miladygrey

It got cold, and my body is responding in its usual way, by demanding hibernation. Getting out of bed is haaaaaard. I have not managed my kettlebell routine once this week, and have granted Yeats permission to whip the covers off me tomorrow morning if I try to skip it again. We do the activity thing so the brain will make the happy chemicals. Also, tomorrow Aveline and I are going to lunch for the yearly check-in/what to expect in the coming year meeting, and I want to be awake and ready for that.

Hector is his usual sunny self (the magic warm spots {heating vents} on the floor are working again!), but he is dealing with a side effect of one of his meds--vertigo. He was never the most graceful cat, given his one wonky eye and the poor depth perception that came with it, and with added vertigo, he's become very hesitant about jumping up onto anything. We don't mind scooping him up onto the sofa or a chair, but scooping him onto the bed is more problematic, especially at 3am. After a week of my getting up once or twice a night so he would stop crying to be picked up, we ordered a little pet stairway from Amazon and set it up at the foot of the bed. Before we went to bed on Sunday night, I swooped him up and down it once or twice, hoping this would be familiar to him since we have two stairways in the house already and he has no problem with those. Sometime in the dark of the night, I woke up enough to hear his collar jingle, then *tump-tump-tump*, followed by a warm weight on my legs and the sound of his purr. He is such a good kitty, and we praise him to the skies every time we see him go up his steps.

I am reading an 1100-page alternate history where the Nazis won, and it is so bleak in spots (something profoundly horrifying just happened) that I am taking a break. How profoundly horrifying, you might ask? The book I am reading as a palate-cleanser is Shirley Jackson's We Have Always Lived in the Castle. Yes, even Merricat Blackwood is preferable to Nazis. I bet she could deal subtly with a few of them. Side note, last year's film version of the book is now on Netflix, and if you would like to see Sebastian Stan being a Very Bad Man, or Alexandra Daddario being luminous in 1960s-style clothing, this is your movie.

Reading Log: Pastrix by Nadia Bolz-Weber; The Wicked and the Divine: "OKAY" by Kieron Gillen; We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson; Black Bird of the Gallows by Meg Kassel; Bound for Sin by Tess LeSue; The Harp of Kings by Juliet Marillier; Imaro by Charles Saunders; The Children's War by J.N. Stroyar (it's good, but so, so bleak, be warned!); Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarchuk

Hey, friends who use or have used the pet-stuff-delivery service Chewy, how has it been for you? Do things arrive on time and in good shape? Have you used their pharmacy to purchase meds? If something goes wrong, do they make it right? I ask because our vet is slowly and inexorably upping the costs of Westley and Hector's fancy health food, and I'm pretty sure doing the same on Hector's two heart meds. Just at a glance on Chewy, I can get their food for cheaper, one of Hector's meds for cheaper, and possibly a generic version of his second med (I may call them and ask about this) for the same lower cost. We are trying to save money as we slip into the holiday season, and this plus not having to schedule around the vet office's varying hours every month would help. Chime in!

Reading Log: Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo; To Be Taught, If Fortunate by Becky Chambers; When She Reigns by Jodi Meadows

Couldn't sleep last night, busy brain, plus Hector rousing himself every twenty minutes to drape himself over my thighs/press against my side/take over my pillow and purr in my ear/walk all over my chest as a sign of love. I also have a sneaking concern that I may be coming down with something; my throat is raspy and I have that dragging not-quite-right feeling weighing on me. But no fever, and no congestion, so we forge on. Aveline and Merrill are at a hearing all morning, and I'm leaving at 1:30 for a doctor's appointment, so besides the one client stopping in to sign a couple of papers, I will have minimal human interaction today, which suits me fine. And maybe they can throw in a flu shot at the doctor's office, just to cover all the bases.

Yeats and I will be at Between Books (the Platonic ideal of the dusty used bookstore full of treasures and/or old paperbacks) in Claymont this coming Saturday, and we will be at the Baltimore Book Festival in...well, Baltimore...next weekend, Friday night and Saturday! Come see us, come buy books! I will do my best to deal with whatever this looming blargh is between now and then.

Reading Log: Sword and Pen by Rachel Caine; How to Survive a Horror Movie by Seth Grahame-Smith; The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow; The Twisted Ones by T. Kingfisher; Echo North by Joanna Ruth Meyer; Rising Stars: Born in Fire by J. Michael Straczynski

We had our annual anniversary Faire weekend, and it was lovely, as always. Started out shaky, though--we arrived at our B&B late Friday afternoon, rang the doorbell and knocked, no one answered. The owners live in a separate house out behind the B&B proper, so I called the house number (as per usual when no one's in the main building).

