We can still hop
After leaving an answering machine message with the “Farting my ABCs” possible-publisher, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from them again. But I did. They emailed me today, making it clear that the book is NOT rejected, and they’ll try real hard to get back to me as soon as possible (so, almost definitely within six months then).
So I have a lot more waiting to look forward to – but the book still has a chance.
Aieee!! F%#*!
Have had some internet/work issues this week. (The subject line is a summary thereof.) Nothing too serious though.
I’m writing from my parents-in-laws’ house (hi Barb). Today I phoned the “Farting my ABCs” possible-publisher again and. . . . left a message on the answering machine. Arg!
I didn’t quite make my weight goal, but caved in on Wednesday and bought a huge pile of candy anyway. After three kilos, it’s not a fail – it’s a temporary suspension of success.
http://twittertales.wordpress.com is doing a roaring trade, which makes me feel that I really am getting somewhere. It’s wonderful to know so many people are reading my inane babbling. I love this millennium.
#138: Poetry Reading
My plan was simple: entice people into my home, then strew poetry books around and begin reading aloud. Keep reading until someone else started reading. (Thanks to reader W for this suggestion.)
The plan worked better than I expected. It turned out we (“we” meaning my husband, CJ) had half a dozen poetry books – The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Seven Centuries of Poetry in English, etc. I of course contributed my part: Now We Are Six, by A. A. Milne. (I have a feeling there’s some kind of conclusion to draw here, but can’t for the life of me think what it is.)
We began with Dorothy Parker:
THEORY
Into love, and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen —
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?
We dived into Lewis Carroll, Chauncer, Robin Hobb, Robert Louis Stevenson, Shelley, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Colerige (still don’t know how to spell his name), Tennyson, and Dylan Thomas.
We also spent a few moments with William McGonagall, who is well-known as the world’s worst poet. He used to walk into pubs and start saying his poetry, then get a variety of objects thrown at him. Then he’d go and write poems about getting a variety of objects (wet wash cloths, peas, etc) thrown at him.
Here’s a mercifully brief sample:
ALAS! Lord and Lady Dalhousie are dead and buried at last,
Which causes many people to feel a little downcast.
——
And here for your delectation is the A.B. “Banjo” Parterson piece, “Been There Before” as read by my partner, CJ:
S#69: De-Clutter
It’s been at least six months since I dared look at the single shelf that holds all my jeans, non-hanging skirts, and non-hanging shirts (and, evidently, a good number of hanging skirts and jackets, too). Horrifying stuff:
Motivated mainly to find a particular skirt long since lost in the melee, I emptied out the shelf (mainly onto the bed) and sorted it into sleeve length of top and leg length of bottoms. My cat was kind enough to make sure she shed on items that had been safely buried until this moment.
Once everything was sorted (and some of my ridiculously high number of tank tops were put elsewhere until Summer), I folded everything and put it back in a sensible order.
I’m so delighted to find I was left with five of each sleeve length of shirt, and seven of the longer sleeves that will get increasingly important in the next little while. It turns out I don’t need to buy more, which is an added plus.
Play along at home: Pick one small, messy area of your home (messy either because it’s in constant use – making it useful to you – or very rare use – meaning it’ll stay tidy a long time) and make the clutter go away. Alternatively, look through your house (probably your cupboard in particular) and pick five items to throw or give away. It’s a wonderful feeling.
#144: Go somewhere I’ve never been (Pine Island)
Most of this article has been moved here, where I get paid per reader (hint hint).
I have enjoyed clambering on river rocks in ankle-length skirts since I was ten years old (there are photos of that somewhere). There’s something about it that’s just scary enough to be enjoyable and adventurous without actually risking major physical damage. And, it’s pretty.
It was scarier than usual today, because I’d had a panic attack in the morning, which meant I was still rather shaky and unco. As a result, I wasn’t quite as graceful as I’d like.
On the up side, since J-Lo’s posterior is meant to be her best feature, I reckon I’ll be at least five times as popular once this photo appears. (Or maybe ten times as popular, to be perfectly honest).
I did manage to recover some daintiness on the way back, and (once back on shore) felt far mightier than when I set out.
Play along at home: Climb on or over something you probably shouldn’t (based on my experiences as a child breaking walls, shelves, and so on – test the strength of the climbable objects first).
Tomorrow: Poetry reading (as suggested by reader W).
One-Legged Lady
Using my patented stand-on-one-leg method of weighing myself, I was able to clock in at 80.2 today. There’s a tiny chance I’ll be able to eat chocolate tomorrow, but Thursday’s a fairly good bet. I feel good enough about myself to post a rather unflattering photo on http://twittertales.wordpress.com later today.
If I don’t hear from the “Farting My ABCs” publisher by Thursday, I’ll call them then. It’s possible I misunderstood – they said something like, “According to our records, that reply should have happened ages ago.” I interpreted that as, “Your rejection was lost in transit” but it may have been, “Why yes we ARE taking forever – we’ll get right on to that.” So maybe there’s hope after all.
My main blog (this is not it) is doing remarkably well. Since I began the program of Daily Awesomeness, the average population of readers multiplied about ten times. Last week it doubled again, and today I was put on a blogroll at http://www.yesandyes.org/. It’s extremely therapautic to have something to do for myself and my career while waiting for the publishers to reply.
Best of all, the long weekend is over. AND school holidays (when I sometimes earn nothing for a fortnight).
