Okay, internet, learn your fricken history for the days of the week.
Yes, our current system for the days of the week was passed along by the Norsemen.
No they did not invent it, you retards.
The Romans had a history of run-ins with the Norsemen. Every once in a while, they’d get the balls to poke at them, the Norsemen would tell them to shove off, and, eventually, run in, turn Rome into rubble, and tell them to leave them alone.
Finally, the Norse became so tired of Rome trying to overtake them, they swept through one final time and destroyed Rome for the last time. At this point, in their raiding and ransacking, they took a number of things that did not have monetary value, including the Roman’s calendar.
The Roman calendar at that time was composed of eight days: a market day, Solis Dies, Lunae Dies, Martis Dies, Mercurii Dies, Iovis Dies, Veneris Dies, and Saturni Dies. Solis Dies was named for the sun, Lunae Dies for the moon, Martis Dies for the Roman god Mars (or Ares for the Greeks), Mercurii Dies for the god Mercury (Hermes to the Greeks), Iovis Dies for the god Iupiter (Greeks’ Zeus), Veneris Dies for the goddess Venus (a la Greek Aphrodite), and finally Saturni Dies for Saturn (the parallel to the Greek Cronus, who was actually a titan for them). Pretty straightforward, right?
To sum it up: a market day, Solis Dies, Lunae Dies, Martis Dies, Mercurii Dies, Iovis Dies, Veneris Dies, and Saturni Dies. We clear so far?
When the Norse found it, they looked at it for a while, said, “Okay,” and cut out the market day entirely. They took Solis Dies, realized that they had their own name for it, and called it Sun Day. Next, Lunae Dies. Well, they had a name for that as well, and it became Moon Day. Onto Martis Dies. Well, they had a god like that: Tiu. And so, it became Tiu’s Day. Mercury was like another Norse god, so that day became Woden’s Day. Iupiter was like the Norse’s Thor, making the Norse change Iovis Dies to Thor’s Day. Then there was Veneris Dies, named for the goddess of love and fertility. The Norsemen took the closest goddess they had for that, Freya, and named the day Freya’s Day. Finally came Saturni Dies. However, this one the Norse did not change, as they knew Saturn full well, and the day became known as Saturn’s Day.
So, the Norseman walked away with the calendar week: Sun Day, Moon Day, Tiu's Day, Woden's Day, Thor's Day, Freya's Day, and Saturn's Day. Got it?
It carried through the years to eventually, after much slurring, become the days of the week that we have now: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. See the parallels and now understand why Wednesday is spelt like that?
Good.
Learn some basic history, internet. Learn.
Catching up and apologies.
Man.
I know what I said. That I was bad at this blogging stuff. And I am.
But I didn't think that I was the sort of "a month and a half going by without a single post" bad.
So, me. Not much has happened. Finished The Iliad. Know there's freaking more and some archeologists need to get their asses into gear finding it before I kill them. Won NaNoWriMo with considerably less than last year, coming to a stop at 102,005 words. Met amazing people. Wrote (I've been told) an amazing novel *blush*. Got a Superior (or top) rating at a district drama competition. Got a 95% on my geometry AND physical science tests.
The novel is tentatively called Penta, and even only that because my dear friends insisted on a name for it. At present, it's probably around 106,000 words and not quite finished; I'll probably wrap it up in JaNoWriMo (more on that later). It's about some alternate 1984-esque reality, some gods, some terrorists, and all the people caught in between.
Writing two short stories for my parents for Christmas. I've got 4 days and not a word written.
Okay, JanNoWriMo. Stands for January Novel Writing Month. I'm doing it again this year, second time running. Hoping for it to be my second win too. Dunno what I'm going to write. Probably Penta until I run out of story, then moving onto the uncompleted third draft of another novel of mine, thus far called As You Wish.
Um.
Nothing else to say, I suppose.
Off to write desperately,
The Redhead
I know what I said. That I was bad at this blogging stuff. And I am.
But I didn't think that I was the sort of "a month and a half going by without a single post" bad.
