18 October 2003
I fixed the dishwasher, although I believe the word "sort of" is required here. There was a small plastic dealie, origins unknown, wedged in the twirly thing, and I pulled it out again, so now the twirly thing twirls freely. It's the "origins unknown" part that makes us nervous, but wherever it was from, it was not supposed to keep the twirly thing from twirling, so there you have it. (C.J.'s Uncle Art is amused by my over-technical physicist language, with the plastic dealie and the twirly thing.)
I spent an unplanned length of time with C.J.'s Uncle Art, talking about old science fiction and drinking Nantucket Nectar lemonade. (I needed something nonalcoholic, as I was driving home and am such a total lightweight that I can't so much as look at anything alcoholic and then drive. I'm always frustrated when state drivers' tests have questions like, "After how many drinks is a 200 pound man's blood alcohol over the legal limit?" Why should I care? I can't drive after drinking anything, and I know it, and anyway who is this 200 pound guy? I'm not letting him drive me around drunk, either. Honestly. And it varies so much by heritage, body composition, etc. A certain friend of mine from way back, for example, weighs more than me though less than he once did, and I would not ride with him after less alcohol than the state says he can have. So.) Anyway, I had planned to stop through C.J.'s briefly, and then when I got there, his Uncle Art was there, and had determined to take us out "for a beer," but happily beer was just as metaphorical as coffee. And there was much science fiction discussed.
I organized my lists yesterday. I made chore lists for the general case, chore lists for each specific chore-doing person around here, a going-out chore list, a when-I-feel-like-it chore list...I think I'm missing some kind of chore list there, but it's in my notebook if I am.
So it sounds like Heathah will be coming over this morning with cookies. I don't know who she'll be bringing with her -- Dave and the kids, most likely, and maybe also the puppy, I don't know. Thor the thunder Basset. It'll depend. Either way, I'm sure I'll meet Thor soon, so.
And then there will be the library book sale and a trip to Uncle Hugo's and Ingebretsen's and wherever else my fancies take me, or our fancies take us, depending on who decides to go with me to the Bujold reading at Uncle Hugo's. There's plenty I can get done, and I just need to balance what will make me feel nuts for doing too much with what will make me feel nuts for doing too little. That shouldn't be too hard, right? Right. Sure.
I also worked on the Not The Moose some yesterday. I'd been picking at other projects, but it was time. Definitely time. And I know what has been bothering me about the sections I haven't done yet, and I know how to rework some of them to get them right, I think. There's still a heck of a lot of work ahead of me, but I knew that; it's a big book, and not superfluously so, and big books are more work. But they're (sometimes) worth it. This one is. I'm once again confident in my ability to make it cool.
The problem with a book this big is that I go through more doubt/reassurance cycles than with a short book. I think I even go through more doubt/reassurance cycles per word than I do with a short book. But we'll get there with it. Eventually. Soon, maybe, depending on how the contract work goes.
I'm wearing a dress today, because none of my jeans are both clean and presentable enough to leave the house. So I'm traipsing around in bell sleeves and black tights and ballet slippers. You can hardly do anything but traipse, in bell sleeves. I suppose, since they're black bell sleeves, you might could skulk, but I am not a very good skulker. So traipsing it is. It's supposed to be in the mid-70s today, which is much better traipsing weather than one could have reasonably expected for mid-October in Minnesota. I think the word for bell sleeves is, "wheeeeeee." I don't think I've ever had them before. I'm not sure if I will again. But for now, they're a good time. And they make things so much more...well, wheeeeeee.
Time to attack the list.
And the main page.
Or the last entry.
Or the next one.
Or even send me email.