It was lovely, as always. *happy smile* Yeats had his curmudgeon moment because it was 80 degrees and the Faire should be cool and crisp and autumnal dangit, but I had a sleeveless shirt and a filmy skirt along with my corset, so along with judicious applications of beer, I was in no danger of heatstroke. We each splurged on something nice (I found an adorable skirt that I can wear in reality as well as at events like this, he found a nice new pipe and accoutrements), we saw the falconry show, we clapped along with a band called Wolgemut, we bumped into one of Yeats' high-school friends, who was there with his wife and two agog little boys, we curtsied to the Queen. And we ate and drank in tasty abundance, and I have had my yearly scotch egg.

We had planned on Sunday to go into the nearby Small Adorable Town and shop and enjoy the wine tasting rooms, but found out when we got there that the wine shops and a lot of the businesses were closed because it was Sunday. We were not, however, deterred for long.

Me: Well, the chocolate cafe is open, and we both love their macaroons.
Yeats: True, and so is the kitchen gadget/spice shop.
Me: And so is the...hey.
Yeats: Hey?
Me: The pub is open. And so is the Speakeasy Bar attached to the barbecue joint. And doesn't that street sign point towards a brewery down the street...?

Several beers, one basket of fried pickles, one plate of pierogies (did you know you can fry them in garlic butter? My life is forever changed), and one slider trio later, we Lyfted back to the B&B well content with our lives.

Back to work this week, but we are still going out on Friday, because Friday is our 10th (!!!) anniversary. He's getting a plethora of dorky gifts, two of which (his dragon pin and his handmade leather cuff) he already got and wore proudly to Faire. I wouldn't be here without him--not living in our very own house in DE, not attending Ren Faires, not working as a paralegal and (mostly) enjoying it. I liked my life fine as a bachelorette librarian, but I love my life with him.

Reading Log: The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley; The Golden Thread by Suzy McKee Charnas; Final Girls by Mira Grant; An Excess Male by Maggie Shen King; Warcross by Marie Lu; Sheepfarmer's Daughter by Elizabeth Moon; The Possessions by Sara Flannery Murphy; Dear Fahrenheit 451 by Annie Spence; No Time Like the Past by Jodi Taylor, and the essay collection Dangerous Men and Adventurous Women
New office is lovely and spacious, the filing room is right next to my office so I'm not jogging back and forth through the halls, the building overlooks a river and I'll have the option to eat lunch outside at a picnic table on nice days, and our impressive new conference table and chairs will be here by the end of the week.

A few minor quirks. The bathroom is now down the hall--but it's still not my job to clean it, so I can live with that. And my office no longer has a window. I'll probably appreciate that come winter, but I feel very stasis. It looks the same in here now as it did when I got here this morning, and will look the same when I leave around 5. Perhaps I shall mentally label this particular shade of light as The Work Zone, and become super-productive.

Faire this coming weekend! I will be the greatest legal assistant in the land until noon on Friday, then it's out of the khakis and into the corset. FETCH ME ALL THE FRIED THINGS ON A STICK.

Reading Log: Wildfire by Ilona Andrews; The Darkest Minds by Alexandra Bracken; The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers; Phasma by Delilah Dawson; Interim Errantry by Diane Duane; The Western Star by Craig Johnson; The Brightest Fell by Seanan McGuire; The Alice Network by Kate Quinn; Masked Innocence by Alessandra Torre
First I moved house in June. Now the Best Little Law Firm in Delaware is moving offices on Friday.

Time for another round of OMGWTF, How Did I Acquire So Much Stuff? With bonus anxiousness over whether any of the papers I'm stuffing into the shredder pickup bin are vitally important somehow.

At least my new office will not overlook a vacant lot full of cats in heat, rampant weeds, and the occasional homeless dude. Aveline also assures me the new place is within walking distance of a nice little coffee shop.