So, me. Not much has happened. Finished The Iliad. Know there's freaking more and some archeologists need to get their asses into gear finding it before I kill them. Won NaNoWriMo with considerably less than last year, coming to a stop at 102,005 words. Met amazing people. Wrote (I've been told) an amazing novel *blush*. Got a Superior (or top) rating at a district drama competition. Got a 95% on my geometry AND physical science tests.
The novel is tentatively called Penta, and even only that because my dear friends insisted on a name for it. At present, it's probably around 106,000 words and not quite finished; I'll probably wrap it up in JaNoWriMo (more on that later). It's about some alternate 1984-esque reality, some gods, some terrorists, and all the people caught in between.
Writing two short stories for my parents for Christmas. I've got 4 days and not a word written.
Okay, JanNoWriMo. Stands for January Novel Writing Month. I'm doing it again this year, second time running. Hoping for it to be my second win too. Dunno what I'm going to write. Probably Penta until I run out of story, then moving onto the uncompleted third draft of another novel of mine, thus far called As You Wish.
Um.
Nothing else to say, I suppose.
Off to write desperately,
The Redhead
It's just one of those days.
Everyone has to face it eventually: one of those days that seems to go out of its way to tear you down and leave you shriveled up, exhausted and hurt, on the floor.
You know. One of those days.
This was one of those days.
I didn’t feel well when I woke up, hadn’t felt well the day before, but my school has a strict absence policy. You can’t have more than ten absences in a semester or you’ll lose credit for that class, therefore have to retake the course. I already have six, due to sickness (a la croup) and one day to stay home for plotting/NaNoWriMoing. So, I went to school, since I didn't want to miss school unless I absolutely had to.
Most of the morning was okay; I only felt a little dizzy and sick to my stomach, not as bad as it had been the day before. Everything was going along quite well until fourth period rolled around.
Now, I like fourth period, usually. It's my Honors ancient history class, taught by one of the world's single greatest teachers, and we're studying Homer's The Iliad, the Robert Fagles translation, and I adore it. I would adore history class as well if my usual awesome!teacher was there.
But, no. She fell prey to H1N1, which expounded into a few other health issues, and so I've had a substitute teacher for these past couple of weeks in her stead. Let's call this substitute Mrs. Almond (because I'm eating Hershey's chocolate at the morning with almonds).
Mrs. Almond and I have never been on the best of terms. The Redhead is upfront and generally has a strong personality. Vibrant. Let's call The Redhead vibrant. I tend to be loud, speak my opinion, and decided long ago that raising my hand belonged to the elementary school-age of things.
Mrs. Almond, though, doesn't agree. She thinks that students should be seen and not heard. She thinks that we must show the utmost of respect to her at all times, and any hint of what could be taken as anything but is unacceptable. We've butted heads a few times in the past, as she has absolutely no respect for her students (e.g. when she talks on her cell phone while I'm taking my freaking civics final exam) and doesn't jive too well with me.
Today she must have been extra menopausal.
She was talking about something that happened in chapter 15 of The Iliad that foreshadowed into later events in the next chapter. Mrs. Almond misstated, and I looked back over my shoulder to a friend who sits behind me, to tell her what actually happened.
I look up and the wrath of all living hell is in Almond's eyes.
There was the first lecture. About how I was disrespectful, how I mocked her (which I don't (not in front of her, anyway)), how she had to deal with my comments every day.
I fumed, kept my cool, and apologized through my teeth.
Almond went back to talking.
Now, at this point, I was trying to be respectful and pay attention to her, but she was sitting at the front of the room on a stool, in front of the whiteboard. As I already mentioned, I didn't feel well, and I felt even worse after that sudden swell of anger and embarrassment. So, well, between the white of the white board and the white of the wall is a black line of duct tape. All around her, the whites were jumping forward and changing color and the sides of my head throbbed and I felt the vomit rising in the back of my throat.
So I stared out the window in the door, trying to keep from feeling sick, since I only had a few minutes left of class, but I just couldn't look at her. It caused me literal physical pain.
Mrs. Almond pounced like a lion, and I got a hell of a lecture, ranting and raving and literally shouting at me for about three uninterrupted minutes. And the whole time I had to stare at her, at the white shifting and changing color, and my head whirled. I tasted bile.
