naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Bolt awake again, for no reason worthy enough to justify the sleeplessness.

I often am jolted out of sleep by mini panic attacks, usually to the tune of "You're going to DIE!" When I sit and look at the numbers it doesn't seem so bad until I realize that, hey, you know, it's only a couple years until I am half the age my mom was when she died. Blather all you like about good odds and taking care of yourself and blah, blah, blah; if a member of your family died that young, it'd give you a moment's pause, too to know that if genes play hell, you might have a lower expiration date than you thought.

I'm nearly 30. I don't feel used-up, old, or like I am losing my edge in any way. I'm just hitting my stride. I'm an adult, finally. Every year is another log on a bright-burning fire. So be assured, I'm not one of those pathological women who plans on spending her 30s in a haze of denial, then launching into a grotesque parody of youth when I'm 40. Hell, I don't even plan on dyeing my hair if I start to go grey (unless it looks genuinely bad on me, which I don't expect it will). It's conceivable I might continue to play with my hair color, but that's more out of me liking the thought of red hair than out of me not liking the thought of having a little salt in my pepper.

I might fail utterly at aging with grace, you can never say, but I plan on handling it. I quit thinking of myself as a "girl" a while back, and I'm perfectly comfortable calling mysef a woman now. Just one of the past couple of years' few unexpected gifts, I guess. Yeah, it's weird to think about the "half over" thing, but it's not the same as "half done." I'm not ever going to feel "finished." I hope to god I never become one of those living dead old people who just suck and mutter around, who lose all their mental dexterity, all their snap and fire. You know the ones I mean. They're only waiting to die.

I'm not like that. I won't be like that.

I think I'll like being 30. You know how you defiantly add that "and a HALF" on when you're, like, twelve, and you really think it makes a frigging difference? I told someone yesterday that I'm 29 and a HALF with that same sense of pride. I'm almost to one of the really good numbers! (Ironically, the guy I said this to guessed my age at around 20, so it may be that I'm only cavalier about getting older because I look very young.)

All that said, I don't feel so good. As previously implied, I'm up at whatever o'clock because I've been awake since five-thirty. Not sleeping, in other words. And I felt truly ill after donating hit points yesterday, hence the lack of a "Hey there, I'm not dead!" post. That was my bad. I didn't drink enough before I went in, and I was barely above the bar for iron levels.

It was still decreed that I had enough hit points to donate a few, albeit by a narrow margin. Still, gotta do it. One donation can be spread among three lower-level characters, you know. Added up, I've saved the equivalent of fifteen first-level mages, or three fifth-level rangers, or one 15th-level fighter (hopefully a first-edition barbarian).

I'm pretty sure I get experience points, too. So it's a for-real win/win situation. I wonder, if I listen really hard will I hear a little ding-ding sound when I level up?

I'm pretty sure I'm not leveling up this time; I feel like too much crap. Maybe next time. Besides. It's all worth it.

Warm blood-donor fuzzies and a swag new Red Cross tee shirt aside, I have loads of actual work to do. Most of which I am not at all interested in pursuing, although that may be the blood loss induced apathy and lack of sleep talking. I wanted to paint last night, and I want to paint now, but I'm way, way too tired.

I'll settle for trying to sleep a little more, and hoping that this weekend gives me time to do the crap I need to do, like catch up on the stuff that Christmas sort of ate.

Ugh. I need more hours in the day.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Bolt awake again, for no reason worthy enough to justify the sleeplessness.

I often am jolted out of sleep by mini panic attacks, usually to the tune of "You're going to DIE!" When I sit and look at the numbers it doesn't seem so bad until I realize that, hey, you know, it's only a couple years until I am half the age my mom was when she died. Blather all you like about good odds and taking care of yourself and blah, blah, blah; if a member of your family died that young, it'd give you a moment's pause, too to know that if genes play hell, you might have a lower expiration date than you thought.

I'm nearly 30. I don't feel used-up, old, or like I am losing my edge in any way. I'm just hitting my stride. I'm an adult, finally. Every year is another log on a bright-burning fire. So be assured, I'm not one of those pathological women who plans on spending her 30s in a haze of denial, then launching into a grotesque parody of youth when I'm 40. Hell, I don't even plan on dyeing my hair if I start to go grey (unless it looks genuinely bad on me, which I don't expect it will). It's conceivable I might continue to play with my hair color, but that's more out of me liking the thought of red hair than out of me not liking the thought of having a little salt in my pepper.

I might fail utterly at aging with grace, you can never say, but I plan on handling it. I quit thinking of myself as a "girl" a while back, and I'm perfectly comfortable calling mysef a woman now. Just one of the past couple of years' few unexpected gifts, I guess. Yeah, it's weird to think about the "half over" thing, but it's not the same as "half done." I'm not ever going to feel "finished." I hope to god I never become one of those living dead old people who just suck and mutter around, who lose all their mental dexterity, all their snap and fire. You know the ones I mean. They're only waiting to die.

I'm not like that. I won't be like that.

I think I'll like being 30. You know how you defiantly add that "and a HALF" on when you're, like, twelve, and you really think it makes a frigging difference? I told someone yesterday that I'm 29 and a HALF with that same sense of pride. I'm almost to one of the really good numbers! (Ironically, the guy I said this to guessed my age at around 20, so it may be that I'm only cavalier about getting older because I look very young.)