Reading Log: The Swan Riders by Erin Bow; The Kingdom of Little Wounds by Suzanne Cokal; I'll Have What She's Having by Erin Carlson; The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare; The Reluctant Queen by Sarah Beth Durst; Vengeance Born by Kylie Griffin; Secrets in Death by J.D. Robb; Strange Practice by Vivian Shaw; Darkchild by Sydney Van Scyoc; and the 5-author serial novel The Witch Who Came in From the Cold
Yeats and I finished allllll our chores before 1:00pm this afternoon (him: lawn-mowing, 1 load of laundry, unloading the dishwasher, going to the gym; me: 1 load of laundry, vacuuming, swiffering the kitchen floor, working out), and so as a reward we are drinking cab sav and he is playing video games while I read and we are each cuddled by cats.

Oktoberfest was lovely, we had drinks and brats and I had a delicious slab of German chocolate cake, and we met friends and hung out and I bumped into a process server I have only ever met in a work context who looks very different in a muscle shirt and chugging steins of hefeweizen.

It's been a good weekend.

Reading Log: The Massacre of Mankind by Stephen Baxter; In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan; A Gentleman Undone by Cecilia Grant; Wild Things by Bruce Handy; The Stone Sky by N.K. Jemisin; The Valiant by Lesley Livingston; Tongues of Serpents by Naomi Novik; Elegy for Eddie by Jacqueline Winspear
An old friend from college pinged me last night.

Her: So, I'm working on something involving redemption arcs in literature, and since I know you're a big romance reader, I wondered if you had any thoughts on the genre shift from rapey old-school romances to the kinder, gentler ones, and authors that began that shift?

Me: opening a window to the Smart Bitches website with one hand and Goodreads with the other Oh, I have some thoughts...

Authors discussed included Mary Balogh (the kinder, gentler Georgette Heyer), Bertrice Small (the prose may be purple, but Skye O'Malley and Blaze Wyndham were not here to fall in love with their rapists), Catherine Anderson (diabetic levels of sap, but full of compassion and healing relationships), and Laura Kinsale (how to have a redemptive arc when your hero is a closet masochist sub and your heroine is dommeing by the seat of her pants because it's the Middle Ages). It was a fun conversation, and I think I added at least a dozen books to her reading list. I also hope I get to read whatever it is she's working on when it's done, because she's an excellent writer.

Reading Log: Midnight is a Place by Joan Aiken; The Guns Above by Robyn Bennis; Wicked Becomes You by Meredith Duran; The Jane Austen Project by Kathleen Flynn; The Savage Dawn by Melissa Grey; Still Life with Tornado by A.S. King; Monstress: The Blood by Marjorie Liu; Battle Hill Bolero by Daniel Jose Older; Do Not Disturb by A.R. Torre
We drove to Maryland in the rain on Saturday, drove past the Faire on the way to our B&B, and noted with hope that there was still a decent crowd despite the nasty weather. The B&B was lovely, the resident dogs (Guinness and Tia Maria) were charming and cuddly, and we were able to Lyft down to Annapolis for a delicious dinner at a gastropub.

Sunday morning dawned with streaks of promising blue on the horizon. We garbed up after breakfast, Yeats in his leather vest and kilt, me in a corset and my new Brown Ajah shawl, and headed to the fair. The parking field was a slog through mud, but that is why I wear knee-high boots to Faire. Yeats ducked through the participant gate so he could find the bookstall and get set up, I waited out front for the ceremony and official opening of the gates, then made my way to the bookstall as the sun came out and the merchants started hawking. Yeats and the other author (Doc Coleman, who is super nice and writes steampunk) were ready to go, and it was agreed that I'd circulate, check back in every hour or so, and bring him beer and food as needed until his watch was done. I had my first beer. I checked out the jeweler's, the woodworking stall, and the pottery stall. I got my hair done up into a fancy braid with flowers. I checked on Yeats, who had already sold three copies of Ordination and one of Stillbright and was in a cautiously good mood.

I circulated some more, hugged Bro and Kel and the kids, who were agog at all the Stuff at the Faire plus their Uncle Yeats, got me some lunch, and checked back in. There were six people crowded around the authors' tables, and Yeats was signing a copy. When he saw me, he grinned and said "Still selling! Please bring me some lunch if you would be so kind, I don't think I can leave."

