Underrated, underexperienced Lazy Saturday.

I don’t get lazy Saturdays very often. So finding out that I had Saturday off this week was a little strange. Being shorthanded at the hotel, I was thinking about how much they’d be screwed if they didn’t call me in—or if they did and I just made sure to say “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO.” I wasn’t feeling working on my second Saturday off this year, and I was going to laze around and do nothing.

(This song basically sums it up—except for the fact that I didn’t go out and meet any nice girls for some really nice sex, anyway.)

I’d also intended on dropping in on my folks, delivering some turkey legs to them, but…man, getting that sleep this morning was good. I didn’t feel like doing anything. So I didn’t.


So far, I’ve looked up a bunch of recipes so that I could make my own answer to several junk-food favorites, eaten a little something-something, put a tiny bit of work into what will be some table-top RPG errata, and basically fantasized about a big, huge, bison burger. That last one WILL be accomplished later tonight. It is very easy to underestimate the value of doing nothing at all in our monkey-mind, runaround day.

I haven’t even been on any of my messenger accounts, really: that’s how lazy I’ve been today. I don’t I don’t plan on it, either. This lazy Saturday is a gift from me to me, and I’m going to wear the shiny off of it.

What? The wordcount? …Okay, that’s one exception. But I’m hitting quota and then I swear I’m not doing anything.

Nothing at all. 🙂

LiveJournal:
Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

Again asking how Nano's going?

Well, her we are at another Weekend Checkin for Nanowrimo. How’s things going, you ask?

 

I’LL TELL YA HOW’S THINGS GOING.

 

I got to the point where the momentum seemed to swing to a clear stop. Shit started to hit the fan, and there was a nice tension, the kind of tension that builds when you’re reading a well-crafted love scene (just me?) and you that things can only go one way, and…wall. BIG FRAKING WALL.

 

I actually turned around and rejiggered the index cards, and I found the solution.

 

TL;DR version? For the sake of narrative flow and such, at least for Zero Draft, Lollipop Bite has become TWO volumes.

 

And the Louis patriarch? Cedric? Is not amused. A woman who works for him, a lady we know only as Wilkes so far, is…

 

Ohhh, man.

 

I don’t know if Lightning is this much of a deadpan snarker. Now granted, it’s a sort of foil that Cedric needs, since the entire Louis family tends to be kind of pie in the sky about things (Mmm, pie), and since things are getting DEADLY SERIOUS—but still.

 

I gotta bounce. Only 11k words left, and I need to sleep at some point.

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

On Finding the Meaning of Thanksgiving.

For some of you out there, you are getting ready to celebrate a holiday known as Thanksgiving. A uniquely American holiday, it commemorates the teamwork and camaraderie that allowed the pilgrims (does anyone else think it’s more appropriate to call them ‘expatriates?’ Because ‘pilgrim’ is too religious for my blood…) to survive the harsh conditions they found in the New World. Working together with native Americans, these people learned how to use what they found here and not only survive, but thrive.

(That whole ‘oops we totally brought a bunch of foreign germs and you’re all going to get really sick, so sorry’ thing shall remain un-expounded upon.)

However, at the same time, I can’t help feeling a little bit conflicted about the whole damn thing.


It’s always felt a little weird for me to celebrate Thanksgiving. Tracing my ancestors as far back as we were able to in the year 1999, I learned of the first (black) member of the family. A slave woman from coastal Africa, she escaped with some slick tricks—step one, make herself useful on trips. Step two, make herself useful on a trip heading to the free North. And step three, BOUNCE. Bingbangboomfreedom!

Tracing my mother’s side of the lineage was more difficult. I learned her mother’s name, but never had the chance to meet Ms. Maria Argupitha Garcia Martinez (Unchanged for unfindability!) For the record, if anyone knows this generously nomenclatured woman, please dish. I’ve googled, bing’d, dogpile’d and even Alibaba’d her name and found nothing.) And as difficult as Grandmother was to find, Grandfather was even more so. See, he went by one name, and kept to himself near the border (no fence, no problem).

I never had the chance to meet either of them. But I’ll never forget what my mother and my uncle Saul* told me: Grandfather was a medicine man. A real live (oh, shush. You know how I mean) shaman. My uncle, on telling me this, then gave me a box of unset rough turquoise. I would later ask my father if my uncle was being facetious—and as it would turn out, he was not. But he was loath to talk about that side of the family, and it would be all I could find out: the records stop fairly quickly in the whole legibility department.

