Zombie cranberry juice

My cranberry juice went bad. =(

Cranberry juice should last forever. Why doesn’t it?

I now am worrying that the people who pick up our recycling are going to be judging me for recycling a cranberry juice bottle with an expiration date of September…of last year.


Anyway this just goes to show you…something. Something about me not being a real adult, or something, I don’t know I kind of lost my point here.

And now I need to buy new cranberry juice.

(Or maybe not…the unopened bottle from last year is probably still good!)


PS: if you don’t hear from me for a while it’s because the unopened bottle wasn’t good and I drank it anyway and am recovering. Or dead. But probably just recovering.

I forgot the bra. Bad Katje.

I’m delaying the release of Stranger Skies in paperback by a month. It was supposed to be out by Halloween, but my editor has found a bunch of things that got missed in the last round of edits, so those need to be fixed before we can release a paperback.

Of course, that means I must also fix the ebooks. That will be happening as soon as I have the full list of edits to be made; I will then be sitting down and doing the print book and all the ebooks in one go. (Read: how to work yourself to death over a few days.)

If you’ve already bought the ebook, then you should get a notice when the updated version is available.

If I’d had the same selling experience since release as I did with Bellica I wouldn’t be concerned about this, but I’ve actually sold four copies of Stranger Skies since releasing it 11 days ago (and one sold via pre-order). Apparently that marketing thing can work.

Hopefully the edits aren’t too major and you won’t notice a thing.

Later today expect to see a vlog of me reading Fifty Shades of Grey and drinking whiskey. No bra on my head. I forgot. I was very tired. Next time.

I can’t math

Or do research. Or blog. Or anything.

December 24th to January 6th is not the 12 Days of Christmas. December 26th to January 6th is.

I’m two days off with this giveaway thing. Even after I counted four times before doing the first post. Even though I knew that January 6th was Epiphany and therefore the last day of the 12 days. Even though I used an actual physical calendar to count.

To solve this problem! The giveaway is still open until midnight-ish PST on the 6th/7th. Ok let’s just say till the morning of the 7th. Whenever comments close on these entries; that’s when.

Comment on any/all of the posts posted between December 24th and then to enter. Including this one, and the extra post I’m going to make sometime in the next few days.

You will just have two extra chances to enter.

I figure that’s fairest. Instead of making y’all pay for my screw-up, y’all get to profit from it! (Anyway, 14 is a lucky number for me, so it all works out. Right?)

So go forth and comment! Anything goes on today’s post and the extra one I’m creating; the others are still Christmas/Holiday/Solstice/WHATEVER-themed.

That’s it for today. Go about your business. And comment! For a chance to win two ebooks (in three formats)! THAT’S AWESOME, you have to admit. Even if I fail at ze maths.

Galactica is trying to murder me

She knows I’m a Cylon.

Galactica is my 1987 Volvo Station Wagon. She’s a good ship, but then she does shit like try to kill me and I feel like beating her with a hammer. Or calling up Aaron Douglas and screaming “WHY WON’T YOU MAKE MY BIRDS FLY? I need my birds to fly!

The latest shit she pulled was this weekend. I was heading to my friend’s house in Burnaby for a Friday night write-in. It was raining, which is the usual in Vancouver from about the end of September to the end of June. It was night time as well, which is usual after the sun sets. I had my wipers going so I could see and not crash and die in a fiery ball of fiery death.

Then there was a clunk! and a scraaaaaaaappppppeeeeeee, and suddenly I couldn’t see out the driver’s side window. The wiper blade had come loose and flipped itself so it was now pointing outwards, and the metal bit that holds the blade on (I have no idea what these things are called, ok, I just drive the car and check my oil once a week) was scraping the windshield glass.

I pulled over and turned on my emergency flashers and stood in the pouring rain trying to fix the godsforsaken thing for about twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour. I’m not sure, because when my limbs freeze I lose track of time. It soon became apparent that I would not be able to reattach the wiper blade in the dark and driving rain, because what the fuck do I know about wiper blades, so I did the next best thing.

I drove with my window down and wiped the rain away by hand. The wiper blade was separate from the arm-thingy, so I just had to hold it by the corner, lean forward, and wipe away the rain when it got too thick.

The only problem with this is I have to use my left hand to wipe the windshield, and that’s my writing hand. So by the time I reached my friend’s place for the write-in, my hand was numb and cramped and wanted to fall off. I…didn’t get much writing done. Also her cat distracted me. It’s a valid excuse.

After the write-in I managed to fit the blade back onto the arm, and started the drive home. It was still raining, so I turned on the wipers. And the godsdamned thing flipped again, after about five minutes of driving.

I spent the entire drive from Burnaby to Coquitlam wiping by hand. I was exhausted and had frostbite on my hand by the time I got home. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating, I was cold ok.

Once I reached home, I was able to fix the wiper blade again. I have a brightly-lit underground parkade in which to park my car, therefore there was light! And I could see what I had been doing horribly, horribly wrong before!

I fixed it and went to bed.

Saturday I decided to go to my boyfriend’s house. He lives in Delta. It was misting outside, but nothing as serious as rain. When I got about ten klicks from home — ie, past the point of no return — the rain started, so I turned on my wipers.

Oh, wait, make that wiper. Now that the driver’s side blade was fixed, the arm refused to work. I spent the entire drive looking out the passenger side of the windshield. Or out the window. That was fun. I love driving slowly and getting my face all chapped.

