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Thud: Saturnalia
Jun. 30th, 2009 01:01 amJune 29, 2009 Progress Notes:
Saturnalia
Words today: 300.
Words total: 3800.
Reason for stopping: It is unexpectedly one in the morning. And my elbow hurts like hell from being on computers most of the day.
Munchies: Tuna sandwich on whole wheat avec alfalfa sprouts and tomato, several apples and bananas, and a pot of black lychee tea with milk.
Darling du Jour: Gregory stuck a finger in the simmered-down mess before Zeke could tell him to get his dirty hands out of his fix. "Good 'nuff," he said, hasty, and picked a good wad of stuffing out of the couch cushion for inspection.
"That's fucking filthy."
"So pick me up some oysters while you're getting the cotton," Gregory said, twist of the lips, and dunked it into the pot.
He had a valid point.
Things Yet to Cough Up Their Names: Some club two levels up; its owner, who apparently owes Zeke precisely two favours. I get the feeling one of them is for keeping Gregory's macking ass off his girl. *g*
Mean Things: This has got to be the most unsanitary shooting up ever. Were I meaner and it not tangential to the rest of the chapter, someone would be walking away from this with a nasty and unexplained rash.
Research Roundup: Environmental factors in eye pigmentation; heroin, the shooting up thereof. I googled around enough for the second before eventually asking chat that I expect the cops at my door tomorrow morning.
Books in progress: Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.
The glamour: I made up my glamour allotment today. Aside from going back over chapter 3 to fix all those bits I wasn't quite doing right on the weekend, I got most of chapter 4 revised too. And did some gardening and finished my slush. And made gazpacho for lunch tomorrow before the tomatoes went off. Oof.
I forgot how dearly and madly I love Zachariah Lane's inside voice. It is the most mild, gruff, poker-faced, near-Minnesotan kind of utter offhand damning snark, and I want to take him home and hug him and pet him and name him George. Vast is my bookloff, and inappropriate.
I also have a preliminary Readercon schedule, but I will not trouble anyone with that until it is a finalized Readercon schedule.
And now I will go to bed, since tomorrow some of the mighty dayjobbers are meeting before work to descend upon the Sick Kids Hospital farmer's market and strip it of its produce, and so I must get up early.
Saturnalia
Words today: 300.
Words total: 3800.
Reason for stopping: It is unexpectedly one in the morning. And my elbow hurts like hell from being on computers most of the day.
Munchies: Tuna sandwich on whole wheat avec alfalfa sprouts and tomato, several apples and bananas, and a pot of black lychee tea with milk.
Darling du Jour: Gregory stuck a finger in the simmered-down mess before Zeke could tell him to get his dirty hands out of his fix. "Good 'nuff," he said, hasty, and picked a good wad of stuffing out of the couch cushion for inspection.
"That's fucking filthy."
"So pick me up some oysters while you're getting the cotton," Gregory said, twist of the lips, and dunked it into the pot.
He had a valid point.
Things Yet to Cough Up Their Names: Some club two levels up; its owner, who apparently owes Zeke precisely two favours. I get the feeling one of them is for keeping Gregory's macking ass off his girl. *g*
Mean Things: This has got to be the most unsanitary shooting up ever. Were I meaner and it not tangential to the rest of the chapter, someone would be walking away from this with a nasty and unexplained rash.
Research Roundup: Environmental factors in eye pigmentation; heroin, the shooting up thereof. I googled around enough for the second before eventually asking chat that I expect the cops at my door tomorrow morning.
Books in progress: Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.
The glamour: I made up my glamour allotment today. Aside from going back over chapter 3 to fix all those bits I wasn't quite doing right on the weekend, I got most of chapter 4 revised too. And did some gardening and finished my slush. And made gazpacho for lunch tomorrow before the tomatoes went off. Oof.
I forgot how dearly and madly I love Zachariah Lane's inside voice. It is the most mild, gruff, poker-faced, near-Minnesotan kind of utter offhand damning snark, and I want to take him home and hug him and pet him and name him George. Vast is my bookloff, and inappropriate.
I also have a preliminary Readercon schedule, but I will not trouble anyone with that until it is a finalized Readercon schedule.
And now I will go to bed, since tomorrow some of the mighty dayjobbers are meeting before work to descend upon the Sick Kids Hospital farmer's market and strip it of its produce, and so I must get up early.
