Standing in the dark…

It’s offensive-something-o’clock in the middle of the night and I’m sitting at my desk in the dark with a mug of room-temperature tea.

As I’m writing this, the oldest post on the main page of ye olde blog is my Year in Review survey for 2016. Which means I’ve only published ten posts in 2017. If I actually post this one, it will finally push that one to the next page. But still. That’s pathetic. I used to write so much more. And considering how much I’m paying for this domain, I really need to be making better use of this space. I miss it. I just haven’t had the brain power to focus on it.

My writing as a whole has suffered immensely in the last year. As has my mental health. There are many contributing factors to this, but the horrifying state of the world ranks highest.

But I don’t want to talk about that.

Making listing posts always feels like a cop-out, but it allows me to purge my brain without having to actually connect the thoughts spilling out. I’m still writing, so I need to just stop trying to justify my habits to the ether.

1.) I put together a shoe rack for the coat closet by the front door. It’s metal with mesh shelves and canvas drawers and way more storage than we actually need for shoes, but that closet is also way more storage than we need for our coats, so I just created functional storage for other stuff and now the toolbox is tucked away instead of sitting in random places in the living room. Up next…installing shelving in the closet in the second bedroom. Because I am going to get that episode of Hoarders under control if it kills me.

2.) I have 23 posts sitting in drafts. Some of them are mostly finished but haven’t been published for varied and sundry reasons. There are a few I’m tempted to just post without any additional context even though they are completely irrelevant and outdated compared to when they were originally written. I want to post them in part because it would inexplicably amuse me. In part because the writing doesn’t suck. We’ll see what happens.

3.) Sometimes now I sit and breathe deeply through my nose BECAUSE I CAN. I paid $6,000 to do this. Nearly five months post-op and I still boggle that I paid that much money and it ACTUALLY WORKED. I no longer feel like I’m forcing air through Silly Putty and I STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS MUCH AIR AT ONE TIME. *ahem*

4.) I started writing a thing in the middle of summer and I was doing really well [for me] at focusing on just one project and then a certain little gremlin crawled out of his hidey-hole, and started tapping me on the shoulder whispering WHATIF? And once again we’re back to careening down the side of Basil’s MF WHATIF mountain. Which wouldn’t be a terrible thing if there was a single comprehensive plot in the bunch, but there’s really not. It’s just a heap of half-baked ideas that could be worth something if there was anything even resembling a complete story. I have a love-hate relationship with this phase of my deranged writing cycle. On one hand…IDEAS! SO! MANY! IDEAS! On the other hand…okay I wrote down those ideas and there is no discernible plot in here anywhere. I’m writing, but it only goes so far before the well runs dry on each one. Then I find myself questioning why I even bother in the first place.

5.) I may spend a lot of time cursing Basil’s incessant whatif-ing, but that doesn’t stop me from finding songs to use as character theme songs.

6.) Bob bought me a new video game. It’s an upgrade to my home architect program. I’ve had it less than a month and I’ve probably invested more hours into it than any actual game I’ve played in the last year. The platypus approves.

 

 

7.) I forgot to resize the object before placing it and the Giant Mouse amused me far more than it probably should have and I’m gonna need Jelly Cat to make me a 10-foot Emerson Mouse please and thank you.

 

Another perfect lie…

Conversations in Geek Love: You couldn’t have told me that nine years ago?

R: Can I park there? What does that sign say?

S:Patients with children parking only.”

R: Oh fine then. Whatever.

S: If I have a kid, but don’t have them with me, can I still park there? Technically I’m a patient with a child.

R: I think you need to have the kid with you.

S: Whatever. Just because I don’t have them with me, doesn’t mean I don’t have them.

R: Wait—is there something you need to tell me?

S: I said “what if I have a kid.”

R: I didn’t hear any “what if.”

S: Honey, I need to tell you something. Tyler isn’t a fictional character. He’s real. I actually have a fifteen year old kid.

R: You have a kid you never told me about!?

S: All those storylines about Tyler are just an elaborate way to confess I’ve been hiding my kid the entire time I’ve known you.

R: Oh whatever.

Only got one place to go…

…a padded room, most likely.

Or hell.

Or both.

Anyway.

