Still feeling punched between the eyes.

Partially it's the sinuses, partially it's the traveling in my sleep (I know I walked miles again), and a good chunk of it is Dad mixed with end of year school stuff.

When I get home, I'm usually so exhausted, I can't do anything except veg. I'm hibernating from chat to some extent; I don't have the energy to be silly or upbeat in the evenings.

I figure I'm not going to be over this part until after Alix's graduation and once the entire family leaves.

So, maybe June 20th.

Today is mostly about cleaning and getting the kitchen back under control. I have no slaves (aka, offspring) to help because all slaves vanished to work at the slave camp instead. So, this will be a taste of summer when we are on our own again. With the dog.

Of course.

I have added polishing kitchen cabinets to the list because the allergies have so smacked me in the head, I am incapable of rational thought.

That would also explain why I agreed to be the union rep from our site, I suppose. The first meeting is Monday. I may kill the entire group of elected officers by the end. I did tell Greg that he is to stuff my mouth full of his fist when I yell, "Are you CRAZY???! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE ON???" but he thinks they need to hear that reaction.

The older I get, the less I am able to restate opinions into tolerable prose.

By the time I'm 90, I suppose I will be calling the entire world jackasses.

And unfortunately, I will be right.

(No, there's nothing wrong with my self-esteem today. Go me!)

Up and running. So far I've made coffee, emptied and reloaded the dishwasher, and thought about polishing the one set of cabinets I missed yesterday.

Did I mention the incoming inlaws? Well, yes. Some people vacuum and dust. I polish cabinets and wash windows in addition to that.

Today, however, is first about report cards and bald puppets. After those, I'm attacking the office.

The slug returns this afternoon. I'm hoping the spousling does not bog down with computer updates and installations on her graduation gift. There's this dining room table full of his stuff, see, and I have plans that it will all be gone by this evening.

No, he didn't get to it yesterday, and he can clean the pool tomorrow if he wants to. Just not today.

One of the more amusing events while we were in Fresno was the Dot standoff. Harley is more than a little cautious around the cat and when she managed to usurp his food dish from the other side of the plate glass window, I had to move the dish. So, we held a stare down in the hopes that Harley would learn to stand his ground. And his food dish.

At first, Harley hung back, with this "I'm here for you if you need me, just call" attitude.

When he finally decided that if the big dogs could do it, so could he, this was the result.

Dot, however, could have withstood the gaze of twelve or more.

Ah, well. One of these days.

Another bounce yesterday, and now I must figure out what to do with my rock sex story -- not that there's much hint of the sex, but I know there's something not-quite-right about how I've set up the ending. Plus, based on JJA's not-a-grabber comment, I'm going to have to tighten the beginning, too.

Oh, for the good old days of chatroom analysis.

But nothing will happen on that for a while. Not until after the house is under control, the graduation is over, and everyone has gone home. Oh, and after the total collapse I've scheduled.

I was prone to the weepies all of yesterday, but today I'm back together. Let's see if it holds up for the rest of the day.

It's official: school is done except for the thank you notes.

Thursday and yesterday, I worked my butt off *spins around and displays buttless posterior* and managed to wrap my stuff in the classroom up by 4P. Luckily, Lisa vacated two closets and one set of bookshelves. That made clean up much faster, because I had places to put stuff. There will be much chaos in August when I return and rearrange the room (and buy one rug and some sort of office chair, but less than last year's chaos, which will be a major plus. If they ever stop having summer school at this site, I will be damn grateful.

Anyway, if you haven't seen me lately, it's because I've spent the rest of my available time in bed, recovering.

One more week before the scheduled collapse.

There's Disneyland (kill me now) on Tuesday, the entire Sisolak clan for dinner on Wednesday, graduation on Thursday with an early dinner and cake/dessert to follow, I don't know what on Friday, people vanishing on Saturday. Somewhere before that I must expend as much energy as I did at school for end-of-the-year organization and catch-up. (I don't know about you, but my house usually goes to hell between April and early June. It's called The Last Quarter.)