By 4:30, every last copy of Ordination the bookseller had stocked was sold. And fully half the copies of Stillbright. \o/ The booksellers love him and will almost certainly have him back next year, for two days if they and we can swing it. And we ate and drank and were merry, and have new books to read and new stuff to decorate the house with, and we get to do the same again at the PA Faire next month (except the signing at the bookstall, the booksellers there aren't interested. Yet).


Reading Log: Midnight at the Electric by Jodi Lynn Anderson; A Line in the Dark by Malinda Lo (ARC); Rejected Princesses by Jason Porath; Hate to Want You by Alisha Rai; The Liberation by Ian Tregillis
Well, bad news is that the weather forecast for tomorrow down at the MD Faire is bad enough that the owners of Page After Page (which is an open-air bookstall) decided to call things off entirely, and so Yeats and I, while we will be in MD tomorrow, will not be at the Faire.

Good news is that the Sunday forecast is lovely, and we are still on for Sunday. Come see Yeats in his kilt and me in my corset! Come admire the gorgeous cover art of Ordination and Stillbright! Come support a determined author, and have some Faire fun while you're at it!

The plumbers determined that it is not some dreadful plumbing issue that caused the ceiling water stain, but rather a poor caulking job around the spigot and shower dial. They performed professional caulking, and will check back in within three weeks to see if that solved the problem. As I was already picturing our ceiling chopped open, this is a huge relief.

Sleeping in a bit tomorrow morning will also be a huge relief, not gonna lie.

Reading Log: The Demolished Man by Alfred Bester; Bones & All by Camille DeAngelis; Archer's Goon by Diana Wynne Jones; The Changeling by Victor LaValle; Girl Out of Water by Laura Silverman


Aug. 29th, 2017 04:20 pm
We got up Monday morning. I gritted my teeth and did my stupid exercise routine. Yeats headed out to the first day of school. I had my coffee, gathered my things, and made sure I had what I needed for a half-day of work and my annual doctor's appointment.

Only to have my car battery do that weird hiccup-death again. I turned the key in the ignition, the car buzzed, then quit.

I texted Aveline and Yeats to let them know. I called Triple A. They'd send someone, but it would be about an hour since they weren't technically open yet. I called our mechanic to let him know it happened again and I'd be bringing the car in. I waited an hour with a book and the cats. The very nice Triple A guy came, decided to try and jump it before towing--and the jump worked. He was also kind enough to follow me to the mechanic's in case something else went wrong.

An hour at the garage. Aveline was kind enough to let me use a personal day, since at this rate, by the time I made it in to work, I'd be turning right back around and leaving for the doctor. I want to save my remaining vacation/personal days for Christmas and my grandmother's 90th birthday, but what can you do. The mechanic comes out scratching his head, says he cannot find any reason why the car is behaving like this. It might be the starter, but he doesn't want to delve into that on only a suspicion. Then he added "Look, if this happens again, call me and I will make a house call, because if I can jump the car myself, I'll have a better idea of whether it's the starter or something else. No charge today, and I hope I don't see you again until you need an oil change."

I go home, eat a hurried lunch, go to the doctor. Half an hour waiting in the paper robe, but at least I am healthy as a horse. I go back home, collapse on the sofa, look up...

"...why is there a water stain on the living room ceiling?"

Yeats got home to find me on a chair poking gingerly at the ceiling. It looks like the home caulk job the previous owners did around the bathtub may have been less than stellar, and there is a slight leak. Emphasis on the slight, the stain was almost gone when I noticed it, and in the twelve hours between then and this morning has dried into invisibility. Nothing new happened this morning, so we feel it's not an emergency and should just take short showers between now and Thursday, when the plumber is coming to learn whether it's bad caulk or a pinhole in a pipe or what-have-you.

Thursday at 2:00pm. Yeats' first full day is tomorrow. Guess who has to ask her boss for another unplanned half-day off!

Today was all catch-up, and two scheduled initial consults with prospective clients who ghosted on us. Annnnd one call from another client whose request for something I completely misunderstood, leading to a snafu that I will have to fix tomorrow, and I am an idiot and should just drive myself into a ditch on the way home.


