February 28, 2001
Well, I finally got in
Well, I finally got in touch with my editor. They didn't cut anything, they just didn't include much artwork at all. Like I told Brand, "I'm a little disappointed about that, but I'd've been much more disappointed if they'd cut something major." Still on pins and needles, though.
February 26, 2001
Harvest of Thorns starts shipping
Harvest of Thorns starts shipping today. I'm a wreck. Originally we were told it was 80 pages, now we're hearing that it's only 64. I'm marginally freaked, wondering if they cut substantial stuff out of it. The editors would have told us if that were the case, right?
This is me, chewing my nails until I get my copies.
February 25, 2001
*beam* I now have a
*beam* I now have a CD-RW drive. I even installed it myself. So what's the first thing I do? I make a soundtrack for my Changeling game. It's a compilation of all the songs I've used in game and that have inspired the game so far. I even have nifty software that let me design labels and cover art and liner notes and everything. Whee! I know, I know, I'm SUCH a geek.
However, if you're dying for your very own copy of The Seattle Chronicles, let me know. ;)
February 24, 2001
So, I'm at work, and
So, I'm at work, and a lady calls and asks, "Do you guys do the pump and seal on TV?"
I thought that was a rather personal question, myself.
(Yeah, it was a wrong number. Why the hell would you call your product the "Pump and Seal", anyway?)
February 22, 2001
I'm struggling with this one.
I'm struggling with this one. I have a first draft of this story finished, but it's wrong. The image in my mind and the words on the screen almost match up... but not quite. I have a feeling that it will require some serious restructuring to make them match. I don't think I've ever struggled this much on a rewrite. This could be the best thing I've ever written, but it's not, not yet. If I could dig the words and images out of my brain, it would really help.
The working title, for the curious, is "Spared to the Sea".
February 21, 2001
I find myself revisiting the
I find myself revisiting the same themes over and over again in my stories, and I wonder why that is. I don't just mean selkie stories and myth (although the newest thing I'm working on is yet another selkie story), but family relationships as a whole. I'm seeing patterns, and I'm wondering why...
Local literary contest. (If I
Local literary contest. (If I had a web address for it, I'd post it.) Fiction: 2500 words. Entries due March 23. Cash prize as well as publication. Am I wrong to retool something I wrote long ago but have never done anything with? I'm itching to enter this. Even if I don't win, what the hell? I'd only be out the $5 entry fee.
I don't know exactly what
I don't know exactly what I wanted to say, except that I wanted to say something. I've been remarkably content lately. There are any number of things I could attribute this to, I may try to do that later. Everyone I've talked to thinks grad school is marvelous idea, except for one. That one is really bothering me.
February 19, 2001
I found it I found
I found it I found it I found it! Pardon me while I go make backups of EVERYTHING. Jesus.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. In all the file-switching around at work, and moving to keeping things on disk, I think I deleted about a week's worth of work from one of my budding novels. It was GOOD STUFF too. I'm writing this off in an incoherent panic before looking frantically to see what I have saved elsewhere. Shit.
Word came down from on
Word came down from on high: no more net usage during work hours for my department. It's a long story, I may go into it on the notify list (after work!) later today. Hopefully it's temporary. We'll see. In the meantime, expect fewer posts from me. Dunno about updates yet. Those I can write while offline. :)
I got to work at
I got to work at 7:30 this morning. What the hell is wrong with me?
February 18, 2001
Weekend SidetripsNice, quiet, peaceful Sunday -- regardless of what my horoscope said this morning. I woke up fairly early, finished reading Gut Symmetries (more on that in a moment), watched a movie (more on that in a moment), and did my laundry. I enjoy days like this. For me, free time is not a matter of having time to go out running around shopping or to bars or to go hang out, it's time to use my head the way I want to use it, if that makes any sense. My body can be perfectly still (and is, largely), but my mind is off exploring the little sidetrips it wants to explore.
I love Jeanette Winterson. Gut Symmetries is really like nothing I've ever read before. It is not a linear story. She breaks most every "rule" I've ever heard or read about fiction writing. She plays with verb tense. She uses first person narrative and switches between narrators with every chapter, never quite telling you who's speaking. She meanders through her words, following tangents. She makes me want to write, to see if I can construct such amazingly poetic prose.