By making one silly comment, Bob unwittingly gave me a really ridiculous idea for a story. Or at least for a set of characters I could potentially develop a really ridiculous story around. I don’t know that I could put together a full plot for it, but the gears are turning on how to make it work. If nothing else, I suppose I get a pile of random scenes and conversations I can entertain my demented brain with endlessly.

Or maybe I’m just crazy.

Maybe.

Probably.

And then I fall into the abyss of Youtube and find gems like this…

Matt Nathanson and Marc Roberge singing Crowded House together…

…might need a moment…

What?

*ahem*

And now I really need a full show with these two (or the entirety of O.A.R. with MN and Aaron Tap) because I could easily sit through a two-hour set of Matt making Marc laugh when he’s trying to sing.

I am easily amused.

(Fall at Your Feet by Matt Nathanson and Marc Roberge)

Headache from the night before…

Writer’s block.

Yes, we’re still on this.

… Staring at my writing folder, mulling over projects that have been sitting there mocking me for months, wondering if I start poking at them with sharper sticks, they’ll respond.

… Reading through projects I haven’t touched in awhile, remembering why I loved them so much in the first place. Thinking I should really get back to working on them and…I got nothin’.

… Looking at one project in particular I’ve had a long-running love-hate relationship with (No. Not that one…for once.) and suddenly wondering WHAT IF. What if I changed a certain character to THIS character (causing a complete cast overhaul as a result) and then find myself giggling at the idiocy of it all. Because seriously.

… Jabbing at a project (Yes, THAT ONE. What else?) realizing how much I really miss those characters no matter how much their story drives me absolutely insane.

… Wondering why I torture myself with this writing business in the first place, remembering that it’s the one thing I’m actually good at no matter how sporadic, incoherent, or inane it might be.

This is my brain and welcome to it.

She didn’t react when he put his hand on her back again, but she was pretty sure she heard a squawk of disapproval from the desk they’d just walked away from. He punched the call button and the elevator doors slid open. He ushered her into the car and pressed the button for the twentieth floor.

She gripped the support rail on the wall, “I thought maybe the claws were about to come out over there.”

He snorted, shaking his head as the doors slid shut, “I have a reputation, but I do not play where I work. Much to the apparent dismay of many.”

“Well at least you have standards.”

“Ever have sex in an elevator?”

Or not,” she didn’t bother refraining from rolling her eyes this time, “I have not, no.”

“You should try it sometime. It’s quite an experience.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Minnesota WHAT?

Sometimes when I’m listening to a song for the first time, I’m not paying close enough attention to the lyrics, and I mis-hear what’s actually being said.

Common occurrence.

I know I’m not the only one.

Sometimes what I hear (as opposed to what’s being said) makes me stop and say, “Wait—WHAT?”

And then I have to back up and listen to it again to figure it out. Sometimes actually paying attention is all it takes. Sometimes I have to start googling the lyrics to find out what it actually is.

O.A.R.’s song Light Switch Sky.

The first time I heard this song, there was a line that made me stop and say WHAT??? And no matter how many times I backed it up, I heard the words Minnesota p0rn. (At about the 2:40 mark.)

Generally I don’t have a problem understanding what Marc’s saying. He knows how to enunciate. (Aside from That Was a Crazy Game of Poker, because no matter how many times I’ve heard it, I still never understand what the hell he’s saying for half the song.)

Minnesota p0rn…on the other hand.

I had to google that.


(Light Switch Sky by O.A.R.)

Never saw the point.

The line is never saw the point. And every other time it’s sung in the song, you can understand that’s what he’s saying.

But the first time he sings that line…

Minnesota p0rn every single time.

I mean, I’ve heard those guys profess their love for Minneapolis (like many musicians do) but I didn’t think they loved the place that much.

Or maybe they do.

*ahem*

Who’s up for game three?

I can barely see the burbon drowning next to me and I just lost it all…

Ahem.

Wrong obsession.

Anyway.

I have been waiting a very long time for this game.

And after dealing with a bunch of computer issues (yay tech support husband) I can finally play the damn thing.

I’m terrible at video games. I lack the skill and coordination and reaction time and everything important for not failing and dying over and over (and over…and over…) again. I still play because with the right game (and gaming partner), even dying repeatedly it’s still a lot of fun.

Five years ago Bob was really excited for a new game that was coming out called Dragon Age Origins. The more I learned about it, the more excited I got about it. Hot damn I loved that game and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve played through it. I have never invested so much time into a game franchise. Not even when I played WoW.