(I just realized I have to reschedule my voice lesson due to Disneyland. Damn.)

The good news is that I remembered Mom's birthday yesterday and sent flowers, although I didn't call until this morning. She received a bicycle from two of my siblings. Something very 1950ish. So my mother, at the age of 77, will be learning to ride a bike. I immediately impressed upon her the need for a bike helmet (and splints remained unspoken, but the thought was there), but Mom countered with no one her age wears a bike helmet.

That's probably because they already knew how to ride a bike, Mom. D'oh.

We're threatening to procure a set of roller blades for her, after the tale of her next door neighbor's adventure with them: she ruined a perfectly good suit when she fell.

If Mom wants to wear a suit while roller blading, she will have to buy her own.

And she's talking about coming into the computer age, so yay! We might achieve email for her yet!

First, we'll have to have her pass the "turning it on" requirement.

I have hope. She can now turn on her cell phone.

We acquired an additional child on Thursday and Friday. (Drew: Mom, Eddie's staying here until Saturday. Me: Do I know him? Drew: You will.) He's MonkeyBoy's age, and spent the entire time on yard and house. He weed-whacked the yard, cleaned the pool, and painted eaves.

The Spousling told me this morning, he'll be moving into Drew's room in mid-October.

Uh... we'll have a border? Uh... okay. (When does the empty nest syndrome begin? Because if the Spousling's going to refill the nest with cuckoo eggs, then he's outta here.)

And now, the kitchen calls. I wish those squeaky clean dishes in the dishwasher would just SHUT UP. I can barely think over the racket.

Vacation.

Now that everything's done, I can call it that. So far, I've walked with Harley and the spousling, and three+ miles at that, so the day is off to a good start.

I also have one car thing to take care of today (muffler, tire rotation, or oil change, hrm...), clothes to put away, words to write on one of the three stories chance chose for me, and... something else. I'm hoping it comes back.

The children have not called. Well, not our children. One of the acquired children did call; she'd forgotten her health form, so her father came by with the form, and we faxed it up to camp. Tra-la-la. Now we shouldn't hear anything for a while, or (knock on wood) until someone gets hurt. Mountain Boy did call and discussed plans with Spousling. (Well, discussed. Hrm. Maybe it's more of a "first I'll tell you what I'm going to do and then you show me all the evils of my thinking." Look, idiot child, just come home, okay?)

Plus he's very concerned about this last math class and how he appears to have had a misunderstanding with his teacher immediately.

Life continues. Ba-dump-bump. (Yes, that was me falling down the stairs.)

I suffered a blow to my head and joined the Clarion West write-a-thon. My goals are: first three weeks, finish three unfinished stories. Second three weeks, return to novel and blow past the 33K brick wall I hit two years ago. (This is about right. I had to wait two years to finish the first one, too, iirc.)

In other words, lots to do, and money to turn in whether I make goal or not. If you would like to sponsor me, I am willing to offer proof of finished stories in the form of emailing the story/novel files in question. I will also post a snippet of what gets written daily. With any luck, that will keep me honest.

And writing. Yes.

Besides, Charlie has only given me the first chapter of his latest Maggot novel. I don't get the next until I prove I've written some.

*sniff*

It's almost like he doesn't trust me or something.

I did manage to rewrite my rock story enough that I could print it out and send it to Asimov's. We'll see what, if anything, happens with it. I'm waiting to hear from an antho I subbed to in April, and my latest sub to Fantasy Magazine should be responded to in the next week. I also spent time yesterday investigating children's book markets (again!) for my Paper Crane story.

Hope never dies around here; it's just resurrected.

Five hundred words, five hundred words, five hundred words, Lord, I've got to write five hundred words....

But hey, one day down. forty-seven more to go. Yay me!

One day a pattern makes: the Spousling and D.O.G. (pronounced, dee-oh'-gee) are ready to walk. Me, not so much. The caffeine has not struck and I really need my caffeine.

