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Jun. 29th, 2018 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeI have figured out what I'm going to write for Tor, I have finally gotten the main character's name and a couple of other characters in the story, and I have the inciting event! Which, given how intensely this story is sitting in my head, should be enough to get me all the way to the end. Victory will be mine.
Then I got home. I'm still not sure whether or not the cats got the baby bird, since it didn't have any tear damage from tooth or claw. Which doesn't mean one of the ferals didn't grab it and shake it till stuff snapped, it definitely had internal injuries and one of its eyes was, um. Big and explodey? I thought it was dead at first but when I poked it with a stick it stuck its head up and screamed, so I called the boy to come and bring some gloves. I had no idea what we were going to do with it, call a wildlife center? It was so tiny and so broken I didn't think it would live that long. But for a second I couldn't think how to humanely kill it because it was clearly suffering. Nature took that decision out of my hands; in the time it took for me to put the groceries down and come back out with gloves of my own the poor thing had died. And it's not like I haven't handled dead wildlife before, but that was particularly upsetting today. It's been a long week.
So, yeah, that happened.
This entire damn week, I tell you. I'm happy about the professional developments, i.e. the figuring out my writing, the entire country is still a tire fire and not looking to get any better anytime soon. And I can't do much about any of it, certainly not as much as I used to be able to do when I was younger and healthier and, heh, more proximate to the center of it. Which may be for the best. Now I'm older, bitchier, more tired, but I also have a lot more wisdom and understanding of how brains work and I can share that part with people who are freaking out and don't have coping mechanisms. Which seems to be my role on Twitter.
I'm tired. I want the world to work fine again so I can go back to writing my stories and working my day job instead of wondering if I'm going to have to hoard birth control pills and get an IUD that I'm already panicked about. I want to spend time studying not calming people down and trying not to freak out myself. Argh.
Ugh whatever. If I go to sleep now I can get up and do some writing before capoeira, which is sure to be exhausting because Puck is back in town for the week or so and that always means an especially energetic class. Which is fine. But need sleep for it, definitely.
Then I got home. I'm still not sure whether or not the cats got the baby bird, since it didn't have any tear damage from tooth or claw. Which doesn't mean one of the ferals didn't grab it and shake it till stuff snapped, it definitely had internal injuries and one of its eyes was, um. Big and explodey? I thought it was dead at first but when I poked it with a stick it stuck its head up and screamed, so I called the boy to come and bring some gloves. I had no idea what we were going to do with it, call a wildlife center? It was so tiny and so broken I didn't think it would live that long. But for a second I couldn't think how to humanely kill it because it was clearly suffering. Nature took that decision out of my hands; in the time it took for me to put the groceries down and come back out with gloves of my own the poor thing had died. And it's not like I haven't handled dead wildlife before, but that was particularly upsetting today. It's been a long week.
So, yeah, that happened.
This entire damn week, I tell you. I'm happy about the professional developments, i.e. the figuring out my writing, the entire country is still a tire fire and not looking to get any better anytime soon. And I can't do much about any of it, certainly not as much as I used to be able to do when I was younger and healthier and, heh, more proximate to the center of it. Which may be for the best. Now I'm older, bitchier, more tired, but I also have a lot more wisdom and understanding of how brains work and I can share that part with people who are freaking out and don't have coping mechanisms. Which seems to be my role on Twitter.
I'm tired. I want the world to work fine again so I can go back to writing my stories and working my day job instead of wondering if I'm going to have to hoard birth control pills and get an IUD that I'm already panicked about. I want to spend time studying not calming people down and trying not to freak out myself. Argh.
Ugh whatever. If I go to sleep now I can get up and do some writing before capoeira, which is sure to be exhausting because Puck is back in town for the week or so and that always means an especially energetic class. Which is fine. But need sleep for it, definitely.