All that said, I don't feel so good. As previously implied, I'm up at whatever o'clock because I've been awake since five-thirty. Not sleeping, in other words. And I felt truly ill after donating hit points yesterday, hence the lack of a "Hey there, I'm not dead!" post. That was my bad. I didn't drink enough before I went in, and I was barely above the bar for iron levels.

It was still decreed that I had enough hit points to donate a few, albeit by a narrow margin. Still, gotta do it. One donation can be spread among three lower-level characters, you know. Added up, I've saved the equivalent of fifteen first-level mages, or three fifth-level rangers, or one 15th-level fighter (hopefully a first-edition barbarian).

I'm pretty sure I get experience points, too. So it's a for-real win/win situation. I wonder, if I listen really hard will I hear a little ding-ding sound when I level up?

I'm pretty sure I'm not leveling up this time; I feel like too much crap. Maybe next time. Besides. It's all worth it.

Warm blood-donor fuzzies and a swag new Red Cross tee shirt aside, I have loads of actual work to do. Most of which I am not at all interested in pursuing, although that may be the blood loss induced apathy and lack of sleep talking. I wanted to paint last night, and I want to paint now, but I'm way, way too tired.

I'll settle for trying to sleep a little more, and hoping that this weekend gives me time to do the crap I need to do, like catch up on the stuff that Christmas sort of ate.

Ugh. I need more hours in the day.

Spades?!

Dec. 27th, 2006 03:47 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Dangerous Booty)
AGAIN, with the orphan cards. This time, the two of spades accompanied by the queen of diamonds. Found them in the park.

Last time, I duplicated the jack of spades. Spades, spades, spades. This is starting to get just a little freaky.

If you have something to say, Universe, quit fucking around and just SAY IT already. This half-assed weirdtastic shit was cool at first, but now it is only making me paranoid.

In other news, Christmas was every bit the orgy of food, presents, and wrapping paper that I had hoped. I ate at least seventeen Christmas cookies on Christmas. Seriously. That kind of shit . . . that can't be good for me. Oh, god. But they are so good.

Next year, if you are all well-behaved little heathens, I'll post my sugar cookie recipe. No, it's not as good as the Ginger Sluts recipe, but then, nothing really is. Besides, by Imperial Dictum you must bake at least one batch of frostable cookies during the holidays, and you can't frost the Ginger Sluts. Trying just makes them all kinds of vile.

I'm being horribly remiss not posting pictures yet. Sorry. Perhaps when I get back from my regularly-scheduled vampirism appointment, I'll clean up a few of the ones of my niece with her monstrous new pet.

I do have a request. I've a yen to hear "Venus in Furs." I had two copies of it once upon a time, one by the Velvet Underground, and one by Monster Magnet. I've lost the Monster Magnet CD, the Velvet Underground cd was a friend's from ages ago, and my Nomad puked its poor guts out a while back, losing me the mp3s. If anyone has either of those songs, I'd be much obliged if they'd send 'em my way. (That'd be naamah_darling at livejournal dot com.)

I know. I'm going to music-piracy hell. But you can come with me. Please? They've been stuck in my head for days and days, and it's making me pretty itchy and annoyed.

Spades?!

Dec. 27th, 2006 03:47 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Dangerous Booty)
AGAIN, with the orphan cards. This time, the two of spades accompanied by the queen of diamonds. Found them in the park.

Last time, I duplicated the jack of spades. Spades, spades, spades. This is starting to get just a little freaky.

If you have something to say, Universe, quit fucking around and just SAY IT already. This half-assed weirdtastic shit was cool at first, but now it is only making me paranoid.

In other news, Christmas was every bit the orgy of food, presents, and wrapping paper that I had hoped. I ate at least seventeen Christmas cookies on Christmas. Seriously. That kind of shit . . . that can't be good for me. Oh, god. But they are so good.

Next year, if you are all well-behaved little heathens, I'll post my sugar cookie recipe. No, it's not as good as the Ginger Sluts recipe, but then, nothing really is. Besides, by Imperial Dictum you must bake at least one batch of frostable cookies during the holidays, and you can't frost the Ginger Sluts. Trying just makes them all kinds of vile.

I'm being horribly remiss not posting pictures yet. Sorry. Perhaps when I get back from my regularly-scheduled vampirism appointment, I'll clean up a few of the ones of my niece with her monstrous new pet.

I do have a request. I've a yen to hear "Venus in Furs." I had two copies of it once upon a time, one by the Velvet Underground, and one by Monster Magnet. I've lost the Monster Magnet CD, the Velvet Underground cd was a friend's from ages ago, and my Nomad puked its poor guts out a while back, losing me the mp3s. If anyone has either of those songs, I'd be much obliged if they'd send 'em my way. (That'd be naamah_darling at livejournal dot com.)

I know. I'm going to music-piracy hell. But you can come with me. Please? They've been stuck in my head for days and days, and it's making me pretty itchy and annoyed.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Went in to the Red Cross today trying for my record-breaking third straight deferral, only to be told that I do in fact have enough hit points to donate. Which is good. I'm a six hit-die monster, after all.

Over the course of previous donations, it has been established that my veins are:

1) exceptionally tiny

2) exceptionally mobile

3) equipped with valves at inconvenient locations, causing the blood to sometimes gush out and sometimes trickle out, unpredictably.