By the time I left, I was crying a bit, hurt and so singularly pissed off I couldn't stand it.
Thank God for friends.
A lot of the girls from my history class hugged me and said it was okay, that I hadn't done anything wrong. A couple (love you guys) even went to argue against Almond on my behalf. They all were unspeakably helpful and wonderful. I doubt I would've been able to take that all alone.
I hugged people. I told the story over and over. I went in the bathroom and nearly vomited. I talked to the vice-principal, to give him my side of the story. I sat with my big sister and waited for my mother to come to pick us up. I came home, put on some pajamas, blew off some steam, and made myself feel a little better.
I had to skip two of my favorite classes because of Mrs. Almond's outburst.
Just one of those days.
So it goes.
- The Redhead
---
NaNoWriMo Progress: 19,759/50,000
You know. One of those days.
This was one of those days.
I didn’t feel well when I woke up, hadn’t felt well the day before, but my school has a strict absence policy. You can’t have more than ten absences in a semester or you’ll lose credit for that class, therefore have to retake the course. I already have six, due to sickness (a la croup) and one day to stay home for plotting/NaNoWriMoing. So, I went to school, since I didn't want to miss school unless I absolutely had to.
Most of the morning was okay; I only felt a little dizzy and sick to my stomach, not as bad as it had been the day before. Everything was going along quite well until fourth period rolled around.
Now, I like fourth period, usually. It's my Honors ancient history class, taught by one of the world's single greatest teachers, and we're studying Homer's The Iliad, the Robert Fagles translation, and I adore it. I would adore history class as well if my usual awesome!teacher was there.
But, no. She fell prey to H1N1, which expounded into a few other health issues, and so I've had a substitute teacher for these past couple of weeks in her stead. Let's call this substitute Mrs. Almond (because I'm eating Hershey's chocolate at the morning with almonds).
Mrs. Almond and I have never been on the best of terms. The Redhead is upfront and generally has a strong personality. Vibrant. Let's call The Redhead vibrant. I tend to be loud, speak my opinion, and decided long ago that raising my hand belonged to the elementary school-age of things.
Mrs. Almond, though, doesn't agree. She thinks that students should be seen and not heard. She thinks that we must show the utmost of respect to her at all times, and any hint of what could be taken as anything but is unacceptable. We've butted heads a few times in the past, as she has absolutely no respect for her students (e.g. when she talks on her cell phone while I'm taking my freaking civics final exam) and doesn't jive too well with me.
Today she must have been extra menopausal.
She was talking about something that happened in chapter 15 of The Iliad that foreshadowed into later events in the next chapter. Mrs. Almond misstated, and I looked back over my shoulder to a friend who sits behind me, to tell her what actually happened.
I look up and the wrath of all living hell is in Almond's eyes.
There was the first lecture. About how I was disrespectful, how I mocked her (which I don't (not in front of her, anyway)), how she had to deal with my comments every day.
I fumed, kept my cool, and apologized through my teeth.
Almond went back to talking.
Now, at this point, I was trying to be respectful and pay attention to her, but she was sitting at the front of the room on a stool, in front of the whiteboard. As I already mentioned, I didn't feel well, and I felt even worse after that sudden swell of anger and embarrassment. So, well, between the white of the white board and the white of the wall is a black line of duct tape. All around her, the whites were jumping forward and changing color and the sides of my head throbbed and I felt the vomit rising in the back of my throat.
So I stared out the window in the door, trying to keep from feeling sick, since I only had a few minutes left of class, but I just couldn't look at her. It caused me literal physical pain.
Mrs. Almond pounced like a lion, and I got a hell of a lecture, ranting and raving and literally shouting at me for about three uninterrupted minutes. And the whole time I had to stare at her, at the white shifting and changing color, and my head whirled. I tasted bile.
By the time I left, I was crying a bit, hurt and so singularly pissed off I couldn't stand it.
Thank God for friends.
A lot of the girls from my history class hugged me and said it was okay, that I hadn't done anything wrong. A couple (love you guys) even went to argue against Almond on my behalf. They all were unspeakably helpful and wonderful. I doubt I would've been able to take that all alone.