Reading Log: Falling by Simona Ahrnstedt; Beauty Like the Night by Joanna Bourne; Dreadnought by April Daniels; Bull by David Elliott; Velvet Glove by Emma Holly; A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah Maas; See What I Have Done by Sarah Schmidt; The Crown's Fate by Evelyn Skye; and the collaborative novel Indigo
Last night at D&D (5th-edition rules set in the world of the Witcher), our merry band descended into the depths of a mysterious silver mine to investigate why the 100 miners and support crew, plus one witcher, had vanished without a trace. The answer, it turns out, is "evil necromantic magic augmented by some weird entropic stone". We discovered this because one person got too close to a scepter embedded in said stone, and suddenly the 100 dead miners and support crew rose from the dead and came for us. Here's what happened:

Orryn the Clockwork Witcher and gunsmith: Well, I can shoot this one to my right. One down.
Hossbjorn the Bear School Witcher and bard: I can bash these two on either side of me. Two down.
Modi the Clockwork Witcher and cleric: I can cast Turn Undead--*rolls a 2*--I cannot. Sorry.
Dufnjall the Bear School Witcher and fighter: I can re-murder these two. Two down.
Mungo the Hornet School Witcher and rogue: I can stabinate this one. One down.
Me, Dagmara the Phoenix Sorceress: FIREBALL.

DM fails saving throw, I roll excellently on my damage roll. 35 zombies off the board.

By the end of the fight (which we all survived by the skin of our teeth, some clutch death saves, and Modi's liberal use of Healing Word), my two Fireballs, one Scorching Ray, one Fire Bolt, and my Phoenix power that gives anyone who attacks me in melee an automatic 5 points of fire damage took out 66 of the 100 undead.

Hossbjorn: ...I will never call you 'Bubbles' again, ma'am.
Dufnjall: But she likes it!
Dagmara: *turns still-smoldering death glare on Dufnjall*
Modi: I am not raising you if she kills you.

I love this game.
Yeats' work year begins today, alas and alack, so this morning was spent switching in and out of the bathroom, determining who got what leftovers for lunch, and dodging Westley, whose response to change is always to get under our feet and yowl about how he does not approve. Hector, on the other hand, was sad that Yeats was not engaging in the usual morning snuggles he has gotten used to over the summer, but not so sad that he didn't immediately seize the warm spot on the bed Yeats left behind, and go right back to sleep. Back to the school-year routine of Friday grocery runs, the occasional school event at which I play Supporto-Spouse, and the sound of Yeats groaning as he reads student essays.

Faire next weekend! Faire next weekend! If you're going to be at the Maryland Ren Faire over Labor Day weekend, stop into Page After Page booksellers on Saturday and/or Sunday and meet Yeats and I! Buy a book, too, while you're there, I can recommend a couple.

Reading Log: Forever, or a Long, Long Time by Caela Carter; Cold Summer by Gwen Cole; The Compleat Enchanter by L. Sprague deCamp and Fletcher Pratt; An Earthly Knight by Janet McNaughton; Empire of Ivory and Victory of Eagles by Naomi Novik; The Delirium Brief by Charles Stross; A Trail Through Time by Jodi Taylor

Still here

Aug. 15th, 2017 09:31 am
Had to take a mental health day yesterday, after two hours of sleep and five hours of lying in bed while my hamster-wheel brain ran amuck. Have I mentioned how much I love my boss and my sick days? Spent most of it sitting on the couch reading with cats, with Yeats periodically checking in for hugs.

I am going to be okay. I am going to help however I can help, and I am going to continue to limit my social media exposure so as not to get sucked down into panic, and my life is still good.

On that note, any happy-fun books you could recommend? I am trying to keep away from the darker end of the spectrum for a while, and stick with things like unqualified happy endings and true love and being fierce and overthrowing oppressive regimes.

