Nom Nom Nom Sugar!

I have to say, I thought I knew how miserable I'd been over the past week or so, but the truth is I didn't really understand until today- because today was the day the misery stopped. And the simple absence of pain feels like heaven. I was able to do a BodyFlow class and it felt good- even the strange swelling in my knee is gone (could it have been tied to the bacteria? Who knows...) I've been in a downright jovial mood all day, which has really served to drive home just exactly how bitchy and pissy I've been for the past fortnight. So I apologize, everyone- I wasn't myself. But thanks to all these wonderful drugs in my system, I'm starting to recognize me again. Which means that, in order to be fair, I need to say that the medical establishment doesn't always suck- my PCP is actually pretty great, especially since he saw Nate and I at the same time yesterday morning and pumped us full of antibiotics to get us in travelin' shape by next weekend. And I'm now in a mindset where I can give him credit for that...

So tonight's adventure was a sort of dry-run on our packing for England. We loaded up my new pack with all our day-to-day stuff, and Nate loaded up his camera bag (oh and I slung on my customized purse, as well... still need to get Nate to take a picture of the finished product...) and the two of us headed out into the night air for a bit of a walk/photo-hunt. I wish we had a scale to check, but we both agree that my fully-loaded bag is weighing in between 15-20 lbs, so that's not bad at all- I think I need to work more with the straps to get the fit just right (at the moment I can't seem to get it close enough to my shoulders, which makes it a smidge uncomfortable- maybe I need to redistribute weight?) but for the most part we're golden. And don't feel bad that I'm carrying "everything"... Nate's bag is smaller, but all the equipment shoved in it definitely weighs as much if not more than my bag- plus he's being sweet and carrying my netbook. What a guy! Anyway, having done that goes a long way towards making me feel extra calm about the trip... I'm so friggin' anal retentive...

Still not sure yet how the updating will go while I'm in Merry Ol'. I mean, I know I'll write every day (travelogue-ing it up, babies) but I'm not certain if I'll have a chance to put it online until I'm home again. We shall see...

Oh, by the way- our hunt was successful:

(Not a Peeping Tom, Just Doing a Project)

BehoId! I Shall Give This the Ultra-Creative Working Title of "DragonHeart"!

(This has nothing to do with Nathan's image today- which, in my opinion, is lovely. Rather, this snippet is the beginning of putting a bit of flesh on some story bones I came up with back in January... you may even remember them...)


At first she was frightened by her dragon- who wouldn’t be? A fearsome thing of living flame bursting free of one’s chest is more than enough to frighten a full grown man, let alone a child of six who was already in a terrible situation. But when it did not hurt her, when it instead protected her, and then showed affection, even love for her, her fear began to fade. When she finally confessed what had happened to her grandmother, the old woman swore her to secrecy and told her stories of her long-dead grandfather and his fights in the coliseums. According to what her grandfather had told her grandmother, all heart-creatures were given a face name when they first emerged, to be used in public (although of course in this day and age she must never, never reveal that she had a heart-beast). The creatures also had a secret name, the heart name, but that was inherent rather than chosen, and might not be revealed for years. The girl, in the manner of children, chose the rather unoriginal face name of Little Wing. And as she grew older, and came to truly understand that Little Wing was in fact part of her, and could come and go to defend her, or even just offer companionship, she believed the dragon tame, and ceased fearing her entirely.

This was a mistake.

You see, since that first day when her fear had caused Little-Wing to finally wake from her slumber, the girl had never experienced a negative emotion with any true force. She had a naturally sunny disposition, and trended towards the positive in any situation. She believed in the good in people (despite her early experiences) and for the most part people lived up to her belief. That’s not to say she didn’t have the occasional temper-tantrum (at which point Little-Wing would often appear, wings mantled and hissing sparks to underline her displeasure) but they were the fleeting emotions of a child, quickly soothed. Her concept of anger was a shallow thing- and her grandmother thanked the gods each day for that.

It was not to last, however. She was fourteen years old and saw the body of her gentle sister Eolyn laying there, broken and bleeding for nothing more than being what she was, and in that moment the girl experienced true Rage- and when she did so, Little-Wing burst forth from her heart screaming fiery, razor-edged vengeance-

And the destruction began.

The girl found she had no control over her dragon- and truth be told, even if she had she didn’t want to control Little-Wing or her beautiful, fatal fury. As far as she was concerned, the villagers in their failure to defend Eolyn had earned whatever devastation the girl’s heart-beast reigned down, and she laughed as blood and flames filling the streets. It wasn’t until her grandmother brought her sister to her, all but dead yet still pleading with her to stop, to have mercy, that the girl awoke to the possible repercussions of what was occurring. Of what she was allowing to occur. Resentful, but not wanting to further upset Eolyn, she called Little-Wing back to her-

But Little-Wing would not come. Because Little-Wing knew the girl’s heart better than she did- because Little-Wing was the living embodiment of the girl’s spirit- she knew what the girl truly desired. And that was pain and punishment for those who had done this to Eolyn.

