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Thank you so much
Mar. 18th, 2003 05:21 pm... to the anonymous benefactor who gave me some time as a paid account. Now I'm all self-conscious. But pleased. Awfully pleased. And semi-coherent, apparently.
I woke up at seven a.m. for various reasons, and couldn't get back to sleep because, it developed, somebody with four feet had pissed on my knapsack. We are not quite sure who does this kind of thing, though we have our suspicions, but it is unsafe to leave anything that looks like a piece of cloth on the floor upstairs. A canvas bag or knapsack kept upright with its contents is off limits, but if it sags into a flat position, bam, it's fair game.
I carried the suddenly-loathsome object into the cat sitting room, feeling very thankful that I had managed to take my new prescriptions and my books out of it already, and doused it with enzymatic solution. It doesn't reek as much now, but it should probably go in the washer. Feh. I am particularly put out because I just cleaned the cat boxes. No doubt I did something just as inexplicable to all of them within the past 24 hours.
I got back to sleep around nine, and woke with a terrible start just before noon. My mother collects me at 12:30 for our lunches, and usually leaves early because the traffic is so incalculable. I bolted a banana and my medication, took a very quick shower, snuggled my waiting cat even more quickly, and managed to be ready in time. We had lunch at Zumbro's -- all the tables at the coop were taken and it was not quite picnic weather. We tried not to talk about the war, but it was hard not to at least fulminate in congenial company about the general appallingness of the Bush administration, if it should even be graced with such a name.
Zumbro's had the citrus-tomato soup we have had once before; it's delightful, though better in hotter weather. I got roasted potatoes on the side, and discovered that the side order is a lot larger than what they give you with a sandwich. I took half of it away with me. This eventually resulted in the conclusion that Toliman does not really care for roasted potatoes, though he keeps thinking he should.
We stopped at the Garden Sampler for the second week in a row, but I managed not to buy any more seeds, or anything else either. Then we went to the coop, and I got a batch of default vegan protein for the next time Eric and I have a cooking date, and an extraneous but pleasing bar of tea-tree oil soap. My mother very kindly took me, and the groceries, and the vacuum cleaner she's lending us indefinitely because it doesn't clean carpet properly but is very effective on hard floors, back to my house, and then dropped me at Eric's so I could see to the cat.
It was quite cold in the apartment, and Toliman did something he usually reserves for Eric: he cuddled up next to me and put his paws on my upper arm, purring mightily and exuding very potent Deadly Cat Sleep Rays. He wasn't interested in playing. He is getting a little impatient that I insist on visiting during his naptime.
Walked home. It's chillier than it has been, very gray. The landscape is covered with dead leaves and trash and the occasional dead bird. I recall that the first time Patrick Nielsen Hayden visited Minneapolis in early spring, he asked his hosts if Minneapolis were having some kind of serious economic downturn. But it was only spring.
In other news, hmmm, I'm still digesting the contents of Liavek Vol. V, which has a lot of rather vague pointers at the future and a lot of indefinite stuff about the Faith of the Twin Forces, the bastards. When we invented Liavek we stipulated that it had to be a place we would want to live in, but truthfully I don't think I should care to live in a place ruled by those guys. My characters have to, however, and I am going to take enormous pleasure in letting some of the air out of that institution. Hee. I gloat, I rub my hands together, and I mention right here and now in public that I know full well that this unseemly glee is going to bite me when I least expect it.
Pamela
I woke up at seven a.m. for various reasons, and couldn't get back to sleep because, it developed, somebody with four feet had pissed on my knapsack. We are not quite sure who does this kind of thing, though we have our suspicions, but it is unsafe to leave anything that looks like a piece of cloth on the floor upstairs. A canvas bag or knapsack kept upright with its contents is off limits, but if it sags into a flat position, bam, it's fair game.
I carried the suddenly-loathsome object into the cat sitting room, feeling very thankful that I had managed to take my new prescriptions and my books out of it already, and doused it with enzymatic solution. It doesn't reek as much now, but it should probably go in the washer. Feh. I am particularly put out because I just cleaned the cat boxes. No doubt I did something just as inexplicable to all of them within the past 24 hours.
I got back to sleep around nine, and woke with a terrible start just before noon. My mother collects me at 12:30 for our lunches, and usually leaves early because the traffic is so incalculable. I bolted a banana and my medication, took a very quick shower, snuggled my waiting cat even more quickly, and managed to be ready in time. We had lunch at Zumbro's -- all the tables at the coop were taken and it was not quite picnic weather. We tried not to talk about the war, but it was hard not to at least fulminate in congenial company about the general appallingness of the Bush administration, if it should even be graced with such a name.
Zumbro's had the citrus-tomato soup we have had once before; it's delightful, though better in hotter weather. I got roasted potatoes on the side, and discovered that the side order is a lot larger than what they give you with a sandwich. I took half of it away with me. This eventually resulted in the conclusion that Toliman does not really care for roasted potatoes, though he keeps thinking he should.
We stopped at the Garden Sampler for the second week in a row, but I managed not to buy any more seeds, or anything else either. Then we went to the coop, and I got a batch of default vegan protein for the next time Eric and I have a cooking date, and an extraneous but pleasing bar of tea-tree oil soap. My mother very kindly took me, and the groceries, and the vacuum cleaner she's lending us indefinitely because it doesn't clean carpet properly but is very effective on hard floors, back to my house, and then dropped me at Eric's so I could see to the cat.
It was quite cold in the apartment, and Toliman did something he usually reserves for Eric: he cuddled up next to me and put his paws on my upper arm, purring mightily and exuding very potent Deadly Cat Sleep Rays. He wasn't interested in playing. He is getting a little impatient that I insist on visiting during his naptime.
Walked home. It's chillier than it has been, very gray. The landscape is covered with dead leaves and trash and the occasional dead bird. I recall that the first time Patrick Nielsen Hayden visited Minneapolis in early spring, he asked his hosts if Minneapolis were having some kind of serious economic downturn. But it was only spring.
In other news, hmmm, I'm still digesting the contents of Liavek Vol. V, which has a lot of rather vague pointers at the future and a lot of indefinite stuff about the Faith of the Twin Forces, the bastards. When we invented Liavek we stipulated that it had to be a place we would want to live in, but truthfully I don't think I should care to live in a place ruled by those guys. My characters have to, however, and I am going to take enormous pleasure in letting some of the air out of that institution. Hee. I gloat, I rub my hands together, and I mention right here and now in public that I know full well that this unseemly glee is going to bite me when I least expect it.
Pamela
