It's amazing how Christmas overwhelmed me, leaving me trussed up in chains of tinsel and holly, unable to type anything. Relaxing somehow, but still. Sorry about that. But I've wiggled free of my bonds, just in time to wish you all a happy new year. It's been an interesting three hundred and sixty five days, and I'm looking forward to another set of 'em with you.
"All right," said Susan, "I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need ... fantasies to make life bearable."
NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.
"Tooth fairies? Hogfathers?"
YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.
"So we can believe the big ones?"
YES. JUSTICE. DUTY. MERCY. THAT SORT OF THING.
"They're not the same at all!"
REALLY? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET YOU ACT LIKE THERE WAS SOME SORT OF RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.
"Yes. But people have got to believe that or what's the point?"
Another birthday come and gone. My thanks to those of you who sent me birthday wishes in Facebook. I'll admit I didn't read them until today, as I don't use Facebook except to poke people. You know, because I can.
One of the students who works in ILL asked me if I did anything exciting. The answer, of course, was no. I have a small child at home, it's a weekday, the economy is in the toilet, and it wasn't a particular memorable milestone. Feh, I say. Although it was a bit unusual as birthday's go.
I took the occasion to go to the doctor. Well, not a regular doctor. A [REDACTED], although that's not the correct name. They're actually called [REDACTED], which is more [REDACTED] but also more [REDACTED]. Needed to get [REDACTED] checked. Turns out I have a [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] that had [REDACTED] and was [REDACTED] like it was a [REDACTED]. He [REDACTED] it a bit, causing me to [REDACTED] like a [REDACTED], then told me there was nothing else to do but wait for it to improve on its own. Copay, please.
Well, yesterday I came home to find all their stuff out on their lawn. Someone else in the neighborhood gave them a call, and by the time the evening news started, they were out there, gathering them together. They didn't get everything -- for example, the fridge was still there when I headed to work.
I'm not sure I'm up for Schadenfreude Pie, however. Yes, they are wankers, but they do have small kids, and that's a bad situation for them. Plus, now I'm living next door to a house with a fridge on the lawn.
Short and sweet, and outrageously calculated to win the hearts of women everywhere.
Everywhere? Oh, c'mon. I'm good, but I'm not that good.
* * *
I am having the strangest craving for a latke. Why, I am unsure. I've never had a one before, but for some reason it sounds like a good idea. I am inclined to blame my morning's rereading of Lemony Snicket's The Latke Who Couldn't Stop Screaming.
It seems I will have to make do with hashbrowns, which are a poor substitute, according to the various recipes I have read.
* * *
By an interesting coincidence, while cleaning up the house a bit the other day, Lisa came across an unused(!) iTunes gift card. And then this morning, I happened to see this:
Well, then. It seems the two were meant for each other. But will anyone tell Stephen that Kanye West has already been knocked off the iTunes top spot by (gah!) Britney Spears? He's down to #3! And poor Stephen is already languishing at #14! But still, I'll do my best to help crash the national power grid.
Assuming, of course, the card has any value on it.
So, yeah. I managed to write one. Finished it with two hours to spare, then Lisa and I toasted my typing abilities with sparkling apple cider. Mmm, ciderific.
That's also why I've been much more absent than usual: had to grind out extra wordage so as to make up for the complete distraction of Thanksgiving. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put National Novel Writing Month in a month with a major holiday was not thinking straight, methinks. As Lisa pointed out, it would be much better served in February or March. It's still cold out, there's no holidays in there, and so forth.
I'll be completely honest, I'm inclined to think my little opus is nothing more than fifty thousand words of purest unadulterated pulp, and while I may be able to whip it into shape, it's not going to happen immediately. For one thing, I'm going to stick it in a drawer and ignore it until the New Year. Suggestions on the best way to bludgeon a first draft novel into shape would be greatly appreciated, especially by people who've already done it.
In regards to the rest of the world, I hope everyone had a lovely holiday if you're American, and a lovely weekend if you're from anywhere else and aren't here.