All of which makes it a pain to have blood drawn. Yet I still go to have it done. Not for my benefit, oh, no, but for the benefit of complete strangers. And it's not just a pain for me, it's a pain in the ass for the staff at the Red Cross. Sometimes I go in, they stick me, and everything is peachy. Sometimes they have to baby me through the whole process. Today the incredibly patient LPN sat beside me and physically HELD ON TO the needle to keep it in the middle of my vein instead of against the wall, so that blood would actually, you know, come out.

Yeah, I don't squick easily at needles, but this time I got a little faint.

But it's done, and that's three more lives potentially saved, so I can feel good about that even if I have a hole in me.

We're in the midst of a horrific blood shortage. We're operating on less than one day's worth of blood nationwide. Hospitals are rationing blood products. And this is just with everyday activity, normal wear and tear on the system. If a disaster hit, we'd be hosed. And this isn't because the Red Cross turns down too many people or because their rules are too strict, it's because eligible people are not donating.

I'm not telling you to go out and get stuck if you really don't want to or if for whatever reason you can't donate. I respect that. But if you've been thinking about donating, or if you haven't done it in a while, please drop by. It really is worth it.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Went in to the Red Cross today trying for my record-breaking third straight deferral, only to be told that I do in fact have enough hit points to donate. Which is good. I'm a six hit-die monster, after all.

Over the course of previous donations, it has been established that my veins are:

1) exceptionally tiny

2) exceptionally mobile

3) equipped with valves at inconvenient locations, causing the blood to sometimes gush out and sometimes trickle out, unpredictably.

All of which makes it a pain to have blood drawn. Yet I still go to have it done. Not for my benefit, oh, no, but for the benefit of complete strangers. And it's not just a pain for me, it's a pain in the ass for the staff at the Red Cross. Sometimes I go in, they stick me, and everything is peachy. Sometimes they have to baby me through the whole process. Today the incredibly patient LPN sat beside me and physically HELD ON TO the needle to keep it in the middle of my vein instead of against the wall, so that blood would actually, you know, come out.

Yeah, I don't squick easily at needles, but this time I got a little faint.

But it's done, and that's three more lives potentially saved, so I can feel good about that even if I have a hole in me.

We're in the midst of a horrific blood shortage. We're operating on less than one day's worth of blood nationwide. Hospitals are rationing blood products. And this is just with everyday activity, normal wear and tear on the system. If a disaster hit, we'd be hosed. And this isn't because the Red Cross turns down too many people or because their rules are too strict, it's because eligible people are not donating.

I'm not telling you to go out and get stuck if you really don't want to or if for whatever reason you can't donate. I respect that. But if you've been thinking about donating, or if you haven't done it in a while, please drop by. It really is worth it.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (A Taste For Danger)
Hay!

Who sent me ze bunny movie? Convess!

Got a (wet, and thank God it was shrink wrapped) copy of Watership Down in the post late today. It's been one of my favorite movies since I was wee, though looking back on it I can't think why on earth my parents allowed me to watch it when it gave me recurring nightmares. I still love it, and find that as I grow older, I identify with different characters, get different lessons from it. It's a good movie that way. Like the Last Unicorn. Movies and books that need to be revisited, because as your point of view shifts you get different things out of them. Stories like that are important, they can teach us throughout our lives if we let them. We don't have myths any more; we need to take these things where we can get them.

Big Trouble in Little China is like that too, but for totally different reasons. I just find something new to laugh about every time I see that movie, and I will probably never stop loving it as long as I live. Jack Burton throwing away his boot knife while trying to draw it is one of those blink-and-you-miss-it movie moments that only really great comedy flicks can afford not to telegraph. That movie is full of them. Actually, I think Kurt Russell is full of them.

Anyway, whoever sent me the movie, I thank you. I theeeenk I know who the culprit was, though.

In other news, got a little woozy and actually swooned in the kitchen this evening because I was dumb and stood with my knees locked for too long. I had to stagger to the bedroom and lay down with my feet up. I always forget that on days I give blood I tend to get faint if I stand after sitting for a long time.

I'm okay now, and besides, swooning is sexy. Or is that just me being Southern again?

I think I'll play it safe tomorrow, though, and stay close to home. I'm pretty wiped, and the only reason I ain't in bed yet is because I had a nap earlier, and I have a couple things to finish.

Speaking of which, I have to hop to. Duty calls, and all that jazz. Due to an unprecedented three days without interruptions, I'm already a third to halfway through another box, and THIS one I am dying to show you all.

Oh. And since I've been watching a crapload of Smallville, I want to inflict upon show you some hot pictures of Tom Welling. How much better does it get than that? (Okay, well, he could be in a wet white tee-shirt.) He's so cute. Is it any wonder he's my crush du jour? (I wonder if this is really him; if so, he needs to grow his hair out again. And get rid of those awful pants. I promise I won't mind the naked.)
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (A Taste For Danger)
Hay!

Who sent me ze bunny movie? Convess!

Got a (wet, and thank God it was shrink wrapped) copy of Watership Down in the post late today. It's been one of my favorite movies since I was wee, though looking back on it I can't think why on earth my parents allowed me to watch it when it gave me recurring nightmares. I still love it, and find that as I grow older, I identify with different characters, get different lessons from it. It's a good movie that way. Like the Last Unicorn. Movies and books that need to be revisited, because as your point of view shifts you get different things out of them. Stories like that are important, they can teach us throughout our lives if we let them. We don't have myths any more; we need to take these things where we can get them.