I hate Jeanette Winterson. Because in the space of a second, I become quite certain that I will never manage to construct something so intricate and involved. I was reminded, while I was reading earlier today, of John D. MacDonald's introduction to Stephen King's Night Shift, which I haven't looked at in years. MacDonald talks about writing, comparing it to brain surgery in a way. He offers advice to would-be writers, including, "You have to have a taste for words. Gluttony. You have to want to roll in them. You have to read millions of them written by other people. You read everything with grinding envy or a weary contempt." I don't know about everything, but I do read many things that way now. With Winterson, it was all grinding envy. Like the best of writers, she makes it look so damned easy.
And then I watched The Postman. I had hoped to watch several post-apocalyptic movies this weekend, but the video store near here was decidedly short on the genre. They didn't even have Road Warrior, for crying out loud! Anyway, The Postman wasn't too bad. Not nearly as bad as I'd expected. Better than Waterworld, which I'd actually enjoyed -- what is it about Kevin Costner and post-apocalyptic stuff? So here's what I learned:
In a post-apocalyptic world, everybody, but everybody will wear fingerless gloves.
No one will have learned how to sew, so everyone will wear torn cast-offs of the old world.
Kevin Costner has diarrhea of the camera and makes really fucking LONG movies. This one was three hours long.
Kevin Costner likes the idea of casting himself as the reluctant hero. A lot. No, really. A lot. (I can think of four of his movies where he plays said reluctant hero without even trying.)
The man oughta be shamed, casting himself opposite someone so much younger than him.
But believe it or not, I did like it. It just needed to be about half an hour shorter. That's been my weekend. Well, except for working yesterday, but let's not talk about that, shall we?
From today's horoscope:Just when you
From today's horoscope:
Just when you think that the sweet bird of youth has flown south forever, it returns with the whole flock. Your inner child is having a noisy slumber party. Regression may or may not work to your advantage.Hee. I wonder if I'll be able to study today through all that noise?
February 17, 2001
I love my job. The
I love my job. The following exchange just took place:
The customer says, "I don't want to leave a message for support, because they never call me back. I'm still waiting on a call from two weeks ago!"*sigh* Did I mention that this particular customer does this every time he calls? Either he's forgetful or he needs someone to explain what the word "never" means.
So I pull up the support history. "Well sir, I'm showing you last spoke to Linda on the 10th. She called you back regarding a message you left on the 10th."
"No, they never call back! You always take a message and they never call me!"
"Well, according to your support history, Linda spoke to you for 29 minutes regarding this particular issue at 1:30 pm Eastern time."
"Yeah, I spoke to Linda, but they never call back! You better make sure someone calls me back!"
February 16, 2001
New scripture has surfaced! Indeed,
New scripture has surfaced! Indeed, it holds much wisdom, including the admonition to "Bite not, lest you be cast into quiet time."
(Yeah, okay, some people have seen this already, but I gigglesnorted my way through it here at work.)
So... I was talking to
So... I was talking to Josh while looking up info on different graduate programs in Literature and related fields, and had a serious Keanu moment:
Fate feels like this whole vast world opened up in front of her. It's kinda... whoa.And it's true. And it's only February for crying out loud. I'm bubbling over with big goofy, giddy, happy feelings today. The book's out a week from Monday. My career interests just came into startlingly sharp focus. It's a little scary. I'm afraid of crashing. (Isn't that just like me?)
Technosmith says "Especially, if you go on to get your MA."
Fate is serious. I never thought I'd finish an undergrad degree, much less any grad work.
Technosmith says "Betcha never thought you'd be published, either. ;)"
Technosmith says "Good Year for Lisa."
Fate grins widely. "Yeah. Definitely a good year for Lisa."
February 15, 2001
Talk Amongst YourselvesForget the Valentine's Day rant. Today I helped do what a college education is supposedly supposed to do -- broaden minds. We did a group discussion in government class on our paper topics -- mine was on whether the Fourteenth Amendment should be expanded to protect other groups. Heh. The comment from one of the other girls on seeing I was in the group was "Yay, a smart person!" Great. I'm infamous. Anyway, we decided no, it didn't need to be changed, because the Amendment itself is already worded amazingly broad, but that some laws need to be changed. We discussed what categories need to be protected. I -- surprise, surprise -- was sort of leading the discussion, so I mentioned the things I'd done my paper on.