Owner A: Hello, Restful Delightful Manor.
Me: Hi, A, it's Grey and Yeats, here for our weekend.
Owner A: Oh! I mean, we're delighted to see you...but we had you booked for next week.
Me: ...o_O...
Yeats: Why did you just make that face?
Owner A: Okay, B and I will be up in one minute, let's figure this out.

So they let us in, Yeats found the email from this spring confirming our weekend dates, and Owner B realized with chagrin that some wires had been crossed when they updated their booking software this summer--our original reservation had slipped through the cracks, A and B had assumed that we would be there on Columbus Day weekend (which we usually are, we just needed to switch this year), and so we were on slightly different schedules. Fortunately, our usual room was available, and aside from apologies on both sides, everything was fine. We are 100% confirmed for Columbus Day weekend next year, though. I may also send them a thank-you note for being so willing to adapt.

Here is their website, by the way, and Yeats and I both recommend them highly if you are going to be in that area of PA. 15 minutes from the Renaissance Faire, easy drives to local small towns, wineries, Amish country, etc, the rooms are lovely and comfortable, and A makes amazing breakfasts. I mention this because their revenues have been going down due to AirBnB and similar, and we love them and want to support them.

Had a blast at the Faire! It was a glorious day, sunny and breezy and cool enough for Yeats to wear his pirate coat and me to wrap up in my Brown Ajah shawl. We saw the falconry show, and met Edgar the Raven, who will gladly take folded dollar bills from your fingers to help keep him in toys and his fellow birbs in raw meat. We bowed to the Queen, watched our favorite band perform, saw an artillery demo, drank a lot of beer. Things got hectic by the afternoon, when everyone and their brother had arrived due to the nice weather and beer lines were 20 minutes long, but we managed. Yeats indulged in a handmade ceramic pumpkin lantern which currently lives on our porch (Dear Great Pumpkin, it's very sincere!), and I have a lovely little leather phone pouch with a peacock design in beautiful colors that I can use every day.

Yeats is actually back at the Faire today, because he pitched it as a viable field-trip option to his school, and apparently everyone was so delighted at a field trip that was not to the Herr's potato chip factory (the default field trip location for every elementary, middle, and high school in a fifty-mile radius) that they jumped on the idea. The Faire is open on select weekdays for school trips like this, so he got to wear his garb today (I imagine the kids are agog) and has promised to eat a Scotch egg in my name. I am only mildly green with jealousy--I briefly considered offering up my services as chaperone, but Faire with Yeats, his coworkers, and a bunch of kids I don't know is not at all the same thing as Faire with just me and Yeats. Plus, between vacations and all the days and half-days I had to take due to car trouble earlier in the year, I'm down to four more vacation days left in the year, and I want to save those for Christmas if possible.

Back to work. Opposing counsel sent a 70-page document that can be summarized as "you guys are being SO MEAN to my client", and I get to draft the response while Aveline plans her cutting remarks.

Reading Log: A Little Hatred by Joe Abercrombie; Five Dark Fates by Kendare Blake; Rusalka by C.J. Cherryh; Protect the Prince by Jennifer Estep; Land of Wolves by Craig Johnson; Monster, She Wrote by Lisa Kroger and Melanie Anderson; Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry; The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite

The melatonin gave me very vivid, happy dreams of Daniel Levy winning an Emmy and being adorable about it, so I was mildly annoyed to wake up and find out that this is not what happened. Please conform to my imagination, real world.

Oktoberfest Friday night was a delight, full of beer and potato and an apple torte that I would have buried my face in had the entire pan been presented to me. The Pierogi Fest a few towns over did not fare as well, alas. Apparently, when the Fest began at 3:00pm, the first several people in line at the pierogi tent purchased in bulk--like, buying dozens at a time--and so by the time Yeats and I and our friends arrived at just before 4:00, the volunteers were passing out vouchers for a free drink at one of the town pubs to the folks in line, since they were going to literally run out of pierogies before the majority of the line got to the tent. We decided that the line wasn't worth it, and got drinks and snacks at a nice restaurant. Which was fine, but I was really anticipating the pierogies. Oh well.

Two weeks to Ren Faire! This unseasonably warm weather had better cool down appropriately, I am too ladylike to sweat through my corset, and Yeats is hinting that my anniversary gift is wearable and Faire-appropriate and will arrive early...

Reading Log: Song of the Abyss by Makiia Lucier; The Unkindest Tide by Seanan McGuire; The Crescent Stone by Matt Mikalatos; The Right Swipe by Alisha Rai; Dark Fire by C.J. Sansom

We played Adventures in Middle Earth last night (schedule's gone wonky due to various peoples' RL, we just try and fit in a session every ten days or so as best we can), and the usual shenanigans ensued.

