We spent some time rocking in a dark room, as she's been a bit sleep-resistant all day (I read her some bits of The Martian off my phone, which seemed a somewhat more appropriate thing to share with her than the next chapter of The Silent World Within You, which I am reading for the first time this weekend and loving extravagantly. But now she has consented to sleep in her swing, and the faithful hound is lying directly across from her on the couch, keeping watch over her, so I can have both hands free to catch up on email and wildly procrastinate about doing any writing.
And so: posting here!
2. I am compulsively bouncing myself in the chair that I'm sitting in (which does indeed bounce a bit). SELF. IT'S OKAY. YOU DON'T HAVE TO ROCK HER. SHE'S ACROSS THE ROOM BEING ROCKED BY A WONDERFUL MACHINE.
*continues rocking anyway*
3. So I've been spending a lot of time hanging out/helping out with the baby, is I guess what I am saying? Not a lot a lot of time--I live in a different city and work full time--but this has been my last three weekends. Which is awesome, although it does lead to being a bit scattered on Mondays, and writing a bit less than I'd like to, although I'm not sure there has really ever been a time when I was writing as much as I'd like to.
4. OTOH with the help of some appropriate daily goals on Habitica I've been writing quite a bit! I'm getting really! quite! close! to finishing my sequel to The Omega's Bodyguard (Dessa Lux), which will be called The Omega's Pack. It's currently about... 48,000 words, and hopefully will wrap up somewhere in the 55-60k neighborhood within the next week or so and I can start getting it ready to publish! :D
Fic writing is also thumping along--I finished Act II of the broken dick epic WIP codenamed Aluminum Bastard, which brings about a shift in tone away from, like, "sometimes happy but always with an undercurrent of secret misery" and it is, in the early stages of Act III, a bit bewildering to be writing things getting better.
(*still compulsively rocking while alone in chair*)
And I've gotten to the point where I've written a few bits of my Yuletide story and am convinced that it will be totally manageable and not really that long at all, so, you know, remember this for later when I'm sobbing about it on December 19 or whatever.
5. The movie started nearly two hours ago and Iulia has not yet stepped out of the theater to text me and ask how the baby is doing so hopefully that means either Spectre is good or she is having a bit of a nap in the theater.
6. I put this on Tumblr the other day, but in case people over here are also interested:
His phone had buzzed a while ago, but it took Nick a long time to work up to actually looking at it. It would be Rusty, because everybody else had finally gotten the picture and stopped trying to talk to him. Rusty would have too if he'd been anywhere within a thousand miles of Nick Bellici since he got his discharge from the hospital and from the Marine Corps.
But Rusty was in California, and he was the only person texting Nick, and he had saved Nick's life about a hundred times. Nick eventually picked up his phone to see the latest update on Rusty's impossibly perfect life.
Teaching Sam to swim. Wish you were here.
Nick blinked at that staccato statement of facts. It was how Rusty talked, Nick knew that. He could hear Rusty's voice in those eight words as clearly as if Rusty were sitting next to him.
It was just hard to figure out why Rusty was saying it. What the fuck did that have to do with Nick? He wasn't the guy next to Rusty anymore. Nick was the guy who was in bed at three in the afternoon in his darkened apartment in Indiana, not even bothering to pretend to watch TV.
Rusty was the guy who was running around being athletic with his perfect new boyfriend. Who he wanted Nick to come meet. In California.
Sure. That was going to happen.
Nick rolled over onto his side, wincing at the familiar pull of his scars as he moved. He stared at his phone some more.
He had to answer. He had to answer and sound like himself, like the old Nick who Rusty still thought he was sending texts to, or else Rusty would know the truth. And if Rusty knew, then there wouldn't be one person left in the world who believed--even if he was completely wrong--that Nick was still anything resembling the person he used to be before that IED.
Nick wasn't anything at all anymore. Not really.
He scrolled back through his texts with Rusty, trying to work out the right joke to make. It was usually a joke, he thought. There was nothing but blankness in him, but for Rusty he wanted to string some words together. He just couldn't figure out the answer to that statement. Teaching Sam to swim. Wish you were here.
Finally he scrolled back far enough to find an exchange of texts from a few weeks ago, before Rusty's perfect new boyfriend and Rusty's new insistence that Nick should visit. It had been a good day, when words had been easy. Nick had used a lot of them, and there was a thought in them that he could use now.
He opened up a new text and typed slowly, one-handed. Nah, man, if Sam saw me in swimmies he'd dump you in a heartbeat. It's better this way.
"It's a joke," Nick muttered, "because nobody wants to see me naked."
His own voice sounded strange, echoing off the walls, and the words wouldn't stop looping in his ears until Nick unearthed the remote from under a blanket and turned on the TV. Judge Judy was haranguing somebody about stepping up and taking responsibility.
Nick turned onto his other side, putting his back to the TV, exposing his scars to the air. He tucked his head under the pillow so he could only hear the rise and fall of voices.
He'd texted back. Rusty would think he was okay. That would have to be enough.