Perhaps not surprisingly, one of the groups that I feel should be classified as a "suspect class" (i.e., a group likely to be discriminated against) is the overweight. I was trying to get people talking, so I introduced the topic by giving this example: "American automobile manufacturers are only required to make seatbelts that fit people up to 210 pounds. I, obviously, weigh more than that. There are cars whose seatbelt does not fit me, and that's perfectly legal." (Note: I was off slightly. It's 215 pounds. For more info, check out Elizabeth Fisher's great size-activism site.) The change in the group was immediate, and surprising. To be honest, I didn't really think twice about talking about my size to these folks. I didn't think they'd care, but interestingly, my statement galvanized them. "No way!" "Are you serious?" "That's awful! 210 pounds?!" Immediately, they went from marginally interested students in a discussion to being all for anti size discrimination laws.
I think, had you asked them before class how they felt about size discrimination, they wouldn't have thought twice, or even thought it was a problem. But there I was, a larger than life example of how I feel discriminated against. It was a somewhat heady, exhilirating moment. I mean, it's one thing to talk about size activism with folks who have the same issues you do, it's another thing, frankly, to talk about it with 110 pound sorority girls. I realized just how powerful standing in front of someone and saying "Hey, this is a problem!" is. I was a real person, not some statistic or hypothetical situation. The difference was amazing, and we had a pretty cool discussion.
That discussion, followed by my literature class, triggered a bit of an epiphany for me on the shuttle ride to my car. I realized that I would absolutely love to teach literature at the college level. The other night, Brand and I had a long, involved discussion about the different approaches to literary criticism, and I thought it was absolutely fascinating. In fact, I'm upset because apparently EMU doesn't offer a class in critical theory. But just from paying attention to how I am in class, wanting to help the other students learn as well as learning myself... I dunno. Once upon a time, long ago, I wanted to be a teacher. Then I got away from it, but now... this was a big shift. Me? A college professor? I can see it so clearly! The biggest thing I'm not certain of is whether or not I could deal with the politics involved in being college faculty, or the whole "publish or perish" mentality. Still... it's definitely something I would enjoy. Hm. Professor Nichols.... Dr. Nichols... heh. Definitely worth considering.
New entry up. Good, good
New entry up. Good, good day for me today.
February 14, 2001
I feel sort of like
I feel sort of like the Constable in Much Ado About Nothing (Michael Keaton's character in the Branagh version). "O that he were here to write me down an ass! But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass!"
I had a difficult customer on the phone. His last words to me were, "You are such a bitch!" Then he hung up. Unfortunately, I didn't have his name or anything, or I would have passed it along to someone higher up. So I keep telling the people around me, "Hey, I'm a bitch!"
I am such a little
I am such a little hypochondriac. Whenever something's wrong with me, usually the first thing I do is go check out Yahoo! Health (I know, I'm an evil Yahoo! minion far too often) to see what it is. I'm fairly certain this awful headache I've had for the past week is TMJ, which means I should go to the dentist. Which means they'll yell at me for not coming to the dentist sooner. Bleah.
There may be an entry later today, but if there is, it'll probably be on the evils of Valentine's Day.
February 13, 2001
I have a roaring headache
I have a roaring headache and all I want to do is go back to bed and sleep. Not a good thing. Not at all.
Nominees are up for the
Nominees are up for the 73rd Annual Academy Awards. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon got nominated for a shitload of awards, including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Foreign Film. Has that ever happened before, I wonder? To get Best Picture and Best Foreign Film? I mean, it's not like Gladiator or Erin Brockovich aren't going to win, but that would still be cool.
In other news, my first exam is in three and a half hours.
February 11, 2001
My car, it turns out,
My car, it turns out, only needed new tires. It stalled because of the emergency gas shut off switch, which I was able to fix.
I also finished a first draft of my government paper (due on Thursday) and studied some for my test in that class on Tuesday. Now off to read my literature homework. Ooh, I'm so conscientious it's sickening, isn't it?
February 09, 2001
God apparently didn't like my
God apparently didn't like my comment about the website thing. I hit a pothole on the way home from work. Not only did I get a flat tire, but I got two, and my car stalled and won't restart for more than 30 seconds. *sigh*
Um, Never Mind...This may be rambly. You've been warned. Today I finally understand what feeling "rundown" means. I'm not exactly tired, but I'm a little headachy and my throat is trying to hurt. Nothing major, just a bunch of little things that all contribute to a general sense of malaise.
