Bleeding Edge
March 11
Today began dreadfully, but got better. I woke earlier than usual because our buttwipe neighbor was pounding on the door. He wanted me to move my car so "Willy May's brother" could pull his big-ass boat into the curb without blocking a driveway, since it's street-sweeping day, and they ticket if you're in the red, in front of driveways, etc. I don't know, have never before heard of, and certainly don't care about Willy May's brother, but since I don't want open warfare with my neighbors, I moved my car. And when I came out half an hour later to drive to work, the bastard behind me hadn't even pulled up; so I was roused for nothing. That put me in a sorta foul mood. Then I had a monstrous headache at work, and loads of work to do at the computer. Hihg point of the day was my boss giving out gifts he got in Portales; I got a silver roadrunner pin, which now adorns my much bebattered backpack. I worked straight through lunch, and slunk out about 5:15, feeling whupped. Then came home, where I had nothing in the mail but bills I can't pay. I ate a slab of lasagna, and caught BART to Berkeley. Worked out with Heather, which must've got endorphins flowing or something; I felt better. Painkiller finally started working and drowned-out the headache, too. Afterward I went to Au Coquelet, and spent a buck and a half on a huge cup of coffee. I've been in the habit of drinking expensive espresso drinks, but truly, cheap coffee is my first love. I read War for the Oaks, which I borrowed from Susan; it's one of those canonical urban fantasy books that I've been meaning to read forever. It's a wonderful novel, the sort I want to luxuriate in, so I didn't let myself read the whole thing tonight. I got home around 9, and wrote for a bit; did 1200 words on the Frog story, which is so very good. I'm just barely skilled & talented enough to pull this story off, I think; I'm right at the bleeding edge of my capabilities. But it's so cool. Happy Tim. Then Heather came home, and I hung out with her a bit, and had cream of wheat with dried cherries in it, and happiness suffused me further. Niceness. I'm sort of dreading tomorrow morning, though... hope I don't get another headache. It made the day really unpleasant. And all that stress and anxiety is still there (about stupid money, which I hate; as long as I can pay my bills and buy books I don't worry about it, but right now I can't do those things, grr). I wish some of the many writing-related checks I have coming would arrive... normally I'm not impatient about writing money, it's just little treats from heaven, supplementary income, but I could use those $50, $40, $60, $600 checks right about now... Sorry to bitch about such banal stuff. It's on my mind overmuch of late. Good night.
Words written since February 1, 2002: 29,100
Words written since last entry: 1,400
Tell me I'm beautiful. Tell me it's okay.
Tim Pratt Read about my current publications.
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