I hugged people. I told the story over and over. I went in the bathroom and nearly vomited. I talked to the vice-principal, to give him my side of the story. I sat with my big sister and waited for my mother to come to pick us up. I came home, put on some pajamas, blew off some steam, and made myself feel a little better.
I had to skip two of my favorite classes because of Mrs. Almond's outburst.
Just one of those days.
So it goes.
- The Redhead
---
NaNoWriMo Progress: 19,759/50,000
Long time, no see.
There I go again, 17 days without a post. >> Frick.
I'm part of a sort of haunted house event with my school, another local school, and a special effects company. The difference is that it's more of a haunted island, with savage natives and cursed wenches and rough-and-tough pirate guides.
I swear, it's not as stupid as it sounds.
As a matter of fact, it's actually quite fun. I'm a resident "guide," whose job is to guide the "castaways" (visitors) around the island and get them home safely, acting all creepy and piratey.
Last night, I worked from six to eleven P.M. I have no idea how many tours I went through, but it was a complete blast. There were small, terrified children, adults screaming and laughing all at once, teenagers huddling close and trying to act cool (failing when there's a sudden scream), and a particularly attractive young man around The Redhead's age.
Yeah. It was fun.
NaNoWriMo begins in a week. I have a vague backstory for my plot, involving forgotten gods and doppelgangers and trickery and totalitarian governments and a world gone positively mad. As for plot? Even more vague. I can't put it into words, not well, anyway. Wish me luck.
Reading The Iliad, Robert Fagles' translation for ancient literature and history. Two hours of Iliad all in one day, one for the historical aspect, one for the literary. I love it.
My nephew was born yesterday at 5:10 in the evening. I get to meet him today; I can't wait.
- The Redhead
I'm part of a sort of haunted house event with my school, another local school, and a special effects company. The difference is that it's more of a haunted island, with savage natives and cursed wenches and rough-and-tough pirate guides.
I swear, it's not as stupid as it sounds.
As a matter of fact, it's actually quite fun. I'm a resident "guide," whose job is to guide the "castaways" (visitors) around the island and get them home safely, acting all creepy and piratey.
Last night, I worked from six to eleven P.M. I have no idea how many tours I went through, but it was a complete blast. There were small, terrified children, adults screaming and laughing all at once, teenagers huddling close and trying to act cool (failing when there's a sudden scream), and a particularly attractive young man around The Redhead's age.
Yeah. It was fun.
NaNoWriMo begins in a week. I have a vague backstory for my plot, involving forgotten gods and doppelgangers and trickery and totalitarian governments and a world gone positively mad. As for plot? Even more vague. I can't put it into words, not well, anyway. Wish me luck.
Reading The Iliad, Robert Fagles' translation for ancient literature and history. Two hours of Iliad all in one day, one for the historical aspect, one for the literary. I love it.
My nephew was born yesterday at 5:10 in the evening. I get to meet him today; I can't wait.
- The Redhead
I am NOT good at staying up on this blogging business.
This entry comes to you in three parts.
Part one, I suck at keeping up on blogs. Journals in general. Thank God no one reads this, or else they would think that I died. Multiple times. So, yes, trying to fix my total and complete inability to stay with blogs. Bear with me.
Part two, disease. I've been sick since this past Saturday afternoon. The sort of sick that involves fever, massive headaches, more mucus than a human body should be able to produce, coughing, sore throat, and, occasionally, an aching tummy. When four days of Tylenol and Nyquil had no effect, I went to the doctor's last night. They crammed the world's fricken largest Q-tip up my nose to get a swab of my snot from both nostrils, to test for a pig illness, or H1N1. Now, I gladly would have just blown into a tissue and let them wipe it up or something. But no. They had to shove it up where no Q-tip should have to go, and made me bleed mildly.
I sat awkwardly alone for ten minutes while they ran the test. The doctor came in. No H1N1. But they did conclude that I had something called laryngotracheobronchitis. Well, I thought, okay. It's just a long way of saying "bronchitis." (It isn't.)