Remember my computer gripes from earlier (the whole Windows 2000, IS locking me out of huge portions of my computer, etc)? Well, those problems are continuing, with a new twist. I have a 12GB hard drive on this computer. Imagine my surprise when I started getting out of memory errors. So I checked. 'My' section of the hard drive has 2GB. The rest of the hard drive, which is unavailable to me, is a vast, empty wasteland of 10GB. As of this writing, I have 3.16 MB free on my C: drive, and this after deleting everything remotely "personal" from the computer. I'm certain that was their intent in giving me so little space to work with. The longer this goes on, the more it pisses me off. I am not a child who needs to have everything I do monitored. Yes, I write at work. Yes, I'm on the internet at work. However, I take more phone calls and get more done than the other people around me. My productivity is not suffering. Having a shitload of HTML and Word docs on my computer is not going to harm it. If they were using that 10GB of space for some other purpose, I'd understand perfectly, but they're not.
In another ironic twist that makes me grin and grit my teeth at the same time, the very printing problem that started all of this (the printer started printing blank pages sporadically instead of documents) started occuring when other departments started using our printer. The theory was that all of the "unauthorized" programs on our machines (never mind that none of us had the same programs and that I'd been using mine for years with no problem) was causing the problem, so they switched us to Win2K and locked us out of installing anything. I admit, when I saw the problem happening to other people, I took great pleasure in innocently asking my supervisor, "I wonder what programs they were running?"
I guess the thing that bothers me the most about all of this is the underlying feeling I get of "well, they're just receptionists, what do they know about computers?" Combined with that is, "they're just receptionists, therefore they need watching/don't need x, y or z." Maybe that's not remotely what anyone is thinking, but that's how it feels, and it's pissing me off. I do know that they alternate between being thrilled and being irritated that I'm as computer savvy as I am. On the one hand, they can give me instructions and I can handle things on my own (the things I have permission to do, at least, grr), but on the other hand, I know bullshit when I hear it.
Heh. This is me being sheepish. One of the IS guys was just here. I almost junked this entry, because I was wrong on a few things. For one, I can access the D drive, and will begin doing so. The memory problem is a more complicated story, but suffice to say it was a setup issue that's been corrected. So there's my little rant for the day, complete with apology. But damn it, I'm still locked out of a lot of things!
According to Sitemeter, GOD has
According to Sitemeter, GOD has visited my webpage. No, I'm serious. He/She was here about half an hour ago. Probably was checking out the discussion about Lipscomb in last night's entry.
February 08, 2001
Then and NowI started an entry two days ago about nostalgia, reminiscing about my very first semester in college, in the fall of 1989. One thing I have not ceased to be amazed with, for the past month, is how very different things at Eastern are from things at Lipscomb.* I suppose part of it could be that Lipscomb was and is a very small, private, Christian university, where Eastern is public and -- at least to me -- very large. I think a lot of it is also just the fact that I'm an old fart, and that twelve years is a long time in college time.
The biggest difference I've noticed? Well, at least lately, is how many cell phones there are on campus. It's like freaking everybody has a cell phone. Nobody talks to the people around them on their way to class, because they're all talking on their cell phones. I ride the shuttle bus after my last class, because it's the easiest way to get back to my car. At one of the stops we made, three out of the four people who got on were all talking on their cell phones. Teachers complained about Walkmans when I was in school before. Now they complain about cell phones. I find myself watching with amazement at people who can dodge and dart swiftly through a crowd of co-eds without missing a single "Well then he said... then I told him..."
The ones who aren't talking on cell phones are smoking. I know that's a Lipscomb Culture Shock thing for me. It catches me continually by surprise to see how many students smoke. Going into any building at any given time (particularly the larger buildings) means wading through the crowd of smokers outside. The next item on the Culture Shock List is teachers who swear in class. Gasp! One of my lit prof's favorite expressions is that someone's a "goofy bastard". I think he said "fucker" at some point and I about fell out of my chair. Now, anybody who's read much of this journal ought to know that I don't turn green at a dirty word or three. I use them and hear them enough that I don't usually think much about it. Hearing it in a classroom though, is so foreign to me that it still throws me a little bit. Reading literature with dirty words and "questionable" content. I doubt Zorba the Greek has ever been taught at Lipscomb. The main character sleeps with a bunch of women, gets drunk, and spends a lot of time calling God a devil. This would not go over well at a university where most of the Bible faculty wanted to lynch the one Bible faculty member who actually associated with them sinful Baptists (he was part of an interfaith group, y'see).
A lot of things are foreign enough to me that had I tried to go to a public school immediately after two years at Lipscomb, I probably would have died from culture shock. I miss Lipscomb sometimes, believe it or not. Or rather, I think I miss that time frame and those people and the person I was. I doubt, for example, if I had a chance to go back and attend Lipscomb at this point in time, that I would take it. There's too much about the school that would make me bonkers.