The screams continued.

I'm Miserable, But at Least I Have Stuff

Okay, this allergy nonsense? Needs to stop. It's affecting my ability to sleep, eat, and breathe. Even drinking water is iffy, at this point. As such, I caved in and made an appointment with my doctor for tomorrow morning. My desperation knows no bounds...

On the upside, however, I got a big-A package from REI today! I must say, getting my packages delivered to work is probably the best idea I've had all year. Not only do I ensure that someone is around to receive it, but said receival breaks up the monotony of an otherwise miserable day (due to allergies and my impeded ability to think, not due to the job, per se).

In this package was my lovely new backpack, and you have no idea how hard it was not to immediately stuff that puppy full of reams of paper, put it on, and run around the office shrieking my (sore-throated) delight. Alas, there was a client there, so I had to wait until the end of their appointment, at which point I managed to restrain myself enough that I merely showed it off in a casual manner to my boss, who was gratifyingly impressed. He's a good man.

Also in that package was some underwear, a pair of pants for Nate, and a new dress for me! The color is technically called "aquarium", but I put it on and realized that really- it's surgical scrubs green. Go on, tell me I'm wrong. What's that? You can't? Yeah, I know. But at least it looks good on me...

The other excitement to come my way today was an email rather than a package, but the contents of that email herald the later coming of Loot. Well, not really loot, exactly, but a certificate. A certificate that says I'm officially certified to teach BodyFlow. Woo hoo! I'm quite pleased with my results. Also with the fact that now I can get paid for doing it. That will be highly gratifying.

Where's My Spoonful of Sugar?

You know, there are times when I think it would be worth it for me to go to med school, if only so that I wouldn't have to sit in waiting rooms any more.

Think about- I already have my undergraduate degree. I'd need to bolster that with maybe a year or two of hard sciences, but after that I'm only what- four years from an MD? So six years 'til I could be called Dr. O? I'm pretty sure I've already put in at least that much time sitting in waiting rooms over the past two years alone (widely known but little discussed fact: the atmosphere of waiting rooms is such that time and space get warped within its confines).

And then once I'm a doctor, my time will, like, quintiple in value (yes I just used the word "quintiple". Feel free to follow my lead.) I can make a person schedule their appointment a month in advance, require them to show up fifteen minutes early, not see them until an hour past their appointment time, and then spend (if I'm feeling super generous) five minutes with them. And I will charge them $150 for that shit. I'm telling you, it will be brilliant.



(this entry was about twice as long, and about three times as bitter- but I decided you guys didn't need to read all of that, so you're getting the truncated version)

Read This. Also This. And These.

This is one of those nights where coming up with a blog entry is a bit like pulling teeth. Specifically pulling my own teeth. Without Novocaine. Under a time constraint. This window has been open for nigh on an hour, now, and I'm no closer to having a subject, creatively witty or otherwise.

And I still need to wrap a present tonight. ::sigh:: But maybe I can put that off until tomorrow...

Okay fine, then. Let's talk about the books I've been reading lately- the Mistborn trilogy, by Bradon Sanderson. Are you a fan of fantasy? Specifically "hard" fantasy (ie with a magic system that has internally consistent rules)? How about heist stories, you like those? I'm talking Lies of Locke Lamora here, people. How about good writing? Any of these things up your alley? Well then you should check them out. I'm about halfway through the second book (thanks Jeff!) and I plan to snap up everything else he's written as soon as I can. After all, I still have like ten months before Wise Man's Fear comes out. (What's that? You haven't already read Patrick Rothfuss's brilliant gem of a first novel, Name of the Wind? Let me put it this way- when I finished that book I wanted to cry because I knew I could never craft anything so perfect. So maybe you ought to consider giving it a try. You know, unless you're a puppy-kickin' Nazi. Then I guess I'd understand that you hate joy.)

Sanderson. Rothfuss. These two men have honed their skills to levels I can only dream of. Except... well, not really. I mean, technically speaking if I keep at it I might theoretically hit such pitch-perfect heights, myself (see how I'm making this a totally legitimate post for my writer-ish blog? Manipulation win.) But in order to do so I have to actually write. Which has been a bit lacking, lately.

