Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Civilized people do not honk their car horns repeatedly and yell "Heeey!" over and over in the middle of a residential street at three fucking thirty in the fucking morning. Park the damned car, get out, and ring the goddamned doorbell, you twit, instead of making a racket and blocking traffic in one direction for fifteen minutes straight.

"If you want to sell me something, don't use words that make me ponder, if the conclusion of that pondering will be 'You're trying to sound smarter than you are.'" -- syntonic_comma, 2005-11-24

I had a few days of feeling just a little bit perkier for just a little bit longer at a time, and hoped (but didn't hold my breath) that it was a positive trend and a sign that the half-year protracted ass-kicking by the Glenn-fighting duo Migraine & Fibro^[*] was perhaps coming to an end.

Argh.

Not so good the past few days. This afternoon my Big Project requiring assorted chemistry and careful timing is: getting my nails done before the acrylic comes loose, and buying milk. (The trip to the nail salon has been postponed over and over for a week and a half for not-feeling-well. Playing guitar is getting dangerous.) Feh.

The theobromine, basil/lavender, and ibuprofen ought to start making their presence felt ... real soon now. If they work well, I get my nails done and scurry home before they wear off. If they only help a little, I just move my car back to my side of the street before rush hour and call it a day.

OTOH, having already given up on pushing myself to do any more than that, maybe I can convince myself not to feel guilty about getting some writing done instead of Trying To Do "Real" Stuff. (Y'see, in addition to all the classic psychological impediments to making the leap from daydreaming-wannabe-writer to something-of-a-writer, I've got the -- probably common but less talked about -- problem of "feeling like writing is shirking other 'more urgent' things on my to-do list" and something I have to "give myself permission" to do. Don't bother pointing out how boneheaded this attitude is; I've identified that already and am working on changing it.) The collection of unwritten essays is filling up my skull again, and I need to let some of them out before there's no room left for thoughts to wiggle around in.

Anywho, that's where I am this afternoon. Wish me luck.

Whoa. Looking back at the phrasing and imagery in the preceeding paragraphs, maybe the theobromine is already affecting me. Maybe I should schedule fiction or poetry instead of political essays for this afternoon.

[*] Wait, wait, do I really want to stick that mental image out where comic book illustrators and would-be comic book illustrators may be lurking? Uh oh.

Made it to the nail salon, but first, a Baltimore City Paper photographer spotted me crossing the street to my car, pulled over, and asked for an impromptu photo shoot (probably a page 5 "slice of life in Baltimore" thing, sometime in the unspecified future, if it gets used at all). I'd gotten into my car by the time he got his parked, and he waved a shiny City Paper press badge at me to get me to roll down my window -- partly, this got me to take him seriously despite not being in the mood for interruptions; mostly it made me go, "ooh, I want one of those..." Got out and recrossed the street a few times while he shot me with a couple different bodies, changed film, etc. Noticed that he did pretty much what I would have done if our positions had been reversed (photographically, I mean, not counting my being often to timid to approach a potential subject in the first place, that is).

Since two music stores are near the nail salon, I ducked into Bill's Music to get a feel for what's easy to reach on a five-string and what I can expect from the low B string when composing for an instrument that has one (answer: not good in a double stop any lower than D, but a groovy punch all the way down by itself ... so I won't be using it as a drone -- oh, dianec42, have you got flatwounds or roundwounds on yours?). Bought guitar strings, repeated the mantra, "do not look at the mandolins, do not look at the mandolins, do not look ..." on the way out of the store. Got nails done. Bought milk and ibuprofen. Started feeling dizzy again. Got home. Ate. Felt even more dizzy. Programmed VCRs. About to turn lights off and close my eyes.

Dropped my PDA. :-( Cracked the case but not the screen or the digitizer. *whew* Maybe I should go low-tech when feeling crashy -- a notebook or notepad is harder to damage and cheaper to replace. But I'd have to be sufficiently aware of how badly I'm doing, to think to switch.