Good morning, pretties! Yes, yes you are! I, on the other hand, am not fit for human consumption this morning. In fact, I’ve been trying to keep my cat from seeing me, too. I’m sick. SICK. I haven’t been sick for veritably ages and it’s throwing me for a loop, especially since today is the day my son Jess is coming home to stay (at least until he’s compelled to hop the next wave, but that’s one thing I like about him). I’m bummed about that, but I’m not going to whine too loudly because at least I’m not too sick to use my computer and sit up and read, two of the requirements for happiness. I still have some housework to do: sweep the carpet (don’t ask…. well, okay, if you must know, it’s because our vacuum broke and Scott wants to spend $500 to get a REAL one instead of buying yet another cheapie to contribute to yet another landfill in a few months but when, when are we going to have $500 to spend on a vacuum?? Dilemma! I like our planet, but at this point I’m willing to let it fend for itself. I told you I’d be honest here). Anyway, sweep the carpet; scrub the shower of the thin film of black and red hair dye perpetrated by both Torie and me, respectively; make cinnamon rolls. Dammit. I shouldn’t make those either. Germs. I tell you, it sucks being sick. I disapprove heartily.
So, I’ve been reading The Casebook of Dr. Frankenstein by Peter Ackroyd and it’s just okay. It’s very rare that I’ll find a book that knocks my socks off, but it seems odd to me that there are so many books out there that merely fill some measure of an individual’s requirement(s) for entertainment and comfort. In my opinion, there isn’t much else you can say about Victor Frankenstein and his monster, but if people can retell the age-auld vampyre story a million-times-plus, I guess Frankenstein is also fair game, but he isn’t even one nth as sexy as Dracula, I’m sorry. Still, I read… I should toss it over for a better book, but I’m too lazy to go trolling through my shelves. Okay, HOW do you spell “trolling”? I swear to God, I’ve looked that word up dozens of times but always forget. Is it “trawling”? Maybe that’s it. I’d look it up again but I’ve made a vow to myself to barely proof these posts, let alone do a month’s worth of research on them before publishing. This is stream-of-consciousness, babies. I want this to be a place I can ramble. I hope you don’t mind.
I’ve been writing a book, which I’ve called Martin Loudmouth since its inception five years ago, maybe more. Since school ended, I’ve decided to pick it back up again and see if I can finish it. I’ve just done a read-through of the hard copy and have trashed huge sections because I didn’t like the direction I’d taken it in and thought it was way too convoluted by the addition of several characters and their stories. I’m going to tighten things up, but for now, I’m typing what I have into my computer and am trying to refrain from editing too much as I go. I want to get back to the writing part, but I tell you, I had a moment of flop sweats yesterday when it occurred to me that maybe I’m not equal to the task. One thing about me is that while I may have a handle on the inception of an idea, I generally quit after creating the prototype, instead of putting the extra effort into polishing the fifth, sixth, or twentieth attempt to a high gloss. sigh. This is another personal trait I want to work on refining. Life is about refinement, isn’t it? Or that’s one of the things it’s about. It’s about too many things to count, so it’s best if we take stuff a day at a time. Love! xo