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So yesterday while ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
teinedreugan was playing Disgaea my brother called me up. "Are you watching the game?" he said. I told him that the telly was occupied. He said, "C'mon! Martinez vs. Hudson! Best pitching matchup in the majors!" He gave me play-by-play in between catching up on things until I got access to the actual broadcast; we came to the conclusion that there were definitely pod people involved in Oakland, and that pod people can't pitch.
Times like that make me feel a little better about that whole 1990 pennant series thing.
We talked for an hour about a variety of things, what we're up to, how he's doing; he's stressed about grad school applications, but his guts are doing a bit better. He may get the camera pill test done soon, which may give us an actual diagnosis. If no diagnosis is in the offing after that, we will have to deal with the fact that his digestive tract is probably a parasitic alien being whose workings are unknown to current-day medical science. That sort of thing. (He was at my ex's wedding last weekend, so I didn't have a chance to see him when visiting Dad and the in-laws and the nephoo. Still not sure what I think of all the stuff around that; it's not quite a pang, but it's not quite . . . I don't know. It's at least not a big enough deal that I have to work through it, at least; I can wait to see if there's anything in there that matters to sort out.)
About two minutes after we got off the phone, it rang again. It was eleven; I couldn't figure out who might possibly be calling me at that hour. It wasbrooksmoses, who said, "How about those Red Sox?" I'd forgotten he was at the game.
Listened to a couple of innings of tonight's game on EEI. Um . . . agh. Aside from that, no comment.
I'm finally getting my brain sufficiently functional that I'm writing regularly again. Today's output was 388 words before I became so bleary that fiction generation was beyond my capacity. In that short span I completely mangled my narrator's brain; perhaps we're doing conservation of cope capacity.
It's good to be working again.
teinedreugan was playing Disgaea my brother called me up. "Are you watching the game?" he said. I told him that the telly was occupied. He said, "C'mon! Martinez vs. Hudson! Best pitching matchup in the majors!" He gave me play-by-play in between catching up on things until I got access to the actual broadcast; we came to the conclusion that there were definitely pod people involved in Oakland, and that pod people can't pitch.Times like that make me feel a little better about that whole 1990 pennant series thing.
We talked for an hour about a variety of things, what we're up to, how he's doing; he's stressed about grad school applications, but his guts are doing a bit better. He may get the camera pill test done soon, which may give us an actual diagnosis. If no diagnosis is in the offing after that, we will have to deal with the fact that his digestive tract is probably a parasitic alien being whose workings are unknown to current-day medical science. That sort of thing. (He was at my ex's wedding last weekend, so I didn't have a chance to see him when visiting Dad and the in-laws and the nephoo. Still not sure what I think of all the stuff around that; it's not quite a pang, but it's not quite . . . I don't know. It's at least not a big enough deal that I have to work through it, at least; I can wait to see if there's anything in there that matters to sort out.)
About two minutes after we got off the phone, it rang again. It was eleven; I couldn't figure out who might possibly be calling me at that hour. It was
brooksmoses, who said, "How about those Red Sox?" I'd forgotten he was at the game.Listened to a couple of innings of tonight's game on EEI. Um . . . agh. Aside from that, no comment.
I'm finally getting my brain sufficiently functional that I'm writing regularly again. Today's output was 388 words before I became so bleary that fiction generation was beyond my capacity. In that short span I completely mangled my narrator's brain; perhaps we're doing conservation of cope capacity.
It's good to be working again.
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From:
no subject
Hmm, maybe he can sell its story to the Weekly World News, AKA the National Irrational.
my ex's wedding last weekend, so I didn't have a chance to see him when visiting Dad and the in-laws and the nephoo. Still not sure what I think of all the stuff around that; it's not quite a pang, but it's not quite . . . I don't know.
When I discovered that my ex-husband had remarried, I felt a crazy salad of emotions: relief (thank God, he wouldn't be pursuing me anymore), hope and concern (I hoped he has found a relationship that will work for him), freedom (thank God it's really over). and sorrow/regret/frustration/anger (why we couldn't work it out? why did he value his defenses more than he valued our marriage?) And a little part of me felt robbed (damn, I put years of my life into loving him, we changed each other, and someone else is going to get the benefit).
From:
Going to the game
Anyway, you were very much on our minds as we watched the game. Someday I would really like to go to a game with you and watch Brooks ask lots of random basebally questions. We should try to arrange something like that sometime.
naiad
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Re: Going to the game