They gave me a kind of antibiotics to take for the next four days called azithromycin. Apparently that's one kickass puppy; you couldn't get a much stronger defense without an IV drip. Okay, I thought, that's weird and suspiciously not bronchitis-ish.
And it was.
I decided to Google my particular disease and found that laryngotracheobronchitis translates vaguely as croup. It's found mostly in children from three months to six years old, rarely in any older. Also, it is more prevalent in guys, 2:1.
Which begs the question: Why can't I get a normal disease? Why do I have to get the rare, small-child, male disease when I'd be happy with a regular, teenaged, female, common cold, thank you very much? Another question of life that I likely shall never know the answer to.
Thanks to croup, this has been and will continue to be a week without going to school. So that's not so bad, I suppose.
Part three, NaNoWriMo. It's coming back around again, ladies and gents. I'm already starting to plot, stock up on coffee and easy-to-eat-while-writing foods, and spend unhealthy amounts of time on the forums. If you're by some miracle reading this and wish to be friends with The Redhead on NaNo, you will find her account here.
Cheers,
The Redhead
Part one, I suck at keeping up on blogs. Journals in general. Thank God no one reads this, or else they would think that I died. Multiple times. So, yes, trying to fix my total and complete inability to stay with blogs. Bear with me.
Part two, disease. I've been sick since this past Saturday afternoon. The sort of sick that involves fever, massive headaches, more mucus than a human body should be able to produce, coughing, sore throat, and, occasionally, an aching tummy. When four days of Tylenol and Nyquil had no effect, I went to the doctor's last night. They crammed the world's fricken largest Q-tip up my nose to get a swab of my snot from both nostrils, to test for a pig illness, or H1N1. Now, I gladly would have just blown into a tissue and let them wipe it up or something. But no. They had to shove it up where no Q-tip should have to go, and made me bleed mildly.
I sat awkwardly alone for ten minutes while they ran the test. The doctor came in. No H1N1. But they did conclude that I had something called laryngotracheobronchitis. Well, I thought, okay. It's just a long way of saying "bronchitis." (It isn't.)
They gave me a kind of antibiotics to take for the next four days called azithromycin. Apparently that's one kickass puppy; you couldn't get a much stronger defense without an IV drip. Okay, I thought, that's weird and suspiciously not bronchitis-ish.
And it was.
I decided to Google my particular disease and found that laryngotracheobronchitis translates vaguely as croup. It's found mostly in children from three months to six years old, rarely in any older. Also, it is more prevalent in guys, 2:1.
Which begs the question: Why can't I get a normal disease? Why do I have to get the rare, small-child, male disease when I'd be happy with a regular, teenaged, female, common cold, thank you very much? Another question of life that I likely shall never know the answer to.
Thanks to croup, this has been and will continue to be a week without going to school. So that's not so bad, I suppose.
Part three, NaNoWriMo. It's coming back around again, ladies and gents. I'm already starting to plot, stock up on coffee and easy-to-eat-while-writing foods, and spend unhealthy amounts of time on the forums. If you're by some miracle reading this and wish to be friends with The Redhead on NaNo, you will find her account here.
Cheers,
The Redhead
I don't think my foot's supposed to be that color...
Yesterday was something. I should have taken just from the way it started, at five thirty in the morning, that it was not going to go well.
Let's start from the top.
My phone's alarm started to go off at 5:30 AM. Got out of bed after about eight minutes of lying under the covers and hating whomever legalized waking up early in the morning.
Let it be said right now: The Redhead is not a morning person. She does not condone her consciousness any time before eleven AM. Heads roll when she is asked to rise by six. Why, then, would she be getting up so early?
The Sister wished to go to an anime convention yesterday and needed someone to cover for her at work. She bribed The Redhead with a comic book and, lo and behold, The Redhead had a day of work to face, all in order to receive a Sandman book*.
I stumbled out of bed and made coffee, changed into day clothes, and left with The Mother and Sister by 6:15, after waiting for The Sister to stop taking a lifetime to get ready to go.
I muddled around on the internet at work until about 8:30, vaguely considered working on my AugNo, then timed in.