(And yay! Coffee served!)

I'm not thrilled with this story. It's not balanced right. I can't seem to keep both conflicts (inner and outer) going at the same pace, or at least trading off evenly. I drop one thread, switch to the next. While this is the stuff of which rewrites are made, it's ticking me off. I know it's an issue. Why can't I manage them both? And here, of all places, is the opportunity to deal with both. (There's nothing like motorcyclists smashed on the road to raise angst and smack a Buddhist truck driver with faith issues. And not his faith, mind you.) But can I manage that?

Nooooooo.

Stupid brain and fingers.

I'll work it out eventually; I always do. It's just annoying to be able to see so clearly what's not right. (Well, that, and there's this little issue of smashing scenes together, or at least giving a few scenes a reason to exist. 'Cause there ain't enough happening. That's for sure.)

The rest of today is about a few chores like emptying the dishwasher (what do you mean the Slug isn't here to do that?), a voice lesson, the gym, and maybe another movie. I finally saw The Corpse Bride on DVD the other night. Next up will be Mirrormask.

Poor Spousling. He doesn't understand why I love the movies I do.

(Also, bad Celia! No biscuit! Adding -ing does not a boy toy make. It's all in your mind.)

And who the heck changed my weather pattern this morning? The fog has all burned away, so I will have to walk in *gag* sunlight.

(No, I was not a vampire in another life. I think I must have died in the desert, though. I hate the heat. I so want to move to someplace where hot is 70.)

In other news, there are no dead children. Yet.

I'm sure I would have heard.

One finished scene.

Well, until I go back to rewrite it. Of course. I'm sure there's more than the obvious missing in this one.

I swear this is the last time I attempt a story in seven scenes where the protag has to regain faith and decide to contact long-abandoned children and deal with a parade of Catholics worshipping at his rear mud flap.

(I think that's pretty easy to promise in retrospect. Wouldn't you?)

Still, I'm having fun with some of the more outrageous images that dance into my head.

And who wouldn't?

How could you not love:

The final glance in his side mirror just proved that the world had gone mad. The undertaker was arm-in-arm and swaying with the flower delivery woman while the farmer had joined the women on their knees. Everyone else appeared to be bellowing to the sky.

Apparently Karma wasn't the only one who practiced howling.

or a run-in like this:

The matron holding the dog's collar loosened her grip and sniffed. "He's destroying private property. Not only that, he's defiling a religious image."

Karma, tail at half-mast, dodged between Nelson's legs. "Well, if he is destroying private property, it's mine. And as for the second--" and he shot a look at the offending tire flap, "--that, unfortunately, is also mine. I'm sure the Virgin Mary wouldn't mind a little pee."

Gotta love a character you can totally screw with.

And it's going to be hot today. Stupid SoCal. I could use a couple of months in San Francisco.

Yay for wordage!

Boo for never-before seen bloody, tattered characters who appear suddenly, refuse to say if they're ghost or living, tell you their name is Sid and that they have to get home to their aunt. Stat. And oh, by the way, would you please take them?

I wonder what my brain is on.

Or off.

I got sleep last night, though. I'm hoping it helps. Particularly with Sid. (Amber, stop laughing at the Buddha nature of that name....)

In other news, Charlie has clarified that the page exchange does not happen until I finish this story. Yeah. It's a novelette now, the way it's going it might as well be on its way to a novel. So, sure. I'll finish it. I have four more days, 2K. It had better be done then. Or I'm sending the thing, unfinished, to chance so she can whip it into shape for me.

There will be no walking today, I'm thinking. I will have to do some pool stuff, instead. If you knew how much I hate the concept of swimming, you would feel pity. I tell my mother it's because she overcompensated for her own mother's inability to swim and sent me to years of Red Cross lessons. I'm sure I did enough laps there to preserve me for the rest of my days.

Harley is getting spoiled. He now won't eat his breakfast unless I crumble half a biscuit (which he loves) on top. Eesh.