Reading Log: White Hot by Ilona Andrews; The Last Neanderthal by Claire Cameron; Buried Heart by Kate Elliott; The Dominant by Tara Sue Me; Hex by Thomas Olde Heuvelt; City of Masks by S.D. Sykes; Now I Rise by Kiersten White
In further proof that Aveline is on my side...

So last week, I was playing phone tag with a potential client. He kept leaving long voicemails, however, his phone was crap and the messages were distorted with interference. I finally spoke to him last Thursday. He demanded to meet with Aveline as soon as possible to discuss his divorce. He huffed when he learned her next availability wasn't until today. He insisted on a phone consult, as he was "a very busy and important man". Then he mentioned that he only wanted the best, which was why he was hiring Aveline, the Family Law Head.

Me: Sir, I think you're mistaken.
Him: I am not, she was referred to me by an extremely important lawyer in California, and I would not accept any less.
Me: Sir, Aveline is not the head of Family Law in the state of Delaware...granted, she has a chair position this year, but...
Him: Yes, that is what I mean. You're not very knowledgeable, are you? I cannot imagine why she hired someone like you.
Me: ...I beg your pardon?
Aveline, on Gchat: Your voice just dropped an octave and 20 degrees, what did he say?
Him: You are the most argumentative and vindictive person I have ever spoken to. I think you should reconsider your behavior towards people like me, who pay your salary...*goes off on 5-minute tangent about my allegedly rude behavior*
Me: Sir, if you find me argumentative and vindictive, then I can only assume you do not want to work with me or with Aveline. Let me refer you to some other local attorneys who may be able to meet with you sooner.
Aveline, on Gchat: He said WHAT? I don't want to work with this guy either!
Him: I want to work with Aveline, and I am not interested in any other attorneys. You will schedule me a conference with her, and I will be certain to mention to her how unhelpful you were and how rude to your betters.
Me: ...(teeth gritted)...
Aveline, on Gchat: Schedule him. I'll talk to him myself and tell him I don't want him as a client.
Me: ...all right, sir, you are scheduled for a telephone conference on Date, at Time.
Him: Good. I hope the next time we speak, you will remember this conversation and be more kind.

After all that (and after some frothing RAGE at home that required Yeats to provide soothing backrubs and ice cream), when Aveline called him this morning, his crap phone was broken and not taking messages. :-P If he calls back when she's here, she will shut him down. If he calls back and she's not here, I have her permission to refer him to last year's chairperson and inform him that she is not taking new clients right now--at least, not him.

Tonight is good, tonight is trivia with friends at a nearby pub. Tomorrow is gaming, wherein Dagmara the sorceress is darned well going to incinerate the next member of her party that calls her "Bubbles" (got rescued from an underwater temple, long story). And the weekends ahead will be fun--Yeats will be selling books out of the bookstall at the Maryland Ren Faire over Labor Day weekend, we will attend a toy show, we will do our usual anniversary weekend in October at the PA Ren Faire, and we will plan a housewarming party for somewhere between the Faires. One jerk non-client will not ruin my day, week, month, or life.

Reading Log: The Deep End by Kristen Ashley; A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierley; Ash and Quill by Rachel Caine; Pashazade by Jon Courtenay Grimwood; Monstress: Awakening by Marjorie Liu; The Art of Starving by Sam Miller; The Red by Tiffany Reisz; This Is Just My Face: Try Not to Stare by Gabourey Sidibe
Bachelorette weekend was fun, as ever (also, where has Toby Stephens been all my life? Congratulations on your son and your genes, Dame Maggie, I need to watch "Black Sails" pronto!). Now Yeats is home, working on revisions of Book 3 and a new project that he's hoping to pitch to agents and/or somewhere like DAW, with lots of help from the editor cats and only the occasional moan and groan about the incipient school year.

I am working, I am only crying a little, I have not yet screamed at any clients, even the ones who really deserve it (HE MOLESTED HER HE MOLESTED HER HOW CAN YOU STILL STAND BY HIM???), and I will confine my screaming to pillows.

Life is good, it is. But I think I may be getting kind of burnt out.

