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Apr. 10th, 2009 06:53 amWell. This has been a fun week.
In the past week I have moved about half a ton, if not more, of merchandise. I have been informed that a man has been breaking into apartments in my apartment complex and doing the Goldilocks thing (no mention of theft or rape yet, just random break ins) and still being there when the women of the house arrive home, leading me to carry my box-cutter 24/7 and look up how to say "femoral artery" in Spanish. As in Get the fuck out or I will open your femoral artery.
Thanks to the cats being used to getting fed at 6 am I have not actually been allowed to sleep in at all this week. I have had to deal with irritating customers who email in to complain that they didn't receive all their stuff or that they received the wrong stuff, only to get an email two hours later saying never mind, they figured it out. Jackasses. Wednesday evening the boy came home and announced that someone at his work made claims of getting a gun and coming back and shooting up the place. With nine spree killings in the last five weeks or so, that's real classy, nameless guy. Stay cool now.
It went from 70 degrees (Fahrenheit) over the weekend to 30 or below on Tuesday. With the end result that last night and today I have the sinus pressure and headache of doom, and the last day of the mail order sale (barring Monday, which will be hell) to go. Something's going on in the right side of my neck and shoulder because it's gone all tight and achy. I really just want some goddamn sleep.
Reading the book with massively slow and painful character death of a deeply beloved character probably did not help. Neither did the humanizing moments preceding it. As an author, I understand why. As a reader, my inclination is "Oh, fuck you. *sulks*"
The high points of the week were finishing a long WIP fanfic and finishing the goddamn novel. That's probably about it.
Evidently, though, I'm not allowed breaks. So, there you go.
Now to exercise my ungiven right as a fan and fix the damn book so that I don't want to cry every time I think about it. I reject your made-up reality, author, and substitute my own.
In the past week I have moved about half a ton, if not more, of merchandise. I have been informed that a man has been breaking into apartments in my apartment complex and doing the Goldilocks thing (no mention of theft or rape yet, just random break ins) and still being there when the women of the house arrive home, leading me to carry my box-cutter 24/7 and look up how to say "femoral artery" in Spanish. As in Get the fuck out or I will open your femoral artery.
Thanks to the cats being used to getting fed at 6 am I have not actually been allowed to sleep in at all this week. I have had to deal with irritating customers who email in to complain that they didn't receive all their stuff or that they received the wrong stuff, only to get an email two hours later saying never mind, they figured it out. Jackasses. Wednesday evening the boy came home and announced that someone at his work made claims of getting a gun and coming back and shooting up the place. With nine spree killings in the last five weeks or so, that's real classy, nameless guy. Stay cool now.
It went from 70 degrees (Fahrenheit) over the weekend to 30 or below on Tuesday. With the end result that last night and today I have the sinus pressure and headache of doom, and the last day of the mail order sale (barring Monday, which will be hell) to go. Something's going on in the right side of my neck and shoulder because it's gone all tight and achy. I really just want some goddamn sleep.
Reading the book with massively slow and painful character death of a deeply beloved character probably did not help. Neither did the humanizing moments preceding it. As an author, I understand why. As a reader, my inclination is "Oh, fuck you. *sulks*"
The high points of the week were finishing a long WIP fanfic and finishing the goddamn novel. That's probably about it.
Evidently, though, I'm not allowed breaks. So, there you go.
Now to exercise my ungiven right as a fan and fix the damn book so that I don't want to cry every time I think about it. I reject your made-up reality, author, and substitute my own.