I am now stranded, more or less. Ogre’s going to take a look at the wipers and see if he can fix them, but if he can’t I have to go home before sunset so it’s a bit safer, and then I will be stuck at home until…I don’t know. Until it stops raining, or I have money for transit. So. June. (Gas is cheaper than transit right now.)

So much for my plan of not being a shut-in anymore now that I moved to Coquitlam.

ETA, 6:42pm: My boyfriend fixed it. Because he’s a frakkin genius, that’s how. (That or he’s more like Chief than I realized. In which case...win.)

Ultimatums to myself

So back when I was still traveling, and I believe it was when I was in Salem, OR, specifically, I set a goal for myself. An ultimatum, even. I told myself I was going to finish The Jade Star of Athering by April 28th. I was giving myself 10 days after my final exam (the 18th). I figured that I’d be able to power through it.

But then I visited my boyfriend on the way home and he had a cold. And I got that cold worse than he did, which seems vastly unfair, and slept for several days after my final. Which I’m actually still surprised I managed to complete, let alone show up for.

So now it is the 25th and I am no where near done with Jade Star. I’ve not even continued past where I got last month, before the show became The Thing That Ate Katje’s Life (In TECHNICOLOR!).

In three days, I’m supposed to be done with the first draft of a novel. The first draft of the sequel to Bellica. I want to release this thing this summer. I need to get on it.

*pictures inevitable mental breakdown if she tries to finish a novel in 3 days*

I think I’ll extend the “DO THIS BY THIS DATE OR YOU’RE DEAD” date. I’ll be kind to myself. It’s not November, after all.

I have until Cinco de Mayo. My parents’ wedding anniversary. May 5th to finish The Jade Star of Athering, first draft.

Hold me to that?


Mundane Monday: on being optimistic

On Saturday, I spent perhaps an hour and a half crying — no, sobbing, raging with tears in my eyes, lamenting my situation to the heavens above. They didn’t listen very well, but I don’t expect them to.

Then on Sunday I did things. I was generally productive. My boyfriend came to visit me and we got to watch some TV together, because I was feeling well enough to sit up for a little while. It was a fairly good day.

Today I got around all day without the walker. A big feat, considering I had to go get bloodwork done at a lab and then went to physiotherapy (which was nice, though a bit tough at points). And then I walked back to the apartment after physio. (It’s across the street.)

I was upset on Saturday, and I had every right to be. You see, I’ve never been young. Well. I’ve been young, but I’ve never felt physically young. And I’ve suffered enough emotional traumas to age me prematurely, so I’ve never felt mentally young, either. I’ve never fit in with my peers — never understood them, or been able to relate to them. What has seemed important to them has always baffled me.

My obesity started when I was a young child, and it complicated health problems already extant. My inability to stay healthy continued my downward spiral, and as a consequence I’ve never felt like a young person in this body. I’ve never felt that youthful joy, that energy, that feeling of immortality. I’ve always felt older than I am.

I sort of had this dream of getting healthy, presumably losing some weight, though perhaps not all of it, and then becoming young. I had this dream that I’d get healthy and then finally be able to do all those really spontaneous things that young people do: sky-diving, maybe, or a four-day hike through the wilderness. Maybe I’d take up street hockey, or horseback riding. All those physical things, those things that make it a joy to be in your body, those things I’d never really enjoyed before because it was exercise and exercise has always been tainted in my mind by both emotional trauma and the fact that it’s difficult for me to do.

I’m fat-positive, and I do believe in HAES. But the fact is, my body is not healthy at this size and it never has been. I felt much better when I was 60 pounds lighter. My frame operates better when there is less adipose tissue weighing it down.

Now, my discs are bulging.

And what that means is that my dream of being a young person is gone. I’m not being overly-dramatic here — I have to be careful. I’m forever that unfun friend with the back issues, who has to constantly be on guard lest she injure herself doing something completely normal that everyone else can handle. And the thing is, even though I had my issues, I tried to never let anything get in the way of doing things.

Which is possibly what led me to this predicament.

So no, I’m not going to be fun, spontaneous Katje anymore, and I’m never going to be able to feel that youthful immortality. Which, perhaps, is better for me in the long run — but at the moment I’m having trouble seeing the bright side.

I’m trying to be optimistic, though. I’m looking at what I can do.

I can go jogging (once I’ve lost some more weight, and once the back is healed). I can take up boxing. I can probably do some forms of martial arts. I can write, I can paint, I can sing, I can dance burlesque. I can go swimming. I can canoe and kayak. I’m going to have to be careful doing some of these things, but ok — that’s my new reality, now, and the point is I can do them in the first place. They’re not completely stricken from my list of options.

And I have to force myself to be optimistic. To be happy with what I can do. Because I’m basically a cat declawed, and there’s no going back from that.

Whatever Wednesday: Sewing woes

Aside from the sewing machine I showed y’all on Monday, I also have a Singer 513 Stylist at my house (the older one I bought is currently at my boyfriend’s place). I managed to get this one working yesterday and started work on my costume for this weekend.

(Yes, I realize it’s cutting it close. Don’t judge me.)

Well, at some point I noticed the bobbin was getting all tangled, so I took the machine apart to try and fix it.

Now I can’t get it back together.

No, I don’t have an owner’s manual.

I still need to finish my costume.

Crap on a stick.