to order. They didn’t have SmartGloves in small, so if I want another, I’ll have to buy it elsewhere, which is do-able.
[Sidenote: Why isn’t lunch here yet?]
Teresa and I had a long confab about the novel, and have it reasonably plotted to the end. I got a fair number of words done after that. I may take a day off in the next week or two and plow through a good chunk, just to feel caught up, but we’ll see. I discovered on the commute this morning that my Palm keyboard might messed up, which is going to throw me off schedule unless the part to fix Afalwen arrives ASAP or I can make off with Ken’s laptop…
I’m behind on e-mail. I’m behind on SCA stuff. And I’m behind on writing. Why can’t I be behind something with a nice ass for me to ogle?!
Currently Reading: Always a Bridegroom, Tesni Morgan; Time Management from the Inside Out, Julie Morgenstern
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