Reading Log: Call Me by your Name by Andre Aciman; Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling by Lucy Frank; The Wicked and the Divine: Imperial Phase pt. 1 by Kieron Gillen; Literally by Lucy Keating; The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee; The Day of the Duchess by Sarah MacLean; Twice Bitten by Chloe Neill; Midnight Taxi Tango by Daniel Jose Older; The Necessary Beggar by Susan Palwick; Tender by Sofia Samatar; The Girl in 6E by A.R. Torre
Yeats' annual Manly Men weekend starts tomorrow, and while of course I love him and will miss him, I kind of want him to pack his duffle bag and grilling gear and be gone already. I have a full miniseries DVD of Jane Eyre waiting for me at the library, plans to order one of everything at the Indian food truck, chocolate stashed, a bottle of pink wine with my name on it, eighteen episodes of Critical Role to catch up on (just finished episode 85, MY HEART) and my fourth iteration of Dragon Age: Inquisition isn't going to play itself.

Bachelorette life, here I come!

Reading Log: The Scorpion Rules by Erin Bow; The Space Between the Stars by Anne Corlett; The Dream-Quest of Vellitt Boe by Kij Johnson; The Submissive by Tara Sue Me; The Crown's Game by Evelyn Skye; The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters

I took the long way around to work so I could stop to get gas and grab some lunch. I even left ten minutes early to factor this into my travel. Welp, first the usual gas station (Wawa, which has decent sandwich options) was under construction, so half the pumps were out of service and the other half were pay-inside only. Between people getting gas, people getting food, and people getting coffee, the line was out the door. So I went an extra few miles out of my way to the next closest Wawa. All their gas pumps were open, and I secured lunch, but the line to get out was insane, and I sat through two traffic light rotations. Then traffic backed up en route to work because OMG, a cop had pulled someone over, and I swear everyone including the bus drivers were slowing down to stare. And then the traffic lights in town were all against me, and it's already 85 degrees here with a forecast high of 95-feels-like-104, and I could hear Aveline using her I-courteously-hate-you voice with a client on the phone as I walked in 30 minutes late...

...5:00 and that bottle of white wine in the fridge cannot come soon enough.

Reading Log: Seven Stones to Stand or Fall by Diana Gabaldon; Supernova by C.A. Higgins; Midnight Jewel by Richelle Mead
So, the story of my mornings now in the new house. It is worth noting that the house has three levels--the finished basement, the living room/kitchen, and the two bedrooms upstairs.

I: get up

Yeats: stays in bed, because it's summer.

Westley and Hector: prowl impatiently around the bedroom while I shower and dress, because someone should be feeding them.

I: go downstairs.

Westley and Hector: race me down the stairs, almost tripping me.

I: go downstairs again, to the basement.

Westley and Hector: start yowling dramatically at their empty food bowls, which are at the foot of the basement steps.

I: getting the food out of the laundry room. "Yes, guys, I know."

Westley and Hector: om nom nom.

I: go back up to the kitchen, have my coffee and my twenty or so minutes of calm time before the day kicks into gear.

Westley: at some point meanders back upstairs and goes to take his post-breakfast nap on the sofa.

A small plaintive voice from somewhere in the basement: "Mew? Mew? Meeeeeeeeeh?"

I: go back down the stairs to the basement.

Hector: is sitting forlornly in the dark.

I: "You ninnyhammer, did you forget that you can go back up the steps?"

Hector: "MOM! Everyone left, but you came for me!"

I: go back up the stairs, almost tripping over a super-enthusiastic Hector who wants to headbutt my calves to show his love as I lead him back up into daylight.

He's only alive because he's so darned cute, I swear.

Reading Log: Bitch Planet: President Bitch by Kelly Sue DeConnick; The Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter by Theodora Goss; The Thing About Love by Julie James; A Break with Charity by Ann Rinaldi; A Second Chance by Jodi Taylor; A Lesson in Secrets by Jacqueline Winspear
Dear client:

We have not heard a single solitary word from you in four months. Four. Months. We left messages at your last three (!!!) known numbers, we sent letters to your last two known addresses. I checked online obituaries just in case. Not a peep.