First task: Make breakfast for fourteen hungry small children and two teachers, The Mother and The Nell (who is very lovely and nice), by nine. "Breakfast" was toasted cinnamon bread, cantaloupe, milk, and jam and butter on the side, for the bread, I would assume.
At first it was easy, since The Small Children were all outside doing Small Children things. And quiet. I liked the quiet bit very much. I set the two tables that The Small Children eat at.
Things were mostly ready as The Small Children began to flood inside, though the milk was still in the fridge.
The fridge at The Mother's daycare center is a fickle creature, constantly unwilling to hold the items that it is asked to. Instead it shoves them to the back where you simply cannot find them, or toward the very edge of the shelf so that they fall on your foot when you open the door in a mad hunt for where the hell you put those stupid milk pitchers.
Ever seen cups like the ones right? The one in the middle on the left, the purple-lidded one, is also the cup that a small child at the day care owns. When it is perilously placed on the top shelf and full of milk, which sets it off balance, it tends to hurt like anything when it hits your foot. Those things can hold 10 oz. of liquid. That's 10 oz. barreling downward from about three feet above the ground and can pick up a surprising amount of force.
Plus the bottom's made of hard plastic.
I sort of watched it fall, had enough time to think, "Hey, that's weird," before it hit my foot. Owie. ):
I hobbled into the classroom with the milk pitchers, then returned to the kitchen, reorganized things so that my foot wouldn't get hurt again, and proceeded to get an icepack out of the freezer, sit on the edge of the kitchen counter, and nursed my poor foot.
It was swollen then, and it's swollen now. Only now it's dark brown, too, right on top.
Let me give you an idea of where it is. Flex your left foot. You see that little ridge coming from your pinky toe to your ankle? To the left of that is an irregular bump on my foot, as well as a dark brown bruise about half an inch wide and an inch and a half long.
Walking is still a little painful, and I can feel the bruise when I put weight on my foot. Not bad enough to make me incapable of walking properly, but enough to remind me that, yes, my foot is bruised, and, yes, it hurts.
Urgh. Then I had to clean multiple times and be with loud, high-pitched little people for the rest of the day. My inner hermit was having seizures the entire time.
On the brightside, I made about fifty bucks, and got a Sandman book. That's a plus, at least.
Time to keep on writing, I suppose.
Oh. Speaking of which. I'm thinking about posting excerpts?
...not that anyone will read them. ._.
Writing. Right.
* For future reference, if you want to get on The Redhead's good side, buy her a volume of Sandman.
----
AugNo progress: 872/50,000 words
Let's start from the top.
My phone's alarm started to go off at 5:30 AM. Got out of bed after about eight minutes of lying under the covers and hating whomever legalized waking up early in the morning.
Let it be said right now: The Redhead is not a morning person. She does not condone her consciousness any time before eleven AM. Heads roll when she is asked to rise by six. Why, then, would she be getting up so early?
The Sister wished to go to an anime convention yesterday and needed someone to cover for her at work. She bribed The Redhead with a comic book and, lo and behold, The Redhead had a day of work to face, all in order to receive a Sandman book*.
I stumbled out of bed and made coffee, changed into day clothes, and left with The Mother and Sister by 6:15, after waiting for The Sister to stop taking a lifetime to get ready to go.
I muddled around on the internet at work until about 8:30, vaguely considered working on my AugNo, then timed in.
First task: Make breakfast for fourteen hungry small children and two teachers, The Mother and The Nell (who is very lovely and nice), by nine. "Breakfast" was toasted cinnamon bread, cantaloupe, milk, and jam and butter on the side, for the bread, I would assume.
At first it was easy, since The Small Children were all outside doing Small Children things. And quiet. I liked the quiet bit very much. I set the two tables that The Small Children eat at.
Things were mostly ready as The Small Children began to flood inside, though the milk was still in the fridge.
The fridge at The Mother's daycare center is a fickle creature, constantly unwilling to hold the items that it is asked to. Instead it shoves them to the back where you simply cannot find them, or toward the very edge of the shelf so that they fall on your foot when you open the door in a mad hunt for where the hell you put those stupid milk pitchers.
