I wish I could say that my silence here has meant a ton of writingly writing on my part. Alas! I’m not making a whole lot of headway with my goal to “write more regularly”, despite my discovering that 300-1500 words, 4-5 days a week is a doable goal. I’d almost be upset — on less evenly keeled days I am — but it’s difficult. I don’t really want guilt and “shoulds” to be a part of my writing practice. There are outside forces, yes? I have to work full time, and a result of that is low-energy, a hard time with words, and often, migraines. Whether I like it or not, half of the month is largely a wash, and I’m happy when I get *anything* done.
I am half a chapter into the rewrite of the book — I only had 7 chapters done to begin with, but it hit the point of, “Uh, no. You’re not letting him be alpha-hero enough, and you’re making it too complicated with it set up that way, and this bit here in chapter 6 more properly goes at the end — it’s too big for that early in the book. What will she be left with, as a ‘defeat the big bad’ action, if *this* happens so early?” I wasn’t happy with the world — I was sort of going for an otherworld’s otherworld, and it was caught between being vaguely otherworldly and being secondary otherworldly, which wasn’t what I wanted. So that’s going to get changed. I am still in love with it, I’m more excited now than I was, and funnily enough, half the time I try to type Charlie (the heroine) I end up typing Angela. A hint that she’s wanting me to go back to her book? Possibly.
In other news, my Mondays off from work are starting to be disastrous. This week wound up being not terrible, but I thought it might be. Washed our disgusting rug by the door (lots of rain, on top of which it is Zerk’s favorite place to do his ‘second’ little bit of purging when his belly is upset [read: every day] and after a while it needs more than just a spot cleaning). Halfway through that load, the washer stopped tumbling and wouldn’t start again. So I took the rug out, thinking, hey, it’s too heavy, that’s cool, I’ll just lay it out to dry. (Rare sun, yesterday). Then I thought, I’ll wash the bathroom rug! It is smaller and lighter! Only, halfway through the wash cycle it did the same thing. So I tossed in a sheet, hoping maybe it was unbalanced and that was what was stopping it. No! Ha! So, heh, crying a little (yes, I have great stress-coping skills) I took those two things out, tossed them in the sink, and tried to get the washer to drain. It mostly had, but there was a little of disgusting dirty water sitting in the drum. Running it empty didn’t help. Running it on “clean basket” didn’t help. I toyed around trying to find a place to clean out (maybe there was too much fur and hair?) but gave up when I realized unplugging things on this machine might result in, you know, dying. And then I did what any sane person would do.
I cried and cried and begged for it to work (some people ask their gods for world peace or good health; me, I ask for my washer to not break) and then closed the door and left it, ignoring it to deal with later. *nods*
About an hour later I heard it peep, as if its cycle had finished. Lo and behold, it was drained and shiny looking. I rewashed the sheet that had sopped up the disgusting water just to make sure it would run. And it did.
But this is not as bad as last Monday! Last Monday was a full-on, all day long panic attack! Why, you ask?
I had ants in my refrigerator. Like, a lot of them. I have pictures! I won’t share, because it was gross. A bag of white-not-chocolate morsels had gotten behind the crisper drawers, and then the temperature had gotten turned way down, and suddenly there were ants in my fridge. Now, for those not in the know, I rather adore insects. Even ants are extremely fascinating. And, I’m not a squeamish sort of woman. I’m the go-to woman when bugs need to be relocated. We have ants in our house, but generally they are scouts, and honestly, if they’re not gathering in one place, if they’re not getting into the food or messing with the cats and dog, I really don’t care. We’re saturated, so I get that they’re coming in so as to not drown. I can even respect that.
But ants and I, we have a history of trauma that goes back decades, and I cannot handle them when they are gathering in big groups.
So, I spent some time curled up in the corner as far away from the kitchen as I could get, crying hysterically and chanting that I’d rather just be dead, could I die please? And then I thought about calling Beth and making her come home and deal with the problem.
And then I pulled on my big girl pants and, still chanting, cleaned the fridge out. The dog and the cats stayed far, far away from me.
It was *awful*, and even after I turned the temp up and cleaned it all out (and underneath!) they still wandered in, in ones and twos. We dumped powdered cinnamon around the fridge, and that took care of it!
And then, they moved to the cabinet by the sink. Not a ton of them, but constantly two to four ants on the doors.
On Saturday I put out Terro. And then I hit the living room window with cinnamon to try to control the colony that’s exploring there, and they came out trying to get around the cinnamon and there were too many and I was sensitive to them being there, so they got a dose of antie genocide, too, because . . . well, because. It’s my apartment, damn it.
Hopefully next Monday will be more relaxing.