( 日本語 )
And Arabic accounting here
. I think it's getting easier, slowly but surely? My handwriting is also getting way smaller. Although I might need to reinstitute the practice of using lines. Which might just involve making a sheet of lines and slipping it under whatever page I'm working on. And I definitely need to figure out how to refill my ink cartridges with a syringe, because they're emptying way too quickly. Problems I hadn't realized I'd have when I started this! In a way, this makes me even more eager to get this house deal done and get the house, because then I can have a real desk at which to do this. I hope.
Well, that was possibly the weirdest collection of dreams I've had in a while. Highlights include going to the women's bathroom of some communal living thing that was laid out a bit like an old dorm or a hotel. Either it was a woman's dorm or it was the women's bathroom, I'm not sure which. I was talking to some friend, and we were getting undressed to bathe. Yes, bath, not shower, as is customary. The bath was pretty nice and deep, though, it would have been a fun soak. People are going up and down the hallway of both sexes, so I'm assuming in was the women's bathroom, or during the day men are allowed? Or something. And there's a knock and I open the door and it's either Rupert Graves or Lestrade. I'm more inclined to believe Lestrade. And he makes some kind of would-be snarky comment except he's too busy trying not to stare. And I'm not helping by basically being aggressive with my very naked body language. Sort of Irene Adler-y, at least Moffat's interpretation of her. And then I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, and ... OH. Oh god, ahaah, now I remember what the conversation was about, somehow this got around to my weight. I think because he threatened to pick me up. And I told him yes, I was 5'1" and about 150, 160. And he started to say 120 and I corrected him and he sort of stammered, and I pointed out that I was very, very solid. And he could find out for himself, and that led to pressing up against him and arms around and kissing and so on. And I'm pretty sure he didn't know where to put his hands.
happened in my dream. And then later I'm wandering the halls in my bathrobe and somehow I end up knocking on Misha Collins' unit door, because he's in the dorm hall? Or his wife is and he's just bunking with her, as you do when you're in college. In your late thirties. I don't judge. And I'm in my bathrobe or lounge clothes, or anyway not real grown up clothes but not naked anymore. And I come in and for some reason there's been a last minute cancellation and I need him or his wife for something. I ask... first I ask him about calculating something. Then he shrugs and says ask her, she's on the computer. So I ask her to calculate something, allowing for inflation in the last 5 years and the increase in value in something-to-do-with-Misha. I don't know what. I mean, the increase in value I get given that he's now all over the internet, but I don't remember what I was asking originally. She calculates in, we talk, we bond apparently over my economical savvy? Of all things. And their taste in comics, since they have most to all of the Akira manga on their bookshelf.
Anyway, so we end up running off with Misha Collins' wife as some last minute addition to some kind of team doing something? And we all have to prepare for this mission, which might have been what I was doing in the bathing sequence. And apparently for Misha's wife this involves drinking some foul tasting concoction of milk and some kind of powder that looks like blue flecks. And she drank half a small pitcher in one swallow and made terrible grimaces while I stretched out on the floor, using some guy as a spotter. And all of us were discussing our assignment. And then I woke up.
So, really, what the hell, brain. Although now I have this urge to write shameless Lestrade-oriented self-insert steamy fiction. Not even necessarily NC17 rated, just steamy. Or maybe kinky porn. I don't know. It's a weird urge. And I need to finish that All You Can Kink Kink Bingo before February ends. Too distracted with house stuff. God, there's a whole list of things I want to write today. This weekend. Plus pack, plus make beans. All right, let's ennumerate them.
4. Long Road
5. Subversive Mummies
6. BigBang Mixups
7. Organize Triumvirate world-building
8. Organize mecha for BBM story.
And that's not as
big a list as I thought, but it's sizable. Okay, and now for the latest in house news: WE ARE UNDER CONTRACT. Which means finally, fucking finally
we might be able to get the inspector in. Appointment's scheduled for Thursday. And right now it's just the inspector and getting the funding, which we have to do quicklyish, but which should be very do-able. I'm not sure how close to home we are, I'd say, pretty close? But at least we're a step further than we were, which, considering this all feels like slogging through sulphur-reeking mud, is all good by me. (And then again at the same time we started just casually looking in January. So it's probably moving much faster than I think it is.) We're under contract. That means, I hope, that no one can snipe the house out from under me. That's all I want for right now. Now I can collect data and chew on it till it becomes clay.