Dragon Age II was still a whole lot of fun and an awesome game, but it lacked some of the OOMF that the first game had. It was rushed to market and unlike with the first one—where there were multiple endings based on certain choices—II had the same ending regardless of how you played.

Also, no Nugs in Kirkwall. It’s part of the lore of the game, but still. No squeaky squeaky squeaky!

Sad.

ANYWAY.

I’ve been anticipating game three since the end of game two. While the lack of variety in the ending of the second game was a little disappointing, they did leave it hanging wide open for what could happen next, and now it’s here.

And after five long years, I finally get to flirt with Cullen.

He’s barely recognizable from previous games—as advancing technology does—and his hair is way too blonde.

But dammit, IT’S TIME.

Alistair’s off being king. I need the other bumbling and awkward templar in my tent.

Also.

Nugs.

So many Nugs.

Those little rodents run fast though so I just chase after them yelling “Let me love you!”

No.

Seriously.

I do.

What?

Off that track…

Either the roommate across the street is out of his damn mind, or he’s using headphones or a bluetooth device. Standing on the front step, smoking, head bobbing, and flailing his [cigarette] hand around as if he’s having a very animated discussion with someone, or listening to some music. Based strictly on the hand movements, I’d guess hardcore rap. Since the windows are closed (it’s 16 degrees outside) I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it’s slightly…disturbing…to watch.

He’s not quite as fascinating as the previous chain smoking roommate was, but it’s free entertainment.

I still kind of miss my old smoking buddy. It was much easier to make up judgmental stories about him. He wore the same sweatpants every day—three-sizes-too-big with the crotch around his knees. He didn’t drive or have a job and there were multiple women who would show up (individually) throughout the day and either take him out to buy beer or stay for about an hour and leave. Or his other friends would come and they’d sit in a [running] car in the driveway for an hour smoking with the windows up.

Not sketchy behavior at all.

I was kind of bummed when he moved out.

The current roommate has a job and a car and appears to be a productive member of society. Aside from his passionate conversations with himself while sitting on the front step.

It’s nice to know that the guy who actually owns the house is our HOA president.

In the meantime, I’ll just be over here playing FFXIV wherein Blake* motorboats Abeline** on a regular basis.

*Bob
**Me

What?

Maybe I’m just high…

I was looking at spice grinders on Amazon and everything appears to be marketed towards pot smokers.

I just want to get a consistent texture in my Italian seasoning mix not make pot brownies.

Whatever.

In my current—never ending—writing drought, I find myself still fixated mostly on one project. I might not be making progress, but it’s holding my attention. That’s something, I suppose. I’ll eek out a few lines here and there, but not much. And then I find myself spending three pages having a discussion about mint brownies—and now I just managed to connect spice pot grinders to my writing.

What.

Apparently I have a reoccurring theme of mint brownies in my stories. I can name five projects off the top of my head wherein there is an unnecessary amount of focus on them. There’s probably more, I just can’t think of specifics right now.

I guess it shouldn’t be that surprising. Considering how much I repeat myself EVERYWHERE, it should come as no surprise at all that I’d have a recurring food theme too.

Either that or my subconscious is telling me I need to make mint brownies.

In that case, I should probably listen to it.

The Nug just thinks there are not enough subterranean bunny pigs in my stories.

Final Fantasy Fourteen…

I started playing Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn a few months ago. It’s the current FF MMO. (It’s the revamp/relaunch of FFXIV from a few years ago that failed epically.) Bob started playing at launch last year, but I wasn’t in the right mindset to pick up a new MMO at the time. He finally lured me into it with Chocobos and Moogles.

They are EVERYWHERE.

You also eventually get your own Chocobo who you get to ride around on and will help you in battle. And you get to choose his name.

Mine?

Joel.

Obviously.

I can blame things on him. Goddammit Joel

There are pop culture references at every turn. They are endless. And there are probably a metric ton more that I just don’t get the reference to.

There is a wide variety of armor to wear and a glamor system so regardless of what class you’re playing, you can “glamor” your armor to look like pretty much whatever you want.

Even damn near nekkid…

That’s a white mage. You don’t need clothes to heal people.

There are also dozens of critters you can have as pets.

Like a mouse who says “fuck you” to gravity and physics.

It’s all very pretty.

Also CHOCOBOS.

And Joel says Hi.