Well

It's been cold as a welldigger's, er, bum, as they say, which fosters long periods of indoorness. I'm doing the one-step-back and two-steps-forward routine in my re-writes, which, I suppose, is good and helps flow and continuity and all that. At least I hope so.

I find myself envisioning the future with more surety and clarity. That I will get this novel published seems more a "when" than an "if" now.

I have some questions for myself, and I'll ask the same of any who care to reply:

1) What would you be doing differently if nothing stood in your way, whether time, money, geography or reality?

2) What, if anything, stands in your way?

3) What, if anything, are you doing about it?

I find that answering these questions is a bit like making my Life Goals List. It's intimidating to think on a scale like that. It feels pretentious, and silly, and scary all at once. For instance, admitting that someday I would love to have written a successful episode or two of Dr. Who or some other science fiction show sounds both childish and vainglorious. When I think of some of the things to put on my List (because, yes, I was scared and left holes in it "for later") I find myself erecting barriers in my own mind: "What a lofty goal. Don't be ridiculous." No one else needs to stop me when I think like that, because I'm pretty darned good at stopping myself.

But as I strain against convention and safety and expectations, I feel my horizons broadening. I feel avenues of possibility opening, and I become aware that even if no road exists, I have the abilities to pave my own way.

Sparks

Fishy and Sluggie brought me a huge ant at the library the other day. They had seen someone intentionally step on it, but it had been left only horribly maimed and not dead. There was clearly no hope for it, even though they wanted to save it, and I regretfully told Sluggie to put it out of its misery. She couldn't do it, and asked me to do so instead. It will probably seem stupid to most people, but it was hard. Life is sacred and mysterious and miraculous to me. And knowing that by the simple pressure of my foot I would be removing an enitity from the universe, crushing out a spark of life so easily -- so suddenly -- was hard. It even bothers me to kill mosquitoes. Yes, I do it, but the act of killing anything is just so hard to wrap my brain around. One minute there is something alive and moving with a purpose and intention of its own, and the next there is only an empty shell, and the motivating force or spirit has vanished. Where does it go?

Unh?

I'm not sure when it became cool to trash on boys and men here in the States. I know it's been a long time, but I'm curious about the origins of the tradition. I've pretty much had it with that whole thing. One of Sluggie's friends sent her a YouTube clip from some kid show (a Nick show I think) and it was (from the sounds of it) 2 boys talking (or reading?) about why boys are not stupid. But of course they were being very stupid and disproving their own point. I made her turn it off. Grrrr! You don't see people getting away with calling girls and women stupid, but make it a boy or a man and ha ha ha, there's mirth all around.

I know that boys face a lot of prejudice in school these days, and I'm so glad that Fishy isn't being hampered by that. I'm also grateful that there's no one to pressure me to put him on meds just for acting like a boy so that he can become a nice, quiescent little zombie instead.

That's my deepish thought for the day. Now for something fluffy.

Bras.

Why is it that it's so freakin' hard to find a bra without a life of its own these days? Seriously. Go to any bra section in any store, and see how many bras are living complete little lives with their own phantom boobies right there on the rack. I want bras that do NOT have their own personality -- bras that to NOT ask my boobies to assume their identity. (--tity. ha.) Bras that do not jut out past my boobies and belittle them for not filling the cup. And also bras that do not mould my boobies into weird pyramids in some sort of Egyptian homage sort of thing. Even the wee tiny little A cups have minds of their own. What's up with that?

Oh and by the way, WTF was that terrifying monstrosity next to the strapless bras? I couldn't find a pic online, but suffice it to say that it would have made a nice hump-cozy for a Bactrian camel. If you want to see for yourself, I think you're out of luck, but you might enjoy a Google search for "gigantic strapless bra" just to see the weird crap it pulls up, like Johnny Depp, groomsmen's neckties, strollers, and ice cream drumsticks. Or you can go look at the boobie bags made by Faveo.

We got to play kick the bottle at TKD tonight. (an empty little water bottle suspended from the ceiling) It was great fun, but both my buns need a massage now. Or maybe I just need a "Buttocks Bra."

If. . .

If we hadn't stayed for sparring, we wouldn't have left an hour later.

If we hadn't left an hour later, and then decided to grab a dvd from the rental place, we wouldn't have met the woman who had walked there.

If it hadn't been pouring buckets, we wouldn't have thought to ask if she had a ride home.

If we hadn't taken her home when we did, we wouldn't have seen that big bump in the turnout lane.

If we hadn't backed up and stopped, gotten out and looked, we wouldn't have known it was still alive. (It sure looked dead!)

If we hadn't flipped that big-a$$ snapper back over and carried it off the road, it would most definitely have been run over again and killed. Of course, when I say "we," I mean that I flipped it over and then, after it tried to kill me, watched from a safe distance as MuNKi braved life and limb to carry it off the road. ^_^

The moral of this story is twofold:

♦ life is a series of choices that all have an impact on something

♦ sparring saves lives. ^_^

Photo Essay Time Again

Ever feel like you're being watched? (Hey - I can rip off Bradley's Blue Day book, LOL! I slept in his bed for a week - or was it one of his sisters'? I dunno. We knew his family in Hong Kong and traded houses for a week - the church's idea of a "vacation" for our families, LOL! I remember that their toaster threw the toast on the floor every time it popped up, and my sister and I would laugh hysterically!)

aka The Invasion of the Giant Freaky Cats


You talkin' to me?


You bore me. Go away quickly.


I wonder what she'd do if I suddenly launched at her face??


The Secret Kitten


The Not-So-Secret Kitten


Scones! We just made them. They're warm and biscuity. (like American biscuits, not English ones) I don't think I've ever had a scone before, so I don't know if they came out right or not. For the second batch we ran out of oats with about 1/4 cup left to go, so I used "Crispy Rice" cereal. No problem! Probably cuz I don't know what a scone is supposed to be like. . . We used chocolate chips in batch #2. Oooooooh.


I dunno. I just found this amusing. It was lying on the office floor like this. Sometimes you think someone's calling all the shots against you, but then you realise that you're actually the luckiest person (or fleet of ships) on Earth. Ooooh. Deep.