Grim the Hobbit: While everyone is scouting, I will stay back at camp and make dinner.
Tolman the Hobbit: Don't touch my mushrooms.
Grim: These are camp mushrooms, sir.
Tolman: I have counted them. I know every mushroom in the mushroom box.
Yeats, the GM: Of course hobbits would have a mushroom box.
Tolman: Grim and I each have a key, and they must be inserted and turned simultaneously.
Asantir the Elf (me): What happens if only one tries?
Tolman: Lockdown is initiated, and the Rider of Rohan makes dinner.
Aethelfred the Rider: Grass soup for everyone! My horse loves it!

Yeats the GM has caught us in a magical trap where we're all getting angry at someone else in the party. Asantir is focusing all her ire on Amandil the human Ranger.

Asantir: We wouldn't even be here if you Rangers would just do your jobs. Idiot humans who can't even smile or bathe once in a while, and why do you need all that rope anyway, good elven hithlain is wasted on you--
Amandil: Now, Asantir, calm down, you're so much prettier when you smile.
Everyone else: ...O_O
Asantir: *eyes bulge*
Altan the Dwarf Warden: I am going to play a soothing song right the hell now.
Asantir: I have a +1 dagger and I am not afraid to use it no matter how many shadow points it gets me!
Yeats, laughing so hard he can barely talk: I'm not sure I would give you shadow points for that.
Asantir: I use my fingers to prop up the corners of my mouth and glare at him.
Altan: Soothing song! Soothing song!
Yeats: Everyone make a wisdom saving throw at advantage due to Altan's musical stylings.

Back in Rivendell, reporting our findings to Elrond.

Asantir: Hey, is Elrohir around as well? (Asantir flirted like mad with Elrohir the last time she was in Rivendell. Hey, go big or go home.)
Yeats: Nope, Elrond says Elrohir and Elladan are out on orc patrol.
Asantir: Too bad. I was going to up my game.
Grim: Hand-holding in the moonlight?
Asantir: Even better. Prolonged eye contact.
Anaranye the Grumpy Older Elf: You hussy.

I'm sure Tolkien is gently vibrating in his grave, but we're all having fun.

Reading Log: Sapphire Flames by Ilona Andrews; People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks; Me, Him, Them and It by Caela Carter; Scorch Dragons by Amie Kaufman

In the further and continuing interest of helping me sleep at night and not getting depressed/suicidal over the state of the world, I have stopped looking at Twitter (except for maybe three people), and that has already helped an astounding lot. Not that any of them will know I have stopped looking, since I never actually joined Twitter, so really everyone is happy. Especially me, who hasn't had any nightmares about people I love being dragged into concentration camps as the sky catches on fire in over a week.

This weekend was fun and peaceful--we went down to the meadery we like so much downstate, and Yeats won the mustache portion of their Viking Beard and Mustache competition, and we cooked a new recipe, and grilled some steaks and corn out back, and watched Alton Brown on the new "Good Eats" and accumulated a few more new recipes to try. A couple more peaceful weekends, then in the latter part of September comes Indulgence Weekend. Oktoberfest on Friday night! The Pierogi Festival in a small town about an hour away! Sunday will probably be a recovery day, but what lovely things to recover from.

The new attorney (Merrill) is here, and has mostly been in conference with Aveline all day, ensuring all the paperwork for her joining the firm and getting its benefits is in order. We have smiled and shaken hands, but that's all. I should have the chance to walk her through a few things (like keeping files in order!) sometime this week.

Reading Log: Good Morning, Midnight by Lily Brooks-Dalton; Silence by Shusaku Endo; The Parting Glass by Gina Marie Guadagnino; Sailing to Sarantium by Guy Gavriel Kay; Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia; Summer of the Monkeys by Wilson Rawls; Midnight Beauties by Megan Shepherd; Far North by Marcel Theroux

This morning:

Aveline: I see you did eleventy-one things on Friday while I was in court all day, thank you! Did you do this one other small thing?

Me: Oops, I did not, it slipped my mind.

Aveline: Just remember going forward that it needs doing.

My Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria, because that's precisely what it is and now I know it has a name: She hates you and you are so stupid for forgetting that one thing and you are a failure--

Me: *crams RSD into small mental box, locks it, shoves in into back of mind* Not today, Satan. *goes ahead and does thing, adds note to calendar to do it again this time next month, proceeds with day*

I have scheduled a mammogram (my first, but given my family history, it shall probably be the first of many) for next week and an annual exam for October. And at the annual exam, I am going to look whoever they give me to in the eye and say "Birth control pills are fucking up my brain, is there any other method that won't?" The several days per month of wildly-seesawing emotions, depression, and frustration are not any more manageable even when I know they're coming, and I'm tired of it.

