Worked out last night. 208 lbs, stronger, faster, no change in clothing size (although my shirts are getting tight).

Wrote about 12 minutes at lunch, 250 words, most of which will be editted out, but the story is begun, and that will help the next 7000 words come through. The cat, however, has entirely failed to explode. Damned stable cat. I don’t expect much feline detonation in the first thousand words, though, and may yet write more this evening.

So.

Gym +
Writing -/+

My hair is now short, and worn carelessly foreward. My head is now sleek as a seal’s, but without that unpleasant fishy smell. And, the young lady at work who keeps the front desk told me that my ‘do is Sassy.

Yes, sassy.

…

How, in the name of Vidal Sasson and Pantein Pro-V, can hair be impudent & saucy?

Hmph.

But there it is. My hair is sassy, and there’s nothing, really, to be done.

Working out: Including Happy Fun Ball, wood chopping, and gym, but not recording all of it. +/-
Working on house: Bathroom is completely drywalled, +
Wood stacked: 2/3 of a row, +
Rought draft begun: Sort of. Not on paper. -
Bankruptcy: Not begun. -

Hm. The goals on which I’m not meeting expectations involve sitting quietly and doing paper stuff. Why would that be hard for me?

[more thinking]

Ah. What it involves, actually, is sitting quietly and concentrating. Well.

New short term goal. Mmmmm….

• Spend 30 minutes out of each 24 hours writing, whether paperwork or stories. If necessary, get up early.

I slept, and, sleeping, dreamt….

I was visiting the children’s house, where both my progeny still lived in my dream. They were subdued, Othello outright quiet and Troll sort of watching me. I walked through the house, touching things here and there where they were familiar to me, not really missing the place — it was dark, and cluttered and cramped — and found a stand-alone counter with a single drawer in the middle of the kitchen. I opened the drawer and found a bible, aged and well-handled. I knew without looking inside that this was where Othello wrote his livejournal, perhaps in the margins.

There were great chunks of pages missing. You could see the blocks of paper missing without opening the book. I did open the book, and found nothing written by Othello. Nothing at all. I was staggered. All those months of thoughts and feelings, written, often well, but always in his voice, gone. GONE. I stalked back and forth through the house, waiting for Zelda to come home. I didn’t know what I could do, now the deed was done, but SOMETHING needed doing. From the adjoining room, Troll, who apparently had seen what she’d been watching for, said, “Just like she did to Daddy’s.”

I was still pacing, clenching and unclenching my hands, turning faster and faster in my circuit, waiting for her to come home, not knowing what I could do when she did, pacing and clenching and unclenching….

There is some of that stuff around here. Last Friday I played with it. I didn’t play with it Monday, but split an oak tree into pieces no larger than my arm — about a cord of wood, stacked. My rib cage, lower back, and abdomen tell me I had a good core workout. Tuesday I went to the gym and played with gravity again. I think I’m ready to move a bit more resistance onto three of my exercises, which is fairly pleasing, and have gained seven pounds without increasing my waist circumference, which is also pleasing. I may or may not fiddle with another oak tonight, but will almost certainly wrestle sheets of drywall around the house and improve the bathroom thereby.

So. Physical stuff is on track, give or take, and house stuff will be furthered if I do what I set myself tonight.

No writing has been done, beyond this log, since I set my goals in ether.

I’ve plans for costuming, nebulous ones. I want to support the general Buffiness around Evil Willow, but have reservations in being Giles; largely being Giles in the hallways means dressing conservatively and fiddling with my glasses and looking for something to cross-reference. I mean, cup o tea, cup o tea, almost got shagged, cup o tea is fun, but eventually one must go to the loo. Now, Ripper was somewhat more entertaining, but still l look very much like everyone else in the streets, if the everyone else looks somewhat disreputable.

Maybe…maybe Lorne. I can sing Loungese. I look nice in green. I enjoy leisure suits. Hm.

My boss just spent a few minutes sharing an insight into some of the workings behind the scenes of our little existance. I find my mood is brightened enormously.

http://www.thecomingoftan.com/