Big Trouble in Little China is like that too, but for totally different reasons. I just find something new to laugh about every time I see that movie, and I will probably never stop loving it as long as I live. Jack Burton throwing away his boot knife while trying to draw it is one of those blink-and-you-miss-it movie moments that only really great comedy flicks can afford not to telegraph. That movie is full of them. Actually, I think Kurt Russell is full of them.

Anyway, whoever sent me the movie, I thank you. I theeeenk I know who the culprit was, though.

In other news, got a little woozy and actually swooned in the kitchen this evening because I was dumb and stood with my knees locked for too long. I had to stagger to the bedroom and lay down with my feet up. I always forget that on days I give blood I tend to get faint if I stand after sitting for a long time.

I'm okay now, and besides, swooning is sexy. Or is that just me being Southern again?

I think I'll play it safe tomorrow, though, and stay close to home. I'm pretty wiped, and the only reason I ain't in bed yet is because I had a nap earlier, and I have a couple things to finish.

Speaking of which, I have to hop to. Duty calls, and all that jazz. Due to an unprecedented three days without interruptions, I'm already a third to halfway through another box, and THIS one I am dying to show you all.

Oh. And since I've been watching a crapload of Smallville, I want to inflict upon show you some hot pictures of Tom Welling. How much better does it get than that? (Okay, well, he could be in a wet white tee-shirt.) He's so cute. Is it any wonder he's my crush du jour? (I wonder if this is really him; if so, he needs to grow his hair out again. And get rid of those awful pants. I promise I won't mind the naked.)
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Today I slapped on my Supergirl shirt and got holes poked in me for the benefit of people I will never meet. I did it for love; for the love other people have for that person I'll never meet, and for the love I have for people I know who've been saved by transfusions. I did it because I can't pay back the people who gave blood to save members of my family. I can only help out someone else's mom or aunt or nephew or cousin or kid. One pint of whole blood can save three lives. And that, to me, seems a thing worth doing.

The process was even more painless than usual, and the Red Cross was full of cheerful, wonderful people. As impossible as I would have found this to believe at one point, I find giving blood intensely enjoyable. I used to think it was something awful you did just because it's the morally right thing to do, but now at least I understand that while it still is something I do because it's right, it's at least not horrible. The fear of needles (and I do still feel it) is nothing compared to the feeling of having helped.

Today everyone, even the brave first-time fainter, was smiling. We talked with each other, shared stories about dogs and thunderstorms and backyard ponds, we laughed. And when I left, it was pouring down rain like you would not believe, the upkick in the parking lot coming knee-high on me, lightning and thunder carving up the sky.

A woman I had never met was waiting in the little airlock between storm and shelter, staring out at the rain, obviously a little sour on the idea of making the sprint to her car with only a tiny little umbrella for protection. When I approached the outer door with nothing at all to ward me but a grim smile, she stopped me, unfolded her red umbrella and, grinning, walked me to my car. She got wetter than she would've, but I wound up drier. That's human kindness at its best.

Every time I call the Red Cross to make an appointment they seem surprised. Usually, they call you, you see. People need reminders. We get busy, we forget. Which is why I make my own appointments ahead of time, and I keep them. This isn't something I want to forget, or put off. It hurts me more to be deferred for low iron than it does to have a story rejected. When I go in, the nurse taking my history almost always asks if someone called to solicit me, and every time I say that I just do this because it's important to me, they seem shocked to hear it.

There's a terrible blood shortage right now, all blood types. Three people mentioned it to me today. It's apparently pretty bad this time. My blood won't be on a shelf for long. I truly hope that someday a synthetic blood substitute will come along that will make shortages and donorship all but obsolete, a thing of the barbaric scientific past when we had to harvest live tissue from squeamish living beings just to make medical ends meet. Science is working on solving this riddle, but until it does, I will extend my own little red umbrella to the world, three people at a time.

I regret that I have but one pint to give.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Today I slapped on my Supergirl shirt and got holes poked in me for the benefit of people I will never meet. I did it for love; for the love other people have for that person I'll never meet, and for the love I have for people I know who've been saved by transfusions. I did it because I can't pay back the people who gave blood to save members of my family. I can only help out someone else's mom or aunt or nephew or cousin or kid. One pint of whole blood can save three lives. And that, to me, seems a thing worth doing.

The process was even more painless than usual, and the Red Cross was full of cheerful, wonderful people. As impossible as I would have found this to believe at one point, I find giving blood intensely enjoyable. I used to think it was something awful you did just because it's the morally right thing to do, but now at least I understand that while it still is something I do because it's right, it's at least not horrible. The fear of needles (and I do still feel it) is nothing compared to the feeling of having helped.

Today everyone, even the brave first-time fainter, was smiling. We talked with each other, shared stories about dogs and thunderstorms and backyard ponds, we laughed. And when I left, it was pouring down rain like you would not believe, the upkick in the parking lot coming knee-high on me, lightning and thunder carving up the sky.

A woman I had never met was waiting in the little airlock between storm and shelter, staring out at the rain, obviously a little sour on the idea of making the sprint to her car with only a tiny little umbrella for protection. When I approached the outer door with nothing at all to ward me but a grim smile, she stopped me, unfolded her red umbrella and, grinning, walked me to my car. She got wetter than she would've, but I wound up drier. That's human kindness at its best.