Ever seen cups like the ones right? The one in the middle on the left, the purple-lidded one, is also the cup that a small child at the day care owns. When it is perilously placed on the top shelf and full of milk, which sets it off balance, it tends to hurt like anything when it hits your foot. Those things can hold 10 oz. of liquid. That's 10 oz. barreling downward from about three feet above the ground and can pick up a surprising amount of force.
Plus the bottom's made of hard plastic.
I sort of watched it fall, had enough time to think, "Hey, that's weird," before it hit my foot. Owie. ):
I hobbled into the classroom with the milk pitchers, then returned to the kitchen, reorganized things so that my foot wouldn't get hurt again, and proceeded to get an icepack out of the freezer, sit on the edge of the kitchen counter, and nursed my poor foot.
It was swollen then, and it's swollen now. Only now it's dark brown, too, right on top.
Let me give you an idea of where it is. Flex your left foot. You see that little ridge coming from your pinky toe to your ankle? To the left of that is an irregular bump on my foot, as well as a dark brown bruise about half an inch wide and an inch and a half long.
Walking is still a little painful, and I can feel the bruise when I put weight on my foot. Not bad enough to make me incapable of walking properly, but enough to remind me that, yes, my foot is bruised, and, yes, it hurts.
Urgh. Then I had to clean multiple times and be with loud, high-pitched little people for the rest of the day. My inner hermit was having seizures the entire time.
On the brightside, I made about fifty bucks, and got a Sandman book. That's a plus, at least.
Time to keep on writing, I suppose.
Oh. Speaking of which. I'm thinking about posting excerpts?
...not that anyone will read them. ._.
Writing. Right.
* For future reference, if you want to get on The Redhead's good side, buy her a volume of Sandman.
----
AugNo progress: 872/50,000 words
Right. August.
It's August 4 now. I ended JulNo with a less-than-satisfactory 156k. That's not bad, per se, but it's not what I was shooting for. So. At least it was more than three-quarters of the way to 200k.
After talking to some of my JulNo fwiends (mostly Doughie, come to think of it), I decided to partake in AugNoWriMo, or August Novel Writing Month, with them. I'm only doing 50k though, so I'm not going to die or anything. In case you were worried.
In other news. On the second, shopping with The Sister and Mother was completed, mostly for things for school such as paper and pens and binders and other important things. But we also happened to stop by Borders on our way to TJ Maxx, since I think that The Mother felt bad about taking her pale, teenage recluse so far outside of her comfort zone, otherwise known as "at home." It was great. The Borders bit. Not the other parts, though.
Got awesome things. Then came home and died.
Yesterday, I veged. Watched an amazing movie twice.
Now it's the fourth, and I'm 639 words along on my August goal. But I like my relaxing. I think I'll keep doing it. :)
Have to work today, since The Sister is skipping out on work at The Mother's daycare center so that she can go to some little anime convention. Most stupid reason to lose a day of potential writing/goofing off time ever.
Also, I'm in the throes of a love-hate relationship with one of my current novels.
Well, bye.
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AugNoWriMo Progress: 639/50,000
After talking to some of my JulNo fwiends (mostly Doughie, come to think of it), I decided to partake in AugNoWriMo, or August Novel Writing Month, with them. I'm only doing 50k though, so I'm not going to die or anything. In case you were worried.
In other news. On the second, shopping with The Sister and Mother was completed, mostly for things for school such as paper and pens and binders and other important things. But we also happened to stop by Borders on our way to TJ Maxx, since I think that The Mother felt bad about taking her pale, teenage recluse so far outside of her comfort zone, otherwise known as "at home." It was great. The Borders bit. Not the other parts, though.
Got awesome things. Then came home and died.
Yesterday, I veged. Watched an amazing movie twice.
Now it's the fourth, and I'm 639 words along on my August goal. But I like my relaxing. I think I'll keep doing it. :)
Have to work today, since The Sister is skipping out on work at The Mother's daycare center so that she can go to some little anime convention. Most stupid reason to lose a day of potential writing/goofing off time ever.
Also, I'm in the throes of a love-hate relationship with one of my current novels.
Well, bye.
----
AugNoWriMo Progress: 639/50,000