College has definitely been a interesting adjustment if nothing else. It's interesting for the little sociology nut who lives inside my head (well yeah, I have one, doesn't everyone?) to try and determine what changes I see come from the decade that's passed since I was in Nashville and what changes come from the difference between a "Christian environment" and a secular one.
*This is me, wondering if Lipscomb checks their referrer logs. If they find this page, they'll probably pray for my soul, quit bugging me for donations, and ask me to remove the link. Heh.
Adding to yesterday's whine: I
Adding to yesterday's whine: I want a nice weekend away somewhere quiet where I can sit with my laptop and look at trees and snow and write, then alternate the rest of my time between soaking in a hot tub, watching movies, sleeping and eating.
Why yes, I think I am stressed, thanks for asking. My first government test is Tuesday and my paper for that class is due on Thursday. I really shouldn't be worried about this paper. I mean, it's 3-4 pages double-spaced, which I think comes to about 2,000 words. 2,000 words of my own opinion, yet. Heck, an average journal entry for me is about 500-1,000 words. I'm honestly more worried about the test.
February 07, 2001
I want a laptop computer.
I want a laptop computer. And a CD-RW drive. And a pony. Wah. (And don't bother me with technicalities about me not having a lap for said laptop. Jeez.)
February 06, 2001
Hee. Geeks of the world,
Hee. Geeks of the world, unite! Jen's got the right idea here, and now I want to go to one of the TMBG (They Might Be Giants, for the uninitiated) Flood shows.
The very best thing about going to a TMBG show is that you find yourself in a room full of people who can spell three syllable words, and tell interesting stories that you want to listen to, while you're standing on line, waiting to get in (as opposed to, you know, "DUDE! DUDE! DUDE! I am SO WASTED! DUDE! I can't WAIT! And I'm WASTED! DUDE! DUDE! I'm gonna be sick, man.")I used to drive my friends in college nutty, driving around Nashville blasting Flood from the stereo of my '85 Buick Skylark, singing classics like "Birdhouse in Your Soul" and "Particle Man" at the top of my lungs. And I remember walking down the streets of Manhattan with the ex-husband, Brian and Brian's girlfriend working out all the harmony parts of "Dead" and "Whistling in the Dark".
Whoa, blast of nostalgia.
February 05, 2001
God. Soooo tired. In the
God. Soooo tired. In the last twelve hours (ten of which have been on the phone), I've taken 392 calls. I've got about forty-five minutes left. Think about that number for a minute. 392 calls. I don't even want to talk to people I adore 392 times a day, much less slavering, angry accountants. There's got to be an easier way to make a living, like, I dunno, handling rabid weasels or something. (Wait. That would be the same job, wouldn't it?) Ya know, 392 (393, now) isn't even my record. My record was 548. And that was in a much shorter day.
Why am I here so late? Long story, involving a root canal gone bad and a foolish gesture of selflessness on my part. Do I sound bitter? I'm not really. Just exhausted.
In another news, why haven't any of you told me I tend to sound like a pompous windbag when I'm this tired? Jeez! What do I pay you people for?
February 04, 2001
You know what's weird? Someone
You know what's weird? Someone coming across your site because they did a search on your name. I know I have a fairly common name, but I'm curious if it was me they were looking for...
February 03, 2001
Hello Darkness, My Old FriendWhy do I do this to myself?
Let's, for a moment, assume that I am a reasonably intelligent, mature (stop laughing) adult who is aware of the consequences of her actions. Why then, would I choose to stay up to truly ungodly hours of the night, knowing that even though it is Friday night, that I'm still going to have to get up on Saturday and go to work?
Why then, would I be considering a Coke chaser for my 20-ounce cappuchino breakfast in an attempt to unfog my brain?
The only response I have to give is one that has echoed down the corridors of time, the continual answer to the exasperated question, "Why did you do that?!" -- "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time..." Here's what I wonder: I'm a pretty strait-laced person. I've never experimented with drugs, I can count on one hand the times I've drunk enough to get drunk. I wonder if not sleeping is my way of experimenting with altered states of consciousness? I definitely feel altered right now...