Melatonin apparently gives me extraordinarily vivid dreams. This has its downsides when the dreams go dark, but last night I had the dream equivalent of an AU Good Omens miniseries where Crowley and Aziraphale went on a roadtrip with teenage Adam and teenage Warlock, and much fun was had by all. Can I put in a request for a fix-it Avengers dream next?

Yeats is back at school, we are back on our up-at-6am-schedule, and the cats are Not Pleased. Westley indulged in a monumental grump this morning; he wouldn't even look at me when I petted him and told him to be good and not murder his little brother. Hector just decided to enjoy being able to sprawl over half the bed, and was still purring when I left.

Have finished all four seasons and the Christmas episode of Schitt's Creek, and am waiting anxiously for Season 5 to pop up on Netflix. Anybody know a date for that? I need more Patrick and David in my life.

Reading Log: Reticence by Gail Carriger; Empress of Forever by Max Gladstone; The Affair of the Mysterious Letter by Alexis Hall; The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen; Home for Erring and Outcast Girls by Julie Kibler; Harpist in the Wind by Patricia McKillip; The Hole in the Moon and Other Tales by Margaret St. Clair

I have just...not been sleeping very well, the last week or so. This is due to multiple factors. One is that Yeats stays up later than I do during the summer, and so most nights, he comes in about an hour after I've gone to bed, and no matter how quiet he is, I always wake up at least halfway. Another is that Hector has been super restless (maybe he senses he's going to the vet tomorrow for follow-up bloodwork?), and has taken to sleeping on my pillow, wrapped around my head. Which is just adorable, but it's also hot, and he chews on my hair, and he purrs so loudly that it's like sleeping beside a small outboard motor. And another is because my anxiety is through the roof due to PMS and, y'know, the world in general, and my brain just hamster-wheels. I've been taking Pure Zzzzs (melatonin/lavender/chamomile) on the worst nights, which 100% helps and does not have the hangover aftereffect of regular Zzzquil, but not even melatonin can defeat waking up to loud purrs and a paw splayed lovingly across my mouth.

And the anxiety is spiking to ridiculous levels. We had a clusterf*** yesterday--a client turned in nine thousand documents at the last minute, I was rushing to upload everything , and Aveline read me the frustrated riot act when it looked like half the stuff had been deleted and the other half inadvertently shared via the cloud with opposing counsel. My brain took a huge jump directly to "you are a miserable failure and don't deserve to work here or eat food or have friends and you should punish yourself", and I spent a couple of hours doing what cleanup I could while that played on a mental loop. It turned out that most of the clusterf*** was our client's fault; they helpfully tried to upload things on their own and did the mistaken deleting, and Aveline was able to recover what we needed and apologized to me. But it looks like I'm going to have another talk with whatever NP/ob-gyn gets me for my annual checkup in a few weeks. I have gone from "mild PMS once per month" to "three to five days of panic, depression, and urges to self-harm once per month", and this is Very Not Good. And that was stacked on top of Yeats unexpectedly spending the day at the mechanic while he got a new car battery, plus some other RL stuff...no wonder my brain won't shut off or shut up.

Today is better! We will play Adventures in Middle Earth tonight, with the whole gang, probably even in person so Yeats can break out the minis and battlemaps. Dover Comic-Con is still this weekend, and we had fun (despite sunburn) and sold a lot of books last year, so we're hoping for the same again this year, minus sunburn. M and Sugar's little boy is a trooper, and his first surgery went well. I am here, my head is above water.

Reading Log: Nomad by R.J. Anderson; Going Deep by Anne Calhoun; Flight of Magpies by KJ Charles; A Different Light by Elizabeth A. Lynn; Heroine by Mindy McGinnis; Wild Things by Chloe Neill; Dissolution by C.J. Sansom; A Bad Deal for the Whole Galaxy by Alex White

The friends I've mentioned who recently had a baby, M and Sugar, are kind of going through it right now. The little guy was a bit premature, and has an underdeveloped jaw that is causing some issues with breathing and eating. He's going to need a couple of surgeries ASAP, and so they are dealing with preparation for that, with M having to go back to work b/c his job believes paternal parental leave is a myth, and with the unfun bonus of his car suddenly requiring a couple thousand dollars' worth of repairs. They have a big network of support around them, but every little bit helps, so here's their GoFundMe. I plan to also chip in with pie, because nobody should have to survive on hospital food, especially not my friends.

Reading Log: Arrow by R.J. Anderson; Queen of Ruin by Tracy Banghart; The View From Saturday by E.L. Konigsburg; Dragon's Winter by Elizabeth A. Lynn; The Five by Hallie Rubenhold; Salvation Day by Kali Wallace