Every time I call the Red Cross to make an appointment they seem surprised. Usually, they call you, you see. People need reminders. We get busy, we forget. Which is why I make my own appointments ahead of time, and I keep them. This isn't something I want to forget, or put off. It hurts me more to be deferred for low iron than it does to have a story rejected. When I go in, the nurse taking my history almost always asks if someone called to solicit me, and every time I say that I just do this because it's important to me, they seem shocked to hear it.

There's a terrible blood shortage right now, all blood types. Three people mentioned it to me today. It's apparently pretty bad this time. My blood won't be on a shelf for long. I truly hope that someday a synthetic blood substitute will come along that will make shortages and donorship all but obsolete, a thing of the barbaric scientific past when we had to harvest live tissue from squeamish living beings just to make medical ends meet. Science is working on solving this riddle, but until it does, I will extend my own little red umbrella to the world, three people at a time.

I regret that I have but one pint to give.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Hey, you lot.

Things are still borderline here -- had to bug out of a meeting on Friday night. Just too many people. I can deal with that if I'm not being the Bearer of All Piss-off, but alas, on Friday it was not meant to be. Ironically, it would have been easier if I hadn't been interacting with people I like. Around people I hate I can feel free to be surly, snarl, and not speak except to mutter obscenities under my breath. People I like I don't force to endure my evil tempers. Had a major fit late that night (or early that morning, depending on how you measure these things), which didn't fix anything at all and still hasn't made me feel any better, but I insist that it's a necessary thing.

I've come out of the weekend with a really killer idea, though, and those are worth any amount of trouble in the long run, so it's not a total loss. I'm excited about this one. Enough so that it may get written next, even before the vampire novel. I've got to do research on the Civil War, the deep south, social customs, and the late 1800s, though, so I'm trying to accrue a list of nonfiction books that are actually readable. Suggestions are welcome; my knowledge of the time and place is basic enough to ground me in the period, but not enough to allow me to write in an alternate-history Confederacy. For that I'll need a much more thorough edumacation.

The new box I'm working on is a hand's breadth from being finished -- all of it is done, all, but for one panel, which is giving me absolute fits. It's so incredibly beautiful that I'm partly terrified of screwing it up, which isn't helping things any. But don't get me wrong -- I love it when my work fights me just enough to make things interesting! And this one is going to be interesting all right. It's incredibly complicated, which I hadn't intended, but it's shaping up to be one of the prettiest I've ever done.

I'm getting up shortly to go to the bank and then give blood, both things I would prefer not to have to do, but which I'll be happy to have done. I shall return later with some scent reviews and tales of Fish. If you are lucky, and I am lucky, there will even be a video demonstration of her cuteness.

Edit: Meh. Hematocrit deferral. My blood isn't strong enough this week, apparently. Maybe I should try again when I'm not, you know, bleeding from my unmentionables. Goddamn irregular cycle bullshittery.

In compensation, I shall now attempt to get video of Fish playing with her frogs.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Hey, you lot.

Things are still borderline here -- had to bug out of a meeting on Friday night. Just too many people. I can deal with that if I'm not being the Bearer of All Piss-off, but alas, on Friday it was not meant to be. Ironically, it would have been easier if I hadn't been interacting with people I like. Around people I hate I can feel free to be surly, snarl, and not speak except to mutter obscenities under my breath. People I like I don't force to endure my evil tempers. Had a major fit late that night (or early that morning, depending on how you measure these things), which didn't fix anything at all and still hasn't made me feel any better, but I insist that it's a necessary thing.

I've come out of the weekend with a really killer idea, though, and those are worth any amount of trouble in the long run, so it's not a total loss. I'm excited about this one. Enough so that it may get written next, even before the vampire novel. I've got to do research on the Civil War, the deep south, social customs, and the late 1800s, though, so I'm trying to accrue a list of nonfiction books that are actually readable. Suggestions are welcome; my knowledge of the time and place is basic enough to ground me in the period, but not enough to allow me to write in an alternate-history Confederacy. For that I'll need a much more thorough edumacation.

The new box I'm working on is a hand's breadth from being finished -- all of it is done, all, but for one panel, which is giving me absolute fits. It's so incredibly beautiful that I'm partly terrified of screwing it up, which isn't helping things any. But don't get me wrong -- I love it when my work fights me just enough to make things interesting! And this one is going to be interesting all right. It's incredibly complicated, which I hadn't intended, but it's shaping up to be one of the prettiest I've ever done.

I'm getting up shortly to go to the bank and then give blood, both things I would prefer not to have to do, but which I'll be happy to have done. I shall return later with some scent reviews and tales of Fish. If you are lucky, and I am lucky, there will even be a video demonstration of her cuteness.

Edit: Meh. Hematocrit deferral. My blood isn't strong enough this week, apparently. Maybe I should try again when I'm not, you know, bleeding from my unmentionables. Goddamn irregular cycle bullshittery.

In compensation, I shall now attempt to get video of Fish playing with her frogs.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Really, that should be the name of a band. The Walking Dead.

I feel like crap today. Triple-A craaap.

I gave blood yesterday, so it's my own stupid fault really. I probably should have waited until next week. I usually start gut-loading myself with vitamins about a week beforehand, but what with the lack of adequate medication to sustain basic mental processes, I totally forgot about it. Also, not having enough meds in my system meant I felt shaky and tired all day. Usually I don't feel anything afterward, but yesterday I felt really off.

