Today's Secret Word is "Clowder"

"Clowder" is the collective noun for cats-- as in, a pack of wolves, a pod of whales, a business of ferrets, a clowder of cats. The word appears a couple of times in my current story.

Why the hell does it have to be so funny-sounding? I mean, you've got a crash of rhinoceroses, a shrewdness of apes, a sounder of boars, a sloth of bears-- those are cool! But cats, those totemic creatures, those beasties associated long with the infernal, the divine, and the mystical, those "amoral gunslingers of the animal kingdom" as Stephen King wrote, are stuck with clowder. It sounds like something you oughta eat. With a spoon. They got named that just to ruin the poetry of my tale, no doubt.

Did I use enough italics in the above paragraph, you reckon?

So. Work was not at all stressful. Busy, but not terrifying. I actually had a nice day. They're going to make me like my job again, so I'll be sad when I have to leave. Bastards.

I went back to the optometrist again today. They're going to get a reserved parking space for me soon, man. I'm already on a first-name basis with the staff. I was supposed to have a follow-up to make sure my new contact lenses are good, but the doctor was out sick. They claim that somebody called my answering machine to tell me, but they lie. So I rescheduled, and I'll be back there later this week.

Mmm. Optometrist's assistant. She's so lovely.

I am, like, such a stalker. I swear I'm not contriving reasons to go to the optometrist all the time. They tell me to come back. Actually, the assistant in question is the one who tells me to come back. Maybe she's the stalker.

Right. I should be so lucky.

I chilled this afternoon, answered email, talked briefly to Meg, read some. Meant to call Amily, but got side-tracked hanging out with Scott and Lynne and then started writing and now it's late late late on the east coast. If you're reading this, Amily, I'll call you tomorrow, okay?

Don't you love it when I use my journal-space for messages I should just e-mail? I don't know why I do that. Flagrant abuse of web-space. I'm a monster. I'm out of control.

Apparently I'm making Mary Anne feel comparatively unproductive. Well, I mean, that's good because it's getting her to write more fiction and her fiction is lovely, but really, she's so wrong. This is Mary Anne we're talking about. I am not more productive than Mary Anne. I do not run a pro webzine. I am not studying for my Ph.D. I do not teach college classes. I do not edit anthologies. I have two books on my shelf which prominently feature Mary Anne's name on their covers-- she has no books on her shelf that even contain my name.

I'm glad to take a little credit for getting her to write today, though. :)

Productivity for me tonight: 1600 words on the ongoing story. Wacky stuff happening, and I even know what happens next. I composed while listening to Vitalogy by, yes, Pearl Jam. Or at least listening to those selected tracks that don’t blow.

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Oh! Oh! Yay yay yay yay yay! Tot is born! Karen and Pär have a son! Go here to read about it! They are going to be so much the best parents ever. I'm serious. These people are wonderful.

Wow, what a nice thing to find out about. Great ending to a lovely day.

Now I will read, and have coffee/tea, and sleep. I am happy. You be happy, too. This is a good world, here.