December 10th, 2008

ozarque figure

Eldering, crossly...

I'm cross this morning. Cross with myself, for starters, and then cross in a more general fashion, to go on with. Because...

Because those of you who've clicked on the link for my poem in this week's Strange Horizons will have noticed that the bio note at the end says my most recent book is something titled Twenty Novel Poems. That's not the fault of Strange Horizons; that's my fault. I wrote the bio note myself. And you would think that I'd be able to remember the title of my own book, right? You'd be wrong. Twenty-One Novel Poems, it's supposed to be. Not twenty. Twenty-one. I've apologized to my long-suffering publisher, who deserves better.

Because I'm making progress doing all those hundreds of m.s. revisions for the Huge-Emergency-Rush-Project, but I'm not enjoying it. And you would think I'd be aware that there's no guarantee in this life that all work will be enjoyable, right? You'd be wrong again. I so much enjoy most of the work I do that when I have to do something tedious it makes me cross. That's not rational. So many people have to do jobs that are tedious -- or worse -- five days a week; for me to get cross about having to spend a half dozen days that way is not rational.

Because my house won't stay dusted. Which of course takes me over the edge into Magical Thinking. Dusting properly is so hard and takes so long; it ought to be like writing a book. You write a book, it stays written. If I had magical powers, once you'd dusted a house properly it would stay dusted. When they passed out the magical powers, I must have been behind the door.

Because we've had a brief dash of winter weather, enough to put a dusting of snow on the ground, and they're saying that we're going to get freezing drizzle this morning. So? It's December. Winter weather in December is appropriate. Our power has stayed on, so far; we are greatly blessed. We have a car with studded snow tires, which means George can go safely to town and back in the freezing drizzle; we are greatly blessed yet again. Do I have brains enough to appreciate these blessings and be adequately thankful? Nope.

Because what I really want to do is write another novel. That's not rational either.

Because there are so many areas of my house that truly need cleaning, and I know they're there and I can hear them calling me, but I can't get to them because I am getting tinier and tinier. They're clear out of my reach. I can see them, and I can hear them, but I can't get to them. Law... suppose I were to have company, and the company were to see those Patches Of Dirt, what would the company think??! For me to care about that is not rational.

It's fortunate that you don't have to put up with me this morning, because I'm not fit company for human nor beast nor houseplant.

And now I am going to go tackle another batch of those Huge-Emergency-Rush-Project revisions....

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