So [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie came over and we watched The 40 Year Old Virgin and laughed our asses off. It's not about the butthole pleasures. Then I went to the concom meeting, since I'm on the committee for Conestoga 10 as co-chair for the art show. A lovely time was had by all, but toward the end I was feeling for-real pass-out faint. And I'm still feeling shaky and weak today.

Meh. It's worth it. I got curious, did some research, and in this part of the world only 9% of people have my blood type. Donors are rare enough that they actually will call me on the phone if I don't have an appointment by the 8-week mark. I feel like this is an important thing for me to do. Plus, I enjoy it, the sight of the blackish-red blood filling the warm little bag, spurting into the sample vials. The needle . . . well. I don't like it, and can't watch it go in, but it doesn't really hurt me. Yesterday was almost completely painless.

Anyway, food will perk me up, and possibly a nap. I have to marshal my resources. Tomorrow is my granddad's 90th birthday party, and I'll be facing lunch with my extended family. I love them dearly, but between them they have eight children. Actually, Sargon and I are the only ones who don't have kids. I don't know, yet, how many of those children will be there, so I don't know how bad it will be. Individually, they're great. Together, it's a bit much for my nerves to handle.

But if I can stand to have my blood drained for the benefit of people I don't know, I can stand to hang out with my family for an hour or so.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Give Blood)
Really, that should be the name of a band. The Walking Dead.

I feel like crap today. Triple-A craaap.

I gave blood yesterday, so it's my own stupid fault really. I probably should have waited until next week. I usually start gut-loading myself with vitamins about a week beforehand, but what with the lack of adequate medication to sustain basic mental processes, I totally forgot about it. Also, not having enough meds in my system meant I felt shaky and tired all day. Usually I don't feel anything afterward, but yesterday I felt really off.

So [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie came over and we watched The 40 Year Old Virgin and laughed our asses off. It's not about the butthole pleasures. Then I went to the concom meeting, since I'm on the committee for Conestoga 10 as co-chair for the art show. A lovely time was had by all, but toward the end I was feeling for-real pass-out faint. And I'm still feeling shaky and weak today.

Meh. It's worth it. I got curious, did some research, and in this part of the world only 9% of people have my blood type. Donors are rare enough that they actually will call me on the phone if I don't have an appointment by the 8-week mark. I feel like this is an important thing for me to do. Plus, I enjoy it, the sight of the blackish-red blood filling the warm little bag, spurting into the sample vials. The needle . . . well. I don't like it, and can't watch it go in, but it doesn't really hurt me. Yesterday was almost completely painless.

Anyway, food will perk me up, and possibly a nap. I have to marshal my resources. Tomorrow is my granddad's 90th birthday party, and I'll be facing lunch with my extended family. I love them dearly, but between them they have eight children. Actually, Sargon and I are the only ones who don't have kids. I don't know, yet, how many of those children will be there, so I don't know how bad it will be. Individually, they're great. Together, it's a bit much for my nerves to handle.

But if I can stand to have my blood drained for the benefit of people I don't know, I can stand to hang out with my family for an hour or so.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (BTiLC Psycho Ward)
I'm using this icon because things are crazy around here. Yesterday was just Homerically depressing for reasons more psychological than actual, and it was salvaged only by donating blood and getting a free shirt from the gorgeous chick at the front desk.

When the high point of your day is having a gum-popping sista with inch-long electric-blue fingernails plunge a giant frickin' needle into your arm while she hums out of tune Christmas carols under her breath, you know you have had a bad day. In her defense, though she made a great show of not knowing what the fuck she was doing trying to find my vein, I felt almost nothing when she stuck me, and I haven't got so much as a bruise.

I also got to make a gingerbread house yesterday. So that didn't suck completely.

Today was marginally better, but I got nothing done.

On the other hand, I'd forgotten just how much I dig hanging out with my dad. Whatever personality traits I have that you think are cool? He's where I get them.

ME: *sees over-the-door coat hanger, imagines perverted bondage-style uses for it*
ME: Oooooh. Hmmm. That's . . . uhh. . . .

DAD: What?

Me: Uhh . . . nothing. My brain just went to a very wrong place.

DAD: Heh. Mine lives there.


Later we were discussing family and degrees of relation, using my family as an example.

DAD: So your uncles' kids and whatnot, they don't share much blood with you, but your parents do, and so do your lineal ancestors, those who provided their genetic material so that you might exist. And your children would, too. Not that I'm saying you have to have kids. Or ought to.

ME: No, that's not in the plan.

DAD: Ah. Good.

Those of you who have wrestled with parents not accepting your reproductive choices will know what I mean when I say that it was nice to know I won't be having that problem. I've always said we understand each other. He and I are a lot alike, more alike each year. And quite by accident I've grown to be interested in many of the same things he loves: exploratory and colonial history, the history of the U.S. West, battleships. Even tonight, he lent me a book on the hunting of man-eating tigers in India. How cool is that?

It gives me pleasure.

I have to go try to write now. The muse waits for no-one. And it's soothing to be back in my world.

To the good: I'm at 87,000 words and creeping. The scene I excerpted a while back is done at last, and there's been more bad sex since then. Maybe after I finish this appalling thing I will attempt to write something publishable, with actual literary merit. Wouldn't that be a shock?