Some things seem more important than sleep, at least until the piercing shriek of the alarm threatens to make my head explode. Then nothing in the world seems more important than keeping my eyes closed for another nine minutes. That's the thing about living with other people. I can't just let my alarm blare and blare on a Saturday morning. Although, this morning my mom and stepdad were both already up -- in fact, my mom had showered and done her hair, all so she could sit at her computer and work from home. (I'm not going to go into the amazing wrongness of getting all gussied up to work from home on a Saturday morning. All I have to say is that if I were fortunate enough to be able to telecommute, I'd be a scary, scary person when I was working.)
I'm happy to report that one hour after I started this, the caffeine has started to work, and I don't feel like I'm looking out at the world through a haze of brain-fog. My only thought is no longer a muffled whimpering drone, "...bed...." (Actually, right now it's "...food...")
Sleep deprivation and I have a long and checkered history together. When I was a kid, Friday nights were the best night of the week, because I could stay up late. (Couldn't stay up late on Saturdays, of course. Church the next morning.) The older I got, the later I stayed up. I can remember going to slumber parties (where of course, you have to be the last person up, or face dire consequences) and marveling at how amazingly cool it was to be awake at 4 and 5 in the morning. My first stint in college, I actually had a curfew of 11:30 or midnight, depending on the day of the week. After that, I had to be in my dorm. The end result was I didn't usually stay up much later than that.
For a time there, our relationship was wild and crazy, one all-nighter after another. This was during the deepest, darkest time of my MUSHing addiction, and when some of my most favorite people in the world lived on Pacific Time (they still do -- damn time zones, damn them to hell!). There were too many nights of blearily looking out at the light brightening outside the windows and thinking, "Oh shit. I did it again. I gotta be at work when?" Sleep deprivation was my constant companion, along with the caffeinated monkey on my back. We split up every once in a while, usually when I decided it was no good for me and that I wanted to move on with my life. But, like the ex-boyfriend who still hangs around for the occasional sympathy fuck, sleep dep and I managed to stay at least somewhat in touch.
We're having another fling at the moment. I dunno yet if it's just for old time's sake, or if this is the start of another beautiful friendship. I know I'm too old and too busy to get lured back completely into our old relationship -- school and writing have won too solid a place in my affections. I won't talk about the sordid nights when writing and sleep deprivation gang up on me -- that's more information than you want.
Tomorrow is blessed, blessed Sunday, and if anything makes me open my eyes before noon, I'll hurt somebody.
Wow. Just... yeah. What Erica
Wow. Just... yeah. What Erica said. Bill Mahar may not know much about the internet, but the man knows plenty about ego, I'm sure.
On an unrelated note, can you inject caffeine? And barring that, can I nap between phone calls? Zzzzzz...
February 02, 2001
Sleep deprivation? What's that?
Sleep deprivation? What's that? I've zoomed to bouncing off the walls. That, my friends, is the cover art for Harvest of Thorns. It's finally up! I'm spending far too much energy staring at that tiny little picture trying to make out each image and figure out what everything is. My god. That's my book. Our words, mine and Brand's, are going to be behind that cover. I'm trying to put into words how that makes me feel, and I can't. This is real. Really real. I'm giddy.
Next step is to progress to the point where my name is on the cover as well... ;)
Ooh. I'd forgotten about this
Ooh. I'd forgotten about this stage of sleep deprivation. This is about the limit of my attention span at the moment. I stare at the screen and think, "Ooh. Pretty colors."
My mood, in a word:
My mood, in a word: Happy-bouncy-caffeinated-not-enough-sleep-up-too-late-plotting-and-writing-and-giggling. (Well okay. A hyphenated word.) Hee. I wonder how long I can go without updating my calendar to the left there before I drive Jason nuts? ;)
In other news, I have to work tomorrow. Bleah.
February 01, 2001
So, if you're ever sitting
So, if you're ever sitting around, oh, about 9 pm, and you get a bug up your ass to suddenly move your bed so you can use the computer from the bed -- don't do it. The bed is moved, but I think I seriously hurt myself. Casters or no, I'm too much of a wimp to move a queen-sized bed alone.
On the plus side, though, I'm terribly comfortable.
I have a zero tolerance
I have a zero tolerance policy for stupidity. Can I suspend the principal?
"I think a chicken strip is something insignificant," she said. "It's just a piece of chicken. How could you play like it's a gun?"The principal wittily responded that punishment for a threat "depends on the tone, the demeanor, and in some manner you judge the intent. It's not the object in the hand, it's the thought in the mind."
I'm certain the eight-year old boy had murder in mind when he pointed that deadly piece of chicken at his teacher.