There's really no difference between children and dogs.

Well, except for the college bills.

Now, I'm off to trip the water not-so-fantastic. Bleh.

My rose is nunning. I find that remarkably unfair this morning.

Another five hundred words on the story that Will Not End, dammit. It's a good thing I'm NOT at Clarion, because I would be pulling all-nighters down in that basement room with the long tables.

Amber managed to give me the theme of my entire story last night in a single sentence: "cuz yanno when you're enlightened you realize you were enlightened already."

Well, d'oh. Any character named Sid is going to know that. Now he just has to convince Nelson.

The dog protected me when the pool swallowed me yesterday. He barked and ran around the pool in circles. Mind you, I wasn't even swimming. Just walking. ('Cause you know, swimming, yuck.) And he continued to do that until I picked up the 20-foot pool brush and swept. Once I was armed, and obviously fighting back, he subsided.

Later, he discovered an attack balloon in the corner of my office where it has been disguised AS A BALLOON for the past two weeks. When growls did not subdue the intruder, who continued to threaten my existence by hanging idly in the air, he resorted to barking and wearing out my eardrums.

Then he went out to hurl alarms at the black ops squirrels crossing the perimeter sneaky paw by paw.

Hey, you don't mess with his food source, you know?

Now I need to walk, clean the house, and accomplish something with my day. Water, balloons, and squirrels are not on the agenda.

I do hope Harley realizes that.

Up and running on slow. I was smacked upside the head by watching Mask and did a snuffling, bursting into tears. The image of Rocky's mom curled protectively around his head has now been replaced by one of my sisters, Rocky by my dad. Seeing that I hadn't really had a good cry, it was cathartic. Just unexpected. I'm going to think twice about seeing more movies with realistic deaths in them, though. (And the part where the character cries, so the reader/viewer doesn't have to? Oh, yeah. So doesn't work. Thank you very much, Mr. Screenwriter. However, I loved the foreshadowing. I loved the farewell scene Rocky has with his girlfriend; I loved the pins being pulled out of the map. Yes, I should have seen his death coming.)

Took me a while to get myself back under control and fall asleep. Note, I don't mention the dog alert at 1A while he was patrolling for intruders. Like rabbits. Or those sneaky squirrels. False alarm in the end. You could tell by the way he slunk past, avoiding my evil stare.

The writing continued last night. Another six hundred words (did I mention unfinished?) with Sid playing the role of the psychologist. Damn (unfinshed) thing. I carried it into chat with me, threw it on the floor so that everyone could dance on the damn thing's (unfinished) bones, and Kat, Kat!, adopted the story, named it Bunbun, and fed it ice cream. Like it doesn't get enough words to live or something. I locked it in the closet for a while, but had to let it out because Kat pouted. Right now, Bunbun is all tail. With no end. He should have been a rabbit. Really. And Harley would have a little friend to chase. Leah took away his knive (for protection!) but I'm giving it back when I send him to chance for trimming. (def. of 'trimming': when someone slashes you all to pieces and only keeps the best bits, and you rewrite some of the rest to reconnect the bits.)

I haven't been out of the house in a day and a half. The last time I left, I hit an educational supply store and dropped $75. I don't trust myself not to spend, since I am surrounded by catalogs. Not that I'm going to stay cooped up here forever, but yeah. The thought of being a hermit appeals. (Well, it would if I didn't have Harley and Bunbun to keep me company.)

It's summer. I'm not supposed to buy anything other than a rug for my classroom. That's it. Well, and five sets of earphones. And I'm sure I'll need a few more things, once I get over to Lakeshore....

(I may never leave the house again.)

One scene down, and Nelson finally, finally loses the mud flap. Well, why not? He's had Mary, Karma, and now Sid for insights, and he's just now getting it.

I'll wrap it up with the last scene (by gum, this had better be the last scene, Bunbun) and then move on.