So don't start calling me and Aveline names when you finally call the day before your hearing and Aveline's not here to talk to you. You've had five months since your last hearing to try and pull yourself together, but all you want to to is cry about how your life is so hard and you really feel you could clean yourself up and kick the habit for good if you just had someone to love. Yes, because having a baby to care for fixes everything, and is certainly not a stressor of any kind. Definitely do not hang up on me when I ask for an update on whether you have a house suitable for your baby, a job that will help you provide for your baby, and a support system in case heroin proves more tempting than life with your baby. Which it has in the past.

Yours truly,

The legal assistant who is really tired and grumpy and wants some chocolate and also for people to be better.

Reading Log: A Lady Awakened by Cecilia Grant; I Crawl Through It by A.S. King; Scarlett Undercover by Jennifer Latham; The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery; Iceling by Sasha Stephenson; A Wind in Cairo by Judith Tarr; The Caped Crusade: Batman and the Rise of Nerd Culture by Glen Weldon
Dear car whose battery has mysteriously conked out for no discernible reason twice in the last two weeks:

Please don't need anything more expensive than a new battery (less would also be good!). We just purchased the biggest thing ever, and I am still panicking a little about that. The mechanic says he doesn't know why either, but hopefully a new battery will fix it. IT BETTER.

Reading Log: What's Left Behind by Gail Bowen; Amberlough by Lara Elena Donnelly; Rebel of the Sands by Alwyn Hamilton; Food of the Gods by Cassandra Khaw; Boy's Life by Robert McCammon; The Glass Arrow by Kristen Simmons; Commedia della Morte by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Yay, the roofers came.

Boo, the roofers came at 7:01am, while I was getting out of the shower and Yeats was dead asleep downstairs in the den because he couldn't get to sleep in bed due to a defunct pillow and rampaging cats. Today is going to be an all-caffeine-on-deck sort of day.

House is 95% unpacked, and we will be getting a lovely new sofa and coffee table for the living room on Friday, which will allow us to put up wall hangings and the like now that we know where furniture will be. Yeats treated himself to a real charcoal grill, and we grilled burgers and corn last night despite the sudden advent of a summer thunderstorm. I have birthday gifts, and a couple more coming that shipped late, and I am wearing a new lip stain called Darth Side of the Moon that is helping me face the day as a grumpy Sith Lord (Lady) should.

Onward. Lightsaber at the ready.

Reading Log: Saints and Misfits by S.K. Ali; The Master by Kresley Cole; Cold Reign by Faith Hunter; A Single Stone by Meg McKinley; The Girl with the Make-Believe Husband by Julia Quinn; The Gauntlet by Megan Shepherd; Silver Silence by Nalini Singh; Beren and Luthien by J.R.R. Tolkien; The Refrigerator Monologues by Catherynne Valente; All Systems Red by Martha Wells


Jun. 26th, 2017 03:21 pm
We are moved and we are alive and have not murdered each other. No, not even after the Incident of the Bar Glasses, where he could not find the box where he'd packed the bar glasses and stomped and raged and swore vengeance on the movers for a solid hour, only to find them safely buried in a larger box of clothes three hours later. The bedroom is sleepable and has lovely new light-blocking curtains, because we like sunlight, but not at 5:30am in the summer. The basement is a wonderful cool den lined with bookshelves, and I have maybe 90% of the books unpacked. The kitchen is still magnificent, and Yeats made celebratory pasta carbonara in it last night. And we wielded our new gardening tools yesterday and did battle with the Triffid Rosebush (don't laugh, the thorns on that thing are vicious) and the Dandelions that Ate Manhattan and the Unidentifiable Six Foot Tall Weed, and emerged victorious. And the cats are back, and Hector loves his new house, and Westley hates it, but has graduated from hiding under the bed and sulking to following us around the house loudly telling us how much he hates it.

I'm still exhausted. But a happy exhausted.

Reading Log (what little time I've had): A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge; To Ride Pegasus by Anne McCaffrey; Down Among the Sticks and Bones by Seanan McGuire; A Symphony of Echoes by Jodi Taylor
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