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Alla you people who're going to the parade tomorrow, have fun. Be safe. I suspect, since I went through about a box and a half of kleenex plus four full little packets of it (we were out of boxes) today, that I will not be well enough to be joining you. (Damnit, I thought I was fine on Thursday evening.)
I got a fair amount of writing done on the political rant thing, which has been interesting and stressful. (As I said to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
teinedreugan, who posted, re: the Sox winning the Series during an eclipse, that the world was ending, "Well, if it does, we don't have to worry about the election anymore.") But it's almost done, I wrote the second or third awfullest bit, and I have whichever one of those awfulnesses isn't done and the worst bit left to go, and some other stuff around the edges. It'll get done, I think.
With luck I'll be able to sleep without feeling like I'm choking on my own larynx. That'd be a nice change.
And soon I'll be able to get back to messing with my poor narrator, who, while stranded several solar systems away from everything he knows and fretting about a possible outbreak of warfare where his family is but knowing that he won't find out how they are until he figures out what the semi-alien that arguably kidnapped him wants from him -- who despite all that source of angst is less depressing than reading the fucking news. He's at least fucked up in an interestingly epic manner.
Guess who's feeling gloomy? And I haven't done the Chechnya section yet!
I got a fair amount of writing done on the political rant thing, which has been interesting and stressful. (As I said to
teinedreugan, who posted, re: the Sox winning the Series during an eclipse, that the world was ending, "Well, if it does, we don't have to worry about the election anymore.") But it's almost done, I wrote the second or third awfullest bit, and I have whichever one of those awfulnesses isn't done and the worst bit left to go, and some other stuff around the edges. It'll get done, I think.With luck I'll be able to sleep without feeling like I'm choking on my own larynx. That'd be a nice change.
And soon I'll be able to get back to messing with my poor narrator, who, while stranded several solar systems away from everything he knows and fretting about a possible outbreak of warfare where his family is but knowing that he won't find out how they are until he figures out what the semi-alien that arguably kidnapped him wants from him -- who despite all that source of angst is less depressing than reading the fucking news. He's at least fucked up in an interestingly epic manner.
Guess who's feeling gloomy? And I haven't done the Chechnya section yet!