Probably not to the witches, seeing that this one has taken me so long to finish. I could see my Clarion witches heading for 40K the way I'm writing. And while the witches are fairly memorable on their own, I can't bill little old lady witches as YA. Um... no. (Stop looking at me like that, chance.)

So, I may substitute in my antlers story, not the chance picked that one for me to finish, but it's one I have a yen to finish.

(And for the next trick, threats and recriminations! Back after station identification, when I decide if I really do work on that story or not.)

I lost my eBay bid for some raku lentils, and I'm now waiting for the next. Yes, I'm in the mood for another Amber bracelet. Bead searching has become a second (third? fourth?) hobby.

Next up, mass, a solo that I'm freaking over because of the warped timing that doesn't feel natural to me, and... well, coffee.

The kitchen and family room are next on my hit list. Followed by words. I'm not sure I can finish this story in 500 or so; it may take me longer. And will I be glad to stuff this one back in the thinking closet.

Started the morning with a rejection. Those mornings happen, and it's not as though I wasn't expecting it. (Self: What's the worst that could happen? Me: They'll reject it. Self: Okay, then you're prepared for the worst. *subsides in recesses of what mind I still possess*)

Doesn't everyone use the 'what's the worst that could happen?' operation system? Far less trauma that way, and usually things can only look up. I recommend it. (Well, except for the worrying part about stuff you can't change or influence, like (supposedly) adult children flinging themselves off mountains... but I digress.)

I slapped another 800 words onto my truck driver story, and just like at Clarion, I can see every single flaw. The difficulty for me writing things in a relative hurry is that I will have that much more to fix/delete in the rewriting. I know that even as words fall off my fingers.

My characters chat about ridiculous things while my brain searches for the point, dammit, and when I finally find the point, I'm surprised at how my subconscious even had one in tow.

Yeah, I had one of those moments again last night, when Sid's aunt and father, reunited after lots of worrying, prodded him, in front of Nelson, about disappearing without a word.

Nelson isn't talking at the moment, but I know he won't be taking the revelation well.

Which is good. Because I might, might be able to end this story in another tw thre four pages. (You can see how confident I am at getting the characters to stop blabbing and actually accomplish some self-analysis and make a decision, dammit.)

In other news, sleep continues to be of the suckiest. I can't blame Harley for all of it, although I was up twice to retrieve the beast from coyote howl duty. ("You know if the coyotes are yapping, there's no reason for you to join in, too. Really. And you're just calling their attention to a nice juicy meal waiting for their appearance. Get In Here.")

The rest of the non-sleep is all about my brain runningrunningrunning. I can't seem to shut off the internal audio track. I'm ready to try something (short of Ambien, because ick. Real drugs.) and I'm trying to decide what to try.

Suggestions?

(Note to neighborhood: If those four pops in relatively quick succession were gunshots at midnightish, I am Not Amused. Nor was the Brain who had lots of time to play with various scenarios of what they were about.)

It's done. Done. (Done. Except for the ultimate sentence which has to mention Karma, be insightful and sweet simultaneously, and walk on water.)

(Oh, fine. Maybe not the last bit.)

But I move on, and thank heavens for minor miracles. Next up is my girl with antlers, because I should be able to finish that one in six days. Should. Should. Should.

(Repetition works on the subconscious, you know?)

Email from the slug this morning. (Mind you we hadn't heard a thing from her, although her brother managed a two-minute phone call over the weekend.)

"so we got 10 rentals and we were tacking them for the staff overnighter and this one rental spooked while i was bridling him and i had the leather reins over my shoulder and he went back and then started to swing his back end to his left and so i backed up i was facing his left side and then went right... so that i would avoid getting smushed between him and the hitching post, but the reins gave me a burn across my neck, so essentially it is rope burn or carpet burn and that is what it looks like, but it is really annoying, cuz it looks ugly and everyone keeps teasing me that it is a horse hickie or a hickie from 5 guys.. although now it is starting to look a lot less like a hickie especially now that it is starting to scab..."

