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real life

A 3760-post collection

I Need a Cure

My anxiety is in rare form this morning. We're seeing an expert about Mayhem's digestive issues, today.

There's a high likelihood that said expert will recommend irreversible invasive surgery and I am prepared to fight like a tiger about this.

And I am terrified - absolutely bone-deep terrified - that I will somehow fail and legal shit will get involved on all of this.

I have to think of this in a Best Case, Worst Case, Most Likely Case scenario.

Best Case: Mayhem is cured forever and he just needs to take a Quick-Eze now and then.

Worst Case: The fucking cops drag me away for child neglect even though Mayhem's 17, I end up in prison, they force an operation, and Mayhem can never enjoy fatty foods ever again. Well. Not without consequences.

Most Likely Case: The expert will listen to me and provide a whole bunch of alternatives and an actual fucking solution.

I should do this for all my anxiety shit. I feel a little better already.

It's not a cure. The road to recovery is rocky, winding, and overloaded with switchbacks. This is just A Method. And I am glad of the comic that inspired it.

Once More Into the Breach...

Mayhem is, once again, feeling poorly. Though he has apparently been suffering for three days, he decided not to mention anything until this morning. Showing a timing worthy of the typical Monday-itus.

He did throw up, though, which is my usual bar to pass for staying at home. Same with a fever.

Good luck for me - he's seeing an expert in digestive issues tomorrow, so we should get some form of resolution this time. Huzzah. And if we don't get a

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Taking a Day

I'm having a selfish day, today. I am looking after myself. I have no set schedule and I'm getting to things as I please.

About the only thing that needs to get done is my Instant. Which will be happening, but I plan on taking my time and having fun with it.

Other than that, I am doing all the nothing my heart desires.

I will:

  • Finally listen to the latest episode of The Adventure Zone
  • Have a truly indulgent bubble bath
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Teething Troubles

Yesterday, just after I dropped my Instant, our new connection to NBN dropped. Like unto a stone.

Just. In the middle of finally enjoying myself with time to spare, the internet just shut off. Attempts to contact my Beloved about this were ignored - the phones still work, but 'work' is a negligible term when any messages are unanswered.

It looks like our service provider isn't to blame, but rather the new modem we got is faulty and service can be restored

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Good news, Bad news, Meh news

Good news: We're finally connected to the NBN so I can upload my random crap with a clear conscience... maybe.

Bad news: I had to be offline for a majority of yesterday because these transfers can NEVER be smooth.

Good news: It's all working now.

Bad news: I now have zero excuses to not send Adapting off to Baen Books.

Good news: I finished Sweet Child of Mine, which is a mega whump fic that needs a good beta.

Bad news: Because

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Kitten plus Disco Ball == me

So many Gottas. So many Dunwannas.

I gotta:

  • do this blog
  • instant story
  • 500 words
  • house cleaning
  • send off a copy of Adapting to Baen Books

I Dunwanna do any of those. I'd much rather wind up that one fic that's been possessing my soul for months now. And then start posting it so I can revel in the suffering of others.

I'd much rather nap all day because wet and miserable weather. And have hot soup and fanfic in-between bingeing my

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Sneezin', Sneezin', Sneezin'...

Well, it's better than the wheezing, I guess. Probably a lot better. But it sure as shit doesn't feel that way when you're going through an entire box of tissues inside of 48 hours. Which is probably close to what I'm doing.

I barely remembered to do the Patreon stuff, yesterday. I have to cook up something for Wordpress Wednesday before bedtime. That's going to be fun.

I have some ideas from last week I could consider. I could do a piece

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It's the Most Horrible Time...

At least for my asthmatic arse. Sneezin' and Wheezin' Season has commenced. I can tell by the way my throat feels closed up and I suddenly have a need for my preventers, puffers, and occasional nebuliser doses of my meds.

I have my faithful Max within arm's reach. And I always have a modicum of medication squirrelled away within the cargo space. I've had the better part of my entire life coping with not being able to breathe so this is more

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Urgle...

I am operating on less than six hours of sleep. Want to know how I know? I play Sunken Secrets on my phone. I sent some balloons away on a six-hour wait-fest before I went to sleep and woke up before they returned.

Needless to say, I am not the happiest of campers, this morrow.

I did a little something productive, ran out of idea, and attempted to return to sleep with mixed results. I got maybe a two-hour nap or less

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Sdrawckab!

Once again, I got my approach to organisation catty-corner, and did NOT focus on telling y'all about my alleged life before getting rolling on today's Instant.

Which, by the way, tips more than a hat-rack at The Adventure Zone. Spoilers if you haven't listened through.

Listen through, btw. It's full of dick jokes and cussing, but it's funny as hell and you WILL cry. It's one hell of a ride.

Ahem.

Today's plans involve pickling more strawberries and teaching my Beloved to

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Now I'm Pissed Off

Picture the scene: It's the day before yesterday. I put my heart and soul into, and wring myself out for, a piece that by all accounts should have knocked it out of the park.

One comment.

One reblog.

Some handful of likes.

Yesterday, I pretty much put my thumb up my butt and churn out a fill-in-the-blanks WWII Escape The POW Camp plotting.

One redistribution via Free Fiction Daily.

One clap on Medium.

One reblog.

I can argue that my least-effort vaguely-historically-accurate

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Friday Already?

I lost track, somewhere in the middle of the week. Nevertheless, I did manage to do all my blogly duties. And my writing quotas.

And I learned about this horseshit in which the people lobbying to quash climate change for profit are also preparing for a climate change related apocalypse by buying homes in New Zealand.

Sailing the hypocri-sea much?

Point that out to any of them and they have the power to firkin destroy your life.

I hate rich people.

They

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I Dunno...

Liposomal vit C worked to lift my spirits, reset my energy levels, and otherwise make me make myself do things. BUT it tastes like arse and I really can't do my dose of that on the daily.

It's psychologically implausible.

Sugarless vit C comes in a handy "chewable" tablet that I swallow whole because I firkin hate chewable vitamins. It gets digested anyway, right? What sadistic genius invented "chewable" vitamins anyway?

I was made to suck on those intensely citrusy bastards when

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Self Discipline is...

Self discipline is doing the thing even when you don't want to.

Self discipline is turning off Discord so I'm not distracted as much.

Self discipline is setting my other browser windows to less interesting content so I don't wind up scrolling through shitposts all day.

Self discipline is allowing myself to have a small treat when I'm done with my work. Or it would be, if my dear little darlings hadn't left me with nothing but my Beloved's liquorice to snack

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Wat

As you know, I ate baby spinach 48 hours ago and I should have experienced...

MASSIVE INTESTINAL DISTRESS

[/reverb]

But no. I didn't. I sailed through the day with no sickness. No upset. Not even a liquid fart.

Not, as Bluebottle was wont to say, a sausage.

Either I can consume baby spinach without much trouble or... I could finally be past my previous troubles with the entire subgroup of foods.

I don't want to point to keto being that miraculous, but.

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