I have a book that doesn't make much (ie any) of an appearance on here- my I've-been-tinkering-with-it-in-one-form-or-another-for-at-least-five-years book. Last year I got a rush of inspiration and churned out just scads of work on it, but sometime around Christmas I just sort of... stopped. Technically I think it was well before Christmas. I'm sure my editors know (sorry guys). Anyway today I was reading the completely awesome annotations that Sanderson offers online for his books (I will not link them because you need to read the book first, and anyway you can find them easily enough by just going to his website, which I already linked) and admiring how much freaking work goes into building a plausible world and story, and appreciating how much he had to take out and put back in again, and it made me... miss my story (which is currently titled Pahlain). So I think I'm going to make an effort to get back into putting concentrated work into it again. Because I'm never going to be the kind of author that aspiring authors have fan-girl(or fan-boy, I'm not sexist) fits over (let alone the kind of author who actually, um, finishes a book) if I don't bloody well sit down and write it.

Huh. Look at that- guess I had something to write about, after all. (And I finish with a good three-quarters of an hour to spare...)

Songs of the South-Side

Holy cow! I had a veritable explosion of comments on yesterday's post- and not a one of 'em were from people related to me, so it's like they count twice! Feels good to know that I'm not just writing this for the aether (and of course my fellow Photo-Anon member, Tim) (whoops, so much for anonymity... sorry...)

Anyway, it's raining tonight in Birmingham, the lovely melody of which is shot through with the occasional rumble of thunder, and of course the inevitable wailing of sirens. It's been a long, long time since I've lived somewhere in which sirens were not part of my nightly lullaby... and in this particular apartment we also tend to get a fairly regular infusion of blue-and-red lights creating our own private disco in the bedroom (I'm not sure what, exactly, goes on in the dwellings across the street, but apparently it rarely ends well...)

And you know, I write a passage like that, and maybe it comes across that we live (and I have lived) in rotten neighborhoods, but really that's not the case at all- we live in a positively lovely little neighborhood, and I hope to find one similar to it when we move back up to the PNW. It's just the way it goes when you live in a big city, I think. Granted, we live in what would be considered the original suburbs of said big city (our courtyard has trees- they flower!), but still- you know what I mean.

Nathan and I sometimes talk about where we'd like to live when we settle down- the pros and cons of urban living vs rural living (we both feel that true suburban living tends to slowly suffocate the artistic soul). They both have their appeal- there's a lot to be said for the walking-distance-convenience of urban life, not to mention access to culture and events and international airports. But then there's also a lot to be said for the peace and lack-of-neighbors of rural life, not to mention the perks of owning a stretch of land upon which we could build our own ideal dwelling... but more on that some other time.

Right now we're satisfied with apartment life (especially the part where it's someone else's responsibility to make repairs) but who knows what the future holds...

Meritorious

To understand this post, you have to know a few things about my younger brother, David. The first is that he's kind of hard-core. He hiked the PCT two years ago, and after that he joined up with the Air Force to become a SERE specialist. In other words (as I have often repeated), when the zombie apocalypse comes, I'm on his team. The second is that he's stupid good with kids. For some reason they just love him. I don't think I've ever seen him interact with a child that did not eventually end up using him as playground.

But back to this post.

Today while Nate and I were out to lunch with Tim, Meredith, Ben, and Heather (and their various Childrens), someone commented on the fact that Toad was wearing a scout-like shirt. This lead to discussion of the fact that Tim was an Eagle Scout, to which I replied, "That means he's awesome," (because I have somewhat of a thing for Eagle Scouts) (a not-in-any-way-inappropriate thing; I just admire the fortitude it takes to withstand the teasing that inevitably goes along with sticking to scouts for ten plus years) to which Meredith replied, "It certainly means he's handy!"

I turned to Ben, nodded at Toad and said, "Are you going to put him in scouts when he's older?"

"Nah," he said, and went on to explain that a lot of times the people in charge of the troops shouldn't necessarily be teaching kids anything about being in the wilderness. Our brother-in-law Curt (a national park ranger) has had to rescue more than a few troops from their own leader's stupidity- things like wandering off-trail without actually knowing how to navigate, or not realizing that it's probably not smart to stand too close to geysers. I elbowed Nathan and said, "Yeah, if we have kids we won't put 'em in scouts, either- we'll ship 'em off to their Uncle David for the summers! That way they'll learn some actually useful skills, like survival and killing zombies!"

This made Ben laugh, and we started talking potential merit badges (as well as better names for the scouts, like maybe Gryphon Scouts), and suddenly a Story Seed burst into beautiful bloom. So I've been wresting with it ever since, trying to force it into more than just a brilliant concept. I started one or two versions, but in the end I came to grips with the fact that this really, really just needs to be an illustrated story- because otherwise the joke of the merit badges won't be as hilarious, I think.

So if you've got a great idea for a non-standard merit-badge, pipe up! I'm more than willing to steal from other folk's creativity...