An actual Real Update should be coming down the pike sometime soon here. I just don't feel like discussing the situation with Mom much. I'll leave it at saying things are really, really bad; I'd say scary bad, except there is nothing scary about this, really, given that we've known it was coming for months. It isn't impersonal, this dying. What it is, is deeply personal and depressing and awful and terribly, terribly sad. And, scary or sad, it'll be over quite soon. And that is a change so profound that there really is no point in talking about it, because it can't really be articulated or described. There's grief for you, lost as a puppy and raw as November.

Christmas isn't canceled, though, and the familiar trappings of tree and stockings and gingerbread house are soothing and joyous. I understand better than I ever did before the idea of midwinter revels. This is the hidden gift of the darkness, and the cold: that it cannot steal all of our warmth or our light.

If it is to be denial, then let it come with wine and friends and flame, and one last, grand revel before sleep.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (BTiLC Psycho Ward)
I'm using this icon because things are crazy around here. Yesterday was just Homerically depressing for reasons more psychological than actual, and it was salvaged only by donating blood and getting a free shirt from the gorgeous chick at the front desk.

When the high point of your day is having a gum-popping sista with inch-long electric-blue fingernails plunge a giant frickin' needle into your arm while she hums out of tune Christmas carols under her breath, you know you have had a bad day. In her defense, though she made a great show of not knowing what the fuck she was doing trying to find my vein, I felt almost nothing when she stuck me, and I haven't got so much as a bruise.

I also got to make a gingerbread house yesterday. So that didn't suck completely.

Today was marginally better, but I got nothing done.

On the other hand, I'd forgotten just how much I dig hanging out with my dad. Whatever personality traits I have that you think are cool? He's where I get them.

ME: *sees over-the-door coat hanger, imagines perverted bondage-style uses for it*
ME: Oooooh. Hmmm. That's . . . uhh. . . .

DAD: What?

Me: Uhh . . . nothing. My brain just went to a very wrong place.

DAD: Heh. Mine lives there.


Later we were discussing family and degrees of relation, using my family as an example.

DAD: So your uncles' kids and whatnot, they don't share much blood with you, but your parents do, and so do your lineal ancestors, those who provided their genetic material so that you might exist. And your children would, too. Not that I'm saying you have to have kids. Or ought to.

ME: No, that's not in the plan.

DAD: Ah. Good.

Those of you who have wrestled with parents not accepting your reproductive choices will know what I mean when I say that it was nice to know I won't be having that problem. I've always said we understand each other. He and I are a lot alike, more alike each year. And quite by accident I've grown to be interested in many of the same things he loves: exploratory and colonial history, the history of the U.S. West, battleships. Even tonight, he lent me a book on the hunting of man-eating tigers in India. How cool is that?

It gives me pleasure.

I have to go try to write now. The muse waits for no-one. And it's soothing to be back in my world.

To the good: I'm at 87,000 words and creeping. The scene I excerpted a while back is done at last, and there's been more bad sex since then. Maybe after I finish this appalling thing I will attempt to write something publishable, with actual literary merit. Wouldn't that be a shock?

An actual Real Update should be coming down the pike sometime soon here. I just don't feel like discussing the situation with Mom much. I'll leave it at saying things are really, really bad; I'd say scary bad, except there is nothing scary about this, really, given that we've known it was coming for months. It isn't impersonal, this dying. What it is, is deeply personal and depressing and awful and terribly, terribly sad. And, scary or sad, it'll be over quite soon. And that is a change so profound that there really is no point in talking about it, because it can't really be articulated or described. There's grief for you, lost as a puppy and raw as November.

Christmas isn't canceled, though, and the familiar trappings of tree and stockings and gingerbread house are soothing and joyous. I understand better than I ever did before the idea of midwinter revels. This is the hidden gift of the darkness, and the cold: that it cannot steal all of our warmth or our light.

If it is to be denial, then let it come with wine and friends and flame, and one last, grand revel before sleep.
naamah_darling: Glass of tawny port on a table branded with a seven-pointed star. (Port Wine and the Morning Star)
I'm off to have my vital fluids drained for the benefit of total strangers. If I don't come back, you'll know the Red Cross has taken my idea to heart and put Jason Isaacs on nurse duty.

In other news, my weekend sucked deeply (getting a little toasty on some decent port at a Christmas party on Saturday excluded). And it's looking like there may be more suckage in the future. That's as specific as I feel like I can be right now, given that I'm still feeling really volatile. But if I'm not around, like, at all, it's because I'm hermiting. There's no cause for concern. One nice thing about recognizing your limits is that you don't exceed them.

On the bright side, I gave my wee nephew his stocking (pictured below), which was a big hit. I had a lot of fun making it, even if I am nearly blind. That picture doesn't do it justice. Each cutout is lined with seed beads, and there are tiny snowflakes and stars stitched all over it. The deer have collars with bells hanging from them. The big tree is covered with shiny red jewels, and stuffed so that it stands out in relief. It's also not blue, it's purple. It's a pimpin' stocking.



I think it works. It's pretty but not too girly, and it's more adult than kiddish. There's also just a touch of pagan imagery there. He'll have it forever, so I wanted to make something that'd age well.