The entire email is one long outpouring mingled with snatches of breath and exhortations to send her Spray 'n Wash and Cortaid.

I don't know when she learned to only punctuate with ellipses, either.

But wow. Horse hickies. Who knew?

And now, for the day. I have upstairs to clean, and then I am done with the housework for the entire week. Go me! Sometime I have to get over to Fillmore to take the things I've purchased since school ended and tuck them away.

Now there's something

else

If only my math program was as robust.

I'm debating about setting up a Montessori practical life area in the classroom. I think it's a great concept, and if I can train the kids to return each item to the same place EXACTLY, I would have few qualms. I am also going to cut down, tremendously!, on the number of toys available when the year starts. Because geesh, you'd think some of these kids never learned to sort. Everything goes every which way.

*realizes she has switched into educational mode*

Eeeeeeeee. It's only been two weeks. I can't be missing school already. Can't.

To start the morning off with a bark, Harley, the great hunter, cornered...

...a wastepaper basket. In the bathroom, where the poor wicker thing cowered beside the toilet. Where it always cowers. Living on scraps of tissue and wads of dryer lint.

Turns out a semi-filled wastepaper basket, even with lint balanced precariously near the edge where it could alert the refuse for approaching danger, was less terrifying than the result:

An empty wastepaper basket. With a large open mouth.

Who knew such terrors resided in a quiet downstairs bath?

This was right after the great Tick Removal episode.

I have had enough Dog adventures this morning and it's not even 10A. And when I somehow wonder if we're not destroying the dog's mind with our little tricks, I remember the mantra that has sustained me through child-rearing: Them or Me.

The dog will always lose.

Writing proceeded last night, although it took me some time to find the damn story. I finally thought to open the laptop and scroll through the files there. So yes, five hundred words, delayed by the hide-and-seek antics of the story and the automatic brain fogger when I opened it.

Let's put it this way: the quality of this story's beginning is head, neck, shoulders, and FEET above the wordage I eked out of my brain last night.

I'm wondering if I'm wearing out the brain.

Maybe it's only good for dogs and kindergarteners as I age....

I do not know who decided to turn the heat up outside, but I'm sure they didn't realize, a) I was going to sleep in until 10A(!), and b) I have a bed to turn over so I can plant the six tomatoes, four zucchinis, two bell peppers, and one basil I acquired yesterday.

(Oh, sure, it's easy for me to say, I'll get up at six and do it! Not so easy when one does not remember to set the alarm.)

So yeah. At some point today, there will be much of the sweating.

However, I did sleep, and seeing the past week and a half of not, I am damn grateful. To Tylenol PM, but hey, whatever works.

Another 500 words and I'm getting the visitors to leave. I have no idea what they were really good for; I'm missed the opportunity for Caroc to dabble in backstabbing or even frontstabbing. Because really he should have stayed in the forefront, and instead he vanished to do who knows what.

I predict a future rewrite.

The antlers need to be more of an imposition on Mairwen. She's barely noticing them and surely they would interfere with dressing, at least? Because she could feel them early, and that indicates mass. The problem is that I haven't quite decided if these are truly visible or only visible to those who need to see them.

I'm sure that question will be answered by the end. Because really, a reader should know this. Or if uncertain, come to the conclusion it doesn't matter to the end of the tale, (which is most likely when the damn things vanish.)

I fell asleep with my brain tuned to the station playing that story. Maybe something will come to my subconscious before writing time tonight. (Or maybe it will just open its big, fat mouth and say something that the forebrain will understand.)

I'm not holding out hope.

I have a play to attend tonight and choir practice. I'm going to run out of the first's intermission so I can get to the second. An email this morning asked our director about recording, and by gum, I want to be in on what's going on. If anything. Because we were supposed to start recording in May, and I'm grateful I didn't have to juggle that in addition to everything else that went on in May.

Now, off to play in the dirt. And maybe the pool after that. Because, ugh, heat. I'd much rather have the rain, so all you East Coast people hogging it? Cough it up. Thx.