Got some stuff done at the new place! For the most part it’s still just boxes and I’m still half-dead, but I did get the fridge magnet-ed and my tea/coffee hutch set up. Definitely made it feel like home to me, even if we haven’t got our bed in there yet. 😉
Pretty excited about the new place! I’m at my mom’s house now, but when I get back to town next week I’ll continue unpacking and putting things away (as well as grabbing the last load from the apartment). Hopefully more pictures as things get put together.
Sorry I’ve missed the last few days of posting; the move has really been all I could do. The stress has calmed down now, though.
It was heart-attack inducing. I couldn’t breathe. Black spots covered my vision.
Ok, maybe I can describe it.
I’d gone to make some of my favourite tea — Yogi brand Green Tea Echinacea Plus — because it’s good for getting rid of colds, and I’ve got a tickle in my throat.
The tea box was full of bags of another type of tea.
I’m out of my favourite tea.
I had to make another type of tea that has echinacea in it. It’s not as good.
Add that to my closet exploding last night, and I’m starting to believe my Oma’s ghost is haunting me. And her WASP F/DP (Frieslander/Dutch-Protestant) spirit is pissed about what I’m doing in her old apartment: too much sex, not enough knitting.
Though she could have picked a better way of telling me than to make all my yarn fall down go boom. Or fucking with my tea; that shit is sacred, man, don’t do that.
Dammit. Now I have to exorcise my Oma. This is going to be awkward.
First, please note that when I say “diet” I do not mean “calorie counting fascism designed to make you feel terrible about yourself and trigger all your eating disorders”. I mean, quite specifically, all the food that one ingests — one’s diet.
Next, I do not speak for all writers here. I am only talking about me — the food that I ingest in my writerly life. And when I say “writerly life”, I mean my life, because I’m never not a writer.
Wheee double negatives in English!
The Writing Schedule
Different schedules create different diets in my life. The first one I’m going to delve into here is when I’m writing all day, everyday. I wake up in the morning (roughly). I make a pot of tea and sit down in front of the laptop. I pound out words until my tea pot is empty or my bladder full (or both). I refill or empty as needed, and continue writing.
This pattern repeats all day, when I finally decide that I’m done writing and I need to get some actual food in my body before it rebels and kills something small and furry in a display of animal primalness.
At which point I will gorge on something meaty and then collapse into bed.
That schedule is my favourite, but it doesn’t pay the rent (yet).