Meh. I have to get dressed and be drained for charity. Later!
naamah_darling: Glass of tawny port on a table branded with a seven-pointed star. (Port Wine and the Morning Star)
I'm off to have my vital fluids drained for the benefit of total strangers. If I don't come back, you'll know the Red Cross has taken my idea to heart and put Jason Isaacs on nurse duty.

In other news, my weekend sucked deeply (getting a little toasty on some decent port at a Christmas party on Saturday excluded). And it's looking like there may be more suckage in the future. That's as specific as I feel like I can be right now, given that I'm still feeling really volatile. But if I'm not around, like, at all, it's because I'm hermiting. There's no cause for concern. One nice thing about recognizing your limits is that you don't exceed them.

On the bright side, I gave my wee nephew his stocking (pictured below), which was a big hit. I had a lot of fun making it, even if I am nearly blind. That picture doesn't do it justice. Each cutout is lined with seed beads, and there are tiny snowflakes and stars stitched all over it. The deer have collars with bells hanging from them. The big tree is covered with shiny red jewels, and stuffed so that it stands out in relief. It's also not blue, it's purple. It's a pimpin' stocking.



I think it works. It's pretty but not too girly, and it's more adult than kiddish. There's also just a touch of pagan imagery there. He'll have it forever, so I wanted to make something that'd age well.

Meh. I have to get dressed and be drained for charity. Later!

Errata.

Dec. 13th, 2005 01:39 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Humbug!)
We put the tree up last night. Tazendra is vindicated. She feels that the tree belongs to her, and every year when it comes out, she sleeps under it for weeks on end. It's her very favorite thing.

Fish, on the other hand, went and sniffed it, gave it a withering look like "That's not a real tree. You lamers." and promptly waddled off to sprawl in front of the heating vent, which is where she spends most of her fat, fat time. If you try to move her, she bites you, usually after making a horribly indignant sound.

I have pictures of all of this.

I have about a million pictures I need to post, all of which involve funny things, cute things, or interesting things. However, since I am just that lazy, it will have to wait until I have time to pull them off the camera and resize them. Probably after I go give blood tomorrow.

The only point of telling you this is to assuage my own guilty conscience, which is positively screaming at me. I mean, I have yet to post the pictures of the little girl with a severed head from the book signing two weekends ago. And then there's the pictures of Mathurin eating a dead rat, which is what we came home to after seeing Narnia. And the picture of Fish savaging Sargon's finger. Oh, and the picture of the Nazi daycare sign.

When I tell people my life is strange, I mean it, though it is by and large the harmless kind of strange.

Right now, I'm going to tranq myself up and try to get to bed early so I can have bodily fluids drained from me ASAP tomorrow morning. Sargon and I decided that if they really wanted people to donate blood, there'd be drop-dead gorgeous vampire nurses to suck it out of you, and they'd look like either Angelina Jolie or Jason Isaacs. They just don't know how to publicise. If they made it about gratuitous hotness instead of about saving lives, they'd nail the biggest potential donor population there is: lazy, horny bastards who have squeaky clean blood because they never leave the house to get laid or travel to a foreign country. The Red Cross tries to make up for it with yummy free cookies, but the draw just isn't the same.

I have tentatively planned a photo shoot this weekend, by the way, of the fur coat. And me in a Santa hat. One or more of the cats will likely also be involved. It's probably going to be pretty cute. Just so you're warned.

Errata.

Dec. 13th, 2005 01:39 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Humbug!)
We put the tree up last night. Tazendra is vindicated. She feels that the tree belongs to her, and every year when it comes out, she sleeps under it for weeks on end. It's her very favorite thing.

Fish, on the other hand, went and sniffed it, gave it a withering look like "That's not a real tree. You lamers." and promptly waddled off to sprawl in front of the heating vent, which is where she spends most of her fat, fat time. If you try to move her, she bites you, usually after making a horribly indignant sound.

I have pictures of all of this.

I have about a million pictures I need to post, all of which involve funny things, cute things, or interesting things. However, since I am just that lazy, it will have to wait until I have time to pull them off the camera and resize them. Probably after I go give blood tomorrow.

The only point of telling you this is to assuage my own guilty conscience, which is positively screaming at me. I mean, I have yet to post the pictures of the little girl with a severed head from the book signing two weekends ago. And then there's the pictures of Mathurin eating a dead rat, which is what we came home to after seeing Narnia. And the picture of Fish savaging Sargon's finger. Oh, and the picture of the Nazi daycare sign.

When I tell people my life is strange, I mean it, though it is by and large the harmless kind of strange.

Right now, I'm going to tranq myself up and try to get to bed early so I can have bodily fluids drained from me ASAP tomorrow morning. Sargon and I decided that if they really wanted people to donate blood, there'd be drop-dead gorgeous vampire nurses to suck it out of you, and they'd look like either Angelina Jolie or Jason Isaacs. They just don't know how to publicise. If they made it about gratuitous hotness instead of about saving lives, they'd nail the biggest potential donor population there is: lazy, horny bastards who have squeaky clean blood because they never leave the house to get laid or travel to a foreign country. The Red Cross tries to make up for it with yummy free cookies, but the draw just isn't the same.

I have tentatively planned a photo shoot this weekend, by the way, of the fur coat. And me in a Santa hat. One or more of the cats will likely also be involved. It's probably going to be pretty cute. Just so you're warned.

Profile

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
naamah_darling

July 2017

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
910 1112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031     

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 23rd, 2017 02:33 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios