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Well. This weekend was rather a bust.
I had grand intentions of going to a friend's wedding yesterday, but that definitely didn't happen. Friday evening the boy got news from not one but two co-workers that they'd gotten contacted by the hospital to let them know they'd been exposed to covid. In these cases it usually means that a patient was transferred from intake or the ER or wherever up to their floor before the covid test came back, and then once the patient was ensconced in a bed and checked in they discovered the patient was covid+. And since the patient hadn't been checked in with that knowledge, no one was using the full covid precautions, whatever those are.
So, we told my friend, and she said "Come anyway, mask and distance and we should all be okay." and then in the morning the boy had developed symptoms. So no. We would not be coming after all, we did in fact order grocery for delivery (well, I did), and we would be holing up for the foreseeable. And now I'm just irritated in general. Actually now I'm almost more irritated because it's starting to look as though it was a different virus and not covid at all, although obviously I'm relieved that it might not be covid. And to be fair, a virus is a terrible wedding present whether it's the plague or no. I guess I'm just resentful not to get to see my friends and all.
But it's nice to have a weekend of enforced doing nothing, in a way. A long weekend, I was looking forward to having a good two days of doing nothing anyway. Now I have sort of a weekend of doing nothing but also a weekend of keeping house by myself, sort of. I don't know whether I'm happy or upset about these developments. Especially given the state of the kitchen.
Whatever! I am having a nice weekend of reading Furious Heaven. I am having a nice weekend of reading about the Ottoman Empire and doing some writing work on a couple of projects. I am having a different kind of stress about finishing the stupid Vampire Mosquito story, that's not great but it's not too awful either, I think. I'm writing. I like that I'm writing. I like that I'm coming up with things. (I hate the names I can come up with but I can always fix that in post.) I'm afraid, ironically, that it's a terrible horror story. I feel like I don't know how to write horror anymore. And so I hate it but goddammit I'm going to finish it anyway, and then I can figure out how to fix it.
I think one of the big problems here is while I like horror, it can require a fair bit of emotional strength for me to watch that I just don't have these days. I overempathize with the lead characters, to whom terrible things usually happen, and I have a bad habit of imagining what happens to the offscreen characters like the main characters' pets or loved ones or what will their parents think when their mangled body comes home, or other things like that. I can't just separate horror material out of context and enjoy it as much as I used to. So... less horror intake, less confidence in my ability to write horror. Me going "ugh" a lot at the screen. I'm planning on trying to finish it today though. I hope I can.
Finish that today, do a bit of mini painting tonight. Or tomorrow. I have Labor Day (Monday) off work, even though I technically don't have any kind of set schedule at all as long as I get things done in a timely fashion. But the point being, no one will expect me to turn in anything on Monday, so I can take some time and paint some minis then and do some more writing and some more reading, and relax. And I'm deliberately not listing off all the projects I want to do or the books I want to read or the things I want to work on because I'm relaxing. That means laying down and just reading what I've been reading. Or writing things that make me smile. Or painting minis because it calms me down and it also makes me smile, and then I have painted minis. I painted my nails today, a sort of sparkly reddish pink. These things spark joy, and that's a thing we all need more of these days. I will be mindful of the things that give me joy, and I will do more of them.
I had grand intentions of going to a friend's wedding yesterday, but that definitely didn't happen. Friday evening the boy got news from not one but two co-workers that they'd gotten contacted by the hospital to let them know they'd been exposed to covid. In these cases it usually means that a patient was transferred from intake or the ER or wherever up to their floor before the covid test came back, and then once the patient was ensconced in a bed and checked in they discovered the patient was covid+. And since the patient hadn't been checked in with that knowledge, no one was using the full covid precautions, whatever those are.
So, we told my friend, and she said "Come anyway, mask and distance and we should all be okay." and then in the morning the boy had developed symptoms. So no. We would not be coming after all, we did in fact order grocery for delivery (well, I did), and we would be holing up for the foreseeable. And now I'm just irritated in general. Actually now I'm almost more irritated because it's starting to look as though it was a different virus and not covid at all, although obviously I'm relieved that it might not be covid. And to be fair, a virus is a terrible wedding present whether it's the plague or no. I guess I'm just resentful not to get to see my friends and all.
But it's nice to have a weekend of enforced doing nothing, in a way. A long weekend, I was looking forward to having a good two days of doing nothing anyway. Now I have sort of a weekend of doing nothing but also a weekend of keeping house by myself, sort of. I don't know whether I'm happy or upset about these developments. Especially given the state of the kitchen.
Whatever! I am having a nice weekend of reading Furious Heaven. I am having a nice weekend of reading about the Ottoman Empire and doing some writing work on a couple of projects. I am having a different kind of stress about finishing the stupid Vampire Mosquito story, that's not great but it's not too awful either, I think. I'm writing. I like that I'm writing. I like that I'm coming up with things. (I hate the names I can come up with but I can always fix that in post.) I'm afraid, ironically, that it's a terrible horror story. I feel like I don't know how to write horror anymore. And so I hate it but goddammit I'm going to finish it anyway, and then I can figure out how to fix it.
I think one of the big problems here is while I like horror, it can require a fair bit of emotional strength for me to watch that I just don't have these days. I overempathize with the lead characters, to whom terrible things usually happen, and I have a bad habit of imagining what happens to the offscreen characters like the main characters' pets or loved ones or what will their parents think when their mangled body comes home, or other things like that. I can't just separate horror material out of context and enjoy it as much as I used to. So... less horror intake, less confidence in my ability to write horror. Me going "ugh" a lot at the screen. I'm planning on trying to finish it today though. I hope I can.
Finish that today, do a bit of mini painting tonight. Or tomorrow. I have Labor Day (Monday) off work, even though I technically don't have any kind of set schedule at all as long as I get things done in a timely fashion. But the point being, no one will expect me to turn in anything on Monday, so I can take some time and paint some minis then and do some more writing and some more reading, and relax. And I'm deliberately not listing off all the projects I want to do or the books I want to read or the things I want to work on because I'm relaxing. That means laying down and just reading what I've been reading. Or writing things that make me smile. Or painting minis because it calms me down and it also makes me smile, and then I have painted minis. I painted my nails today, a sort of sparkly reddish pink. These things spark joy, and that's a thing we all need more of these days. I will be mindful of the things that give me joy, and I will do more of them.