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Our apartment is a grand and epic mess. We've hit that stage of moving where almost everything is either in boxes or broken down or being used immediately that day and night. The room looks incredibly strange without the bunk bed and I spent a few minutes last night staring up at the ceiling for the first time in four years trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get to sleep with all that white above me.

I can't do half my goddamn exercises. The living room is full of boxes. This irks me. It's irksome.

On the plus side, heh, maybe we can get more packed up this week and shuffled over, and the boy's off this weekend so it looks like we're going to rent a uhaul and move a bunch of bookshelves over. Plus the crappy old TV, plus maybe a dresser, plus a spare bed someone's giving us. It's going to be a fucking exhausting weekend and I'm probably going to spend most of Saturday analyzing and packing, and most of Sunday moving things. As per usual. And then passing out at the end of Saturday and god knows what I'll be good for Sunday. Only a couple more weeks, self. Then at least the heavy lifting part will be over and it'll be down to, what can you unpack between other things and rearrange and clean up and throw out and so on and so forth.

And, okay, so I didn't finish the Yuletide fic yesterday, but I did get a good chunk added to it. And there was Casino Royale and much ogling of Daniel Craig and his eerily blue eyes. After watching A Certain Movie and the copious use of snark and grenade launchers it was decided that what I really needed was more violence, coupled with witty banter and intelligence. Which coincided neatly with a rewatch of the Bond reboot, even if Quantum of Solace was a bit of a hot mess. Skyfall, I've heard, is either a hot mess or a work of brilliance, and I'm not sure which, but that ought to satisfy my Big Badda Booms with Style and Cleverness requirements. Plus the whole part where I don't have to do anything requiring thought or heavy lifting for a couple of hours. That's always important.

I do need to get back to Nanowrimo, though. I need to sit down and I need to churn out the Yuletides and I need to get my dumb ass moving on my Nano. Which you wouldn't think would be so hard! Or at least, it wasn't supposed to be this hard, but my sheer lack of energy is killing me. I get home and there's twenty bajillion things to do with the house and then I want to pass out. Maybe it's Yuletide and Blogwork during the day, Nano at night. Although Yuletide shouldn't take too much longer to finish. Maybe I'll have time at work today, now that Flutter's back.

Meh. See, that's just what I need, though. More time. Do not has. Want, but do not has. Zathras trained in crisis management, not time management, dammit. No, self, you are not Zathras, you are a courtesan, and you are trained in both time and crisis management. So let's get to it.

(no subject)

First, there's that moment where you heard the words but the rest of your mind is still processing them. They were in English (or one of the several languages you speak) and you know their literal meaning, even the semantic meaning, but the part where they affect you has yet to hit; it's just so much noise in your ear.

Then there's the chill and the suddenness, when everyone's talking around you and finding things to say and you're standing there with your hand over your mouth going but... that can't be right. But that's not possible. But... and your mind goes round and round in circles. And everything gets pushed to one side while you stare at nothing and try to find where you were standing a second ago, because that place was solid and good and roughly room temperature.

Then comes the moment when you start to cry. And it's one or two tears at first, and you're sort of recovered and you go about your business, making extra careful sure to do things properly the first time, double-checking each step, because this is a prime time for something small to screw up. But you do the fiddly small things anyway. With tears pouring down your cheeks because now you've started crying and you can't stop. And your mind is still catching up to it. Like your body has reached the tears pouring down stage (as everyone quietly moves around you and pretends you're not crying until it looks like you need a hug.) but your mind is still standing there with a hand over your mouth.

And then your mind catches up and now your mind's sobbing uncontrollably but the tears have slowed to a trickle, and your mind's sobbing and begging and going but I was just going to look her up! But I just got here again! And you try to scrabble around for all those memories of sitting around playing stupid D&D type board games and curling up on the floor watching movies you really weren't old enough to see, and curling up on the window seat of the weaving room that you weren't barely tall enough to clamber on. And making that stupidass movie when you were eight that had at least a decent script for a bunch of eight year olds but when you were thirteen you were mortified. And making dreamcatchers. And making painted decorated gourds. And gluing crystals onto every fucking thing that would stand still. And making fried pies. And then eating them, with your fingers all sticky. And going to Dollywood. And curling up at the end of a long day and singing songs around the fire. And swimming in the pond. And going riding. And watching her punch that horse in the nose for trying to bite the kids, probably not as hard, you think, now that you're an adult, as it seemed like when you were a kid but goddamn she was badass. And that horse was a mean little shit. And helping groom the horses. And bouncing on the stupid trampoline while she watched with that 'don't you fall and break your fool neck now' look. And learning how to be good. And learning how to be wise. And learning woods skills from the Cherokee hunters she knew, and tanning deer hides, and making drums and masks out of things and sitting around the fire with your drums and masks and telling stories and singing more songs. Because you were little apprentice magical people then. And she taught you how to be magical.

And now you sit here crying hysterically because some stupid doctor who doesn't know how badass she is said she has stage four cancer of the liver, spine, and breast. And at first when he came in to tell you all the news all you could do is stare at this old man with all the gray-white hair but still the same lanky frame and still the same ridiculous amount of denim and go is that .... that can't be. Is it? Because yeah, that's your old whatever. None of the languages you know have words for this. But that's him, and that was her, and now she has cancer.

So, that happened.

If I'm scarce for the next few days, you know why. I might pull my routines over my head and scream NO NO NO NO NO THIS ISN'T HAPPENING to myself, so it might look normal. Not sure yet.

(no subject)

Oh, and adding insult to injury? We clambered out of the car this evening after stopping by the house to deal with stuff, and found this guy (well, gal) walking right up to the boy and headbumping him.



Her two front paws are de-clawed and she's chipped, but the name on the chip doesn't match the phone number, and the address is a bit funky. (123 FuckYou Court vs 123 FuckYou Road) So we left a message on one person's facebook account, the person whose name it was, and I left a message on the phone number's answering whatever, and if we're very, very lucky, that cat will be out of here tomorrow. It's a long hair, too, of course, which meant I spent the better part of this evening both sneezing my head off and not able to see due to puffy eyes due to fucking allergies. Yes, I have four cats and I'm allergic to them. It's not usually this much of a problem! Except strange long-haired cat with strange fucking dander makes my body go WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF.

Oh, and whichever of the several possibilities for places this cat came from? They're both around 2 miles from our place.

I hate this day. I am taking drugs, watching pretty people do silly stuff on screen, and then going the fuck to bed. If tomorrow so much as twitches in my direction funny I am shooting it in the face.