*Name changed at request!


.Here’s where I start feeling a little weird about it: neither ancestral side of my family came over in that quest for freedom from the Anglican Church. One side had been here long before, and the other side came long after, against her will. One side had no real reason to celebrate, and the other—well, being dragged from her homeland and then bought and sold like a horse really has no merits to celebrate.

It wasn’t for a while that I began to think of it a little bit differently. After finding out that I was a little blue preemie that very nearly kicked her mother off this mortal coil, I started feeling kind of lucky. Blessed, even.


This year, a whole lot of bad happened. I got out of a destructive relationship. (Not entirely willingly. Stockholm Syndrome, what what) I got deep into a barrel. Climbed out of said barrel when the taste of alcohol became more unpleasant than the flashbacks and voices I was trying to shut up. Had a huge mental break when the flashbacks got stronger, and was sent to the loony bin when I admitted I wasn’t sure if I was going to be waking up the next morning. Formally diagnosed with PTSD that had been allowed to slowly fester over the last three years. Went on more meds than anyone I’ve met.

It wasn’t easy.

So very often, I caught myself saying, “Fuck this. I’m gone,” but the little part of my mind that was sane still went, “Really? You haven’t done anything you thought you would. You’d be ditching friends—and all because you hurt? Suck it up, you selfish little bitch” and I didn’t go through with it. Whenever I was about to do something profoundly stupid, they’d stop me. I stuck it out because they stuck their necks out to help me.

And I’ve yet to thank them all properly.

So here it is.

I am thankful for all of you for not letting me quit this life.
I am thankful for the motivation you all give me.
I am thankful for the people who would forcibly stop me when I started to do something stupid.
I am thankful that I am still alive to have people to thank for keeping me that way.

And now that I know it’s going to be just fine, I sign off and say:
Itadakimasu. (Thank you for the food.)

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

How's Nanowrimo going, you ask?

Sharon thought that the afternoon was complete: her homework done, errands run, a tall green tea in one hand. Notebooks sat on the outside patio table in a neat stack, and next to them were other books, mostly comics of various origin.

A crashing sound a few yards to the northwest got her attention—a crashing sound that was soon followed by a lot of cursing, Curious, she set her tea down and jogged in the direction of all the noise. The majority stopped rather quickly, however, ending with one loud, final-sounding thud.

“What in the…?”

The only sign that anything had happened were the bricks near one of the juniper shrubs. She looked at those bricks for a long time before checking the shrubbery.

It took her a while to realize that not all of the green in that shrub was shrubbery. A very familiar shock of green hair blended in quite well with the juniper debris.

“Holy—Lowell?”

 

 

Lowell isn’t having the best day right now. LOL

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

How's NaNo Going, you ask?

Well, it’s going well for me. Lowell, on the other hand, is NOT amused:

 

   

Lowell’s pace was significantly slower than that of his brother. Whenever he had the chance to be outside on his own for any extended period of time, Lowell took his time. He would walk at the slowest pace that he could stand, and he would take the time to look at everything that he could see. The half-beast took nothing in his small sphere for granted, since he never knew when he would have the chance to be on his own again.

It really is a nice day out today, he thought as he walked. He took a deep breath: though there was the always-present oily haze to the air that marked the place as a city, he could still smell the ground underneath his feet, the plants in the carefully preserved nature trail, the faint but sweet fragrance of some wild plant blooming in the distance.

For this reason, Lowell was torn—he didn’t know whether to love autumn, or to hate it. The air was always so crisp during that season—fresher, cleaner…but it was also when things began to wind down, to end, to fade away.

Like nature’s flipping me the finger, thought Lowell bitterly. He’d barely had the chance to really enjoy the season before it started to fade out, and—

When the warning came, it was a combination of a change in the pressure and an actual sound, felt deep inside the middle of his ear. Lowell jumped out of the way just in time to avoid a long, notched dart’s sharp point shearing through his foot. Instead, the thing landed harmlessly in the dirt of the path, skittering as it bounced off the ground. Almost before he knew he was doing it, Lowell’s head whipped around, his eyes coming to rest in a patch of greenery off to the side of the trail.

Oh, shit.

 

Keep in mind that this is a zero draft! …but also if you want to tell me what you think so far, feel free to. Sometimes, us inkslinging types need a little scritch behind the ears, just like our kittens do.

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?