Sunday, 30 June 2013

I have spent the past week trying to write a story titled Isobel, but for obvious reasons, no cigars. There just hasn't been an opportunity to harness it in. Neither the mindset nor the sheer time to sit down and ink it have been in my favor. I am in a mood to touch each and every person of my personae dramatis - and in English, Isobel being a story about Kestrel Hayes. Alas, neither as a short story, stage play nor part of a chapter trickled to page. Yet.
     What Olivia Geneva is to Gorgonaut, Kestrel is to the Zurnizip verse. A zahi to the narator. The later twist regarding re-instated Morpheus even revolves around her and her odd pregnancy. Being a virgin paladin, suspition of falling to seduction of king Morphei causes some of the pagans to think he has gone too far. This story, though, settles that bit of plot in its right frame, though not without a price.
   Isobel leans on three different themes, entertwined. Firstly, it's the story of me, Kay, off to save the face of a nice town, worth proving worth saving. Isobel is where Kestrel lives, owning a small library and suchlike. The town is very lovely, very normal. However. Because Kestrel is angry, she deliberately puts herself and her son in a situation in which the town would react poorly to the baby boy's origin. As a result, Kestrel would punish the town by departing, even though she felt really good living there and people were very fond of her. Invoking the narrowmindedness indigenous to normal folk, she would cause the town's reaction to be their own bitter reality.
      Well, I decide to stop that from happening and give the town a fighting chance.
       The third story within the story is Kestrel's fight with the boy's father. I am a little bit torn between explaining exactly who these people are or simply hinting the boy is not human, even a little bit demonic looking (for the lack of immagination.) and hence  a landmark of lineage.
    Eh, well. I'll get to it.I'm sad and tired for all that's been happening, but you can't write depressing fiction. That's a no-no. Not even I read that.

Saturday, 29 June 2013

Dromi's garden variety

Friday, 28 June 2013

Ramses in a repair shop

General finally got his surgery yesterday. I was too tired to write about it en route home. Man, the day was long. We had to hop the train at 4 to get to the capital on time. Then for a little while I was allowed to linger, but quickly departed, anxious to see things progress, leaving him to his PJs and nurses and fishnet underwear (no idea why they make them wear that. It was the first thing he changed out of.) I offed to have coffee and read and then saw an old friend. By noon, I was getting pretty restless. A telemarketing woman called about a newspaper subscription - an unknown number while you are waiting for your husband to come out of surgery - nearly gave me a fucking heart attack. Eventually I just couldn't wait it any more and just hopped a bus and drove to the clinic.Visiting hours were from 3PM on, but at 1, I asked a young trainee how it went and he just (after asking if General was the large tattooed guy) took me to the room. He told me to say, in case anyone bothers me about it, that I simply didn't know and the guy whom I asked, told me he didn't know either. But after that, nobody asked me to leave for the next 7 hours, so...)
          Pooooor G-G. I really came very early. He was JUST coming out of unconsciousness. The colour of pale green wall, eyes glazed and voice rough, as they seemed to scrape the throat tubing him, he was soooo tender. He kept dozing off and asking for a tea in turns. I just spent the next few hours reading and holding his hand Then, towards the end, he got a lot better. Then I spent the hours pulling the bandages from his wrist to pull his hair out and make him angry and threatening to bring him stuffed animals and balloon should he look at the nurses too keenly. (Unfortunately all his nurses are super nice, just quite old.) It is not customary to bring anything to the patients room around here, but it would have been adorably embarrassing just as well.
           Then I dragged myself home - fuck me but it was a long ride back and I near passed out twice from exhaustion - and had to sleep in an empty bed :( Not liked. Now I'm getting ready for the re-run. At least the weather has gotten very cold. It would have been pretty awful if it was last week.

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

Second anniversary

Got woken up with hot kisses today. Second year running. I of course forget these things, because the day couldn't possibly be any more special. Which I am sort of proud of. There are no more ways to tell him how I love him, no more ways to prove it. There isn't anything else he can do or give me  - he tells me everything every day and has already given me everything I want. That includes some of the things he really didn't want to give me. Like another kitten. Or car keys.

Monday, 24 June 2013

.... back.

Mental note. When next I pray for the General to return home to me quickly, I should probably stress AFTER the surgery. 

They sent us home, told us to return Thursday. To beat that dumb frustration to a pulp, I dragged us across town to have great snack and even greater cake in my favourite LJ, stupid expensive cafe. After we got home, we passed out almost on the doorstep. Woke up 4 hours later. On the plus side, it's raining, so the temperatures dropped for about 15°C.

Sunday, 23 June 2013

Mentally preparing for the General's day in the hospital.. I will miss him soooo much :,((

Saturday, 22 June 2013

Gatsby, the new chapter in insides-clawing literature

As bad as people may say it is, I am simultaneously reading the original and watching the movie. So that's like an extra set of subtitles - so in my case the whole thing is pretty great. Thing is, I am restlessly watching a really bad copy of the movie and everything is like an odd stained glass window or an odd watercolour. For this reason, it feels almost as if I am flipping through an illustrated copy of the book. The effect is wonderful.

LoL, I feel like the opposite of JK Rawling, who had to go to cafes to keep herself and her baby warm in winter, drinking coffee, writing.. I go to cafes, because they are airconditioned and I drink ice coffee, writing and trying not to melt. 

Wednesday, 19 June 2013

I have a new fiscal question. Yes, that is a joke. Of course I mean physics.
Okay. I am carrying a glass of water over the family golden retriever Emi. The glass slips from my hand. (that's usually the case - if something's gonna fall in the household, it falls on Emi.) Because the glass is heavier than the water, even though certain attraction between the glass and water holds, not all of the water is IN the glass at is hits Emi's butt. Some of the watter falls micromoments later, thus creating a vibration rather than singular impact. How do you measure the ration between the two, considering viscosity of water and proximity of Emi's butt - which varies as the impact moves it up and down for a short while, obviously.

LoL. My crazy.

Standing in line to get kebab for the <3 and moi-self, I had a lap full of comic books. The plan was to give them to the General so he would read it in the hospital, but of course he has zero self restraint and is reading them now. But what I was gonna say was, while standing in the sun, bored, I COULD just read a little bit of it myself to pass time. However, that somehow felt like biting away the comic from General. like, if I read a little, he would have to read less. So I didn't read anything. That's how crazy I am.
*glows proud*
Ye Gods, there's, like 98 degrees in the shade. It's not that it feels like we're constantly complaining about the weather, but this year has been UNCOMFORTABLE !... We skipped spring in its entirety, going from parkas and long stockings to fucking melting pot! Ain't the high liquid silver that's so bothersome, either, it's the switch changes. I love heat. I love summer. Love walking around, feeling my marrow ooze. But it feels like we stepped out from foggy Aprile London to molten June Dubai and my brain, my heart, my stomach hardly handle it. I'm like one of those weird puritan people - showering before sex, showering after sex, sometimes showering during, showering when I get up, showering when I go to bed, showering before meal, showering after meal (which consist mainly of ice coffee...) And I really dislike showering. The pets are all feigning roadkill. Everybody is being naked in their apartments. Peeping Toms have all died of heart attacks.