. . . Monday Morning
I hate public holidays. No mail. (For a while this morning I felt quite good, because a new week had begun and publishers would be back at work. And then I remembered it’s a public holiday. Oh, foccacia.) Plus I generally lose income, because I work casually (or I have to work, like today, which is silly too). Those who read http://twittertales.wordpress.com will know I crashed especially badly last Friday. It felt very chemical (rather than “I am legitimately sad”) even at the time, so it’s probably to do with switching contraceptives. I’ll keep an eye out at this time next month.
Today I weigh 80.7. The weight loss has slowed to an agonising crawl (which is also how I’m currently moving around, since I’m feeling hungry again) but at least it’s going SOMEWHERE. Each day I expect a nice surprise (because I’ve earned it) but it hasn’t happened yet. When I do get under 80, I’m going to the lollyshop in Gungahlin – the one near Cockington Green.
On the up side, yesterday I put my cat in a fish tank. For those too lazy to click over to http://twittertales.wordpress.com, here’s all the pictures I took:
That may just have been the best two minutes I ever spent.
#134: Play with a cat
‘Nuff said.
I spent about half an hour looking at this photo and giggling, and I giggle again every time I look at it. No cats (or fish, or glass items) were harmed in the making of this picture.
Play along at home: Find a pet (or, in a pinch, a small child) and amuse yourself at their (safe and harmless) expense. Remember to choose wisely, kemosabe, or you will die of blood loss at a pair of angry claws.
Coming soon:
#138: Poetry reading (thanks to reader W).
#144: Go somewhere I’ve never been (Pine Island).
#89: Edit a friend’s novel (hello to the friend – you know who you are).
#45: Take St John’s Wort (has calming properties).
#132: Try, try again.
#3: Go crazy in a lolly shop.
#118: Make a collage.
S#63/7: Cello and Piano performance
Wow! Number 63 (Experience something new every day for a week) took a lot longer than a week.
Today I returned to ABC’s Sunday Live for the last time this year (next month it’s in Melbourne). Myself and CJ and another friend watched Cellist David Pereira perform with Timothy Young on piano. (They also had a minion to turn pages.)
Everyone knows wooden instruments are the biz. My husband and I plan to become billionaires and have a lair featuring a baby grand that rises up from the floor at the press of a button (and of course someone standing by to tune it each time). We were originally going to have a full grand, but decided not to be ostentatious.
The inside of the piano lid (we’re back in reality now) was so well-shone we could watch Timothy Young’s performance mirrored inside.
But the cello was the most beautiful thing on stage, made of a dark wood (oak?) with darker tracings. It’s Italian, made by Guidantus in 1730. Just being in the room with it was worth the trip.
They played three pieces – “Jungle Fever” (which had a chase scene), “Lullaby for Yvana” (David’s daughter – he wrote it) and a Sonata by the greatest emo pop artist of the early 1900s, Sergei Rachmaninov. During the sonata you could pick the good bits, because either Young clenched his jaw furiously, or Pereira grinned (depending on the type of good bit).
Thanks for the messages of support yesterday. As expected, I feel pretty okay once again.
Tomorrow: Play with a cat (warning: choose your cat wisely).
S#63/6: Live Music at an Irish Pub
Today was an out-and-out awesome fail. The pub itself (King O’Malley’s in Civic, Canberra, Australia) is awesome (I even wrote about it here). CJ was awesome, smiling tolerantly as I fished ice cubes out of my Baileys and spat them into someone’s discarded Guiness (because no-one, NO-ONE, dilutes my Baileys). There were fire twirlers outside, and a random person complimented me on my boots through a loudspeaker poked out the window of their car (and why not?) That was all pretty awesome, but I was not.
No-one can sustain awesomeness forever. (Okay, some people can. I hope they get eaten by iguanas.) I have an anxiety disorder, and every so often I freak out for no reason and all the colour falls out of the sky and the air sours in my lungs and existence isn’t worth the souls it’s written on.
Today’s emotional crash was relatively rational, since a few bad things happened (the car had more stuff wrong with it, so it cost twice as much as expected; one of my books has a serious flaw that may involve rewriting huge chunks that I thought were finished; I’m dieting, so a chocolate binge is out despite how fat and angry I feel; my phone is out of credit four days earlier than it should be so I’m trying to go without until then; someone I know is suicidal but not considered sick enough to live in a place that will look after him).
Tomorrow will most likely be a good day. All the things that really matter are okay – CJ and I still like each other, my family is safe and happy, and we still have money in the bank.
But I feel awful. So today’s real awesomeness is to accept that emotions happen.
Play along at home: Eat too much (for me). Write the emoest emo poem ever. Hit something. Whine to a friend. Cancel your plans and watch TV instead. Do something ridiculously indulgent from Steff Metal’s list. Spend too much. Insult a cat/dog/fish with great cruelty. Swear. Exercise too much. Refuse to snap out of it until you feel like snapping out of it. Play depressing music. Cut off your hair. Go to sleep. Stay up late. Cut up your school/uni books into tiny pieces. Take photos of your toes. Leave your heater on all night. Chuck a sickie. Play with matches. Cry. Give it time. (I’ve done six of these, mostly in the last hour. Seven, if you count paragraph 2 as poetic.)
Today’s photo is of yours truly clutching my single glass of Baileys while sitting in the dark:
Tomorrow: Sunday Live – a cello performance. And most likely a better mood.
PS: Have decided the scratch on my leg from “Frolic in a Fountain” is probably shark bite.
PPS: Wrote the above entry last night. Feel worse this morning (apparently I gained a kilo this week, despite not eating chocolate. Epic angry fail). I still reckon tomorrow will be better, but today’s probably a write-off. Some days are. It’s 10:00am and I’m going back to bed until further notice. What are you doing today? Or not doing?
