Sex, feminism...that sort of thing.

So I’ll have to give another little rant later on, in regard to something I read online. It’s a doozy, and personally it gave me an outraged OMG! But that’s for later. First thing’s first:

Okay. It was a bad night, especially since when I tried to go to sleep the skin of my skull moved (stretching while laying my head on the pillow) and set a headache into a mad frenzy. I was literally cross-eyed for a moment and had to get up to walk it off before I could take a painkiller and finally, very carefully, lied back down, taking great care not to put pressure on anything that wasn’t really necessary.

Not an easy feat, I’ll admit, but I did manage it in the end, drifting off to sleep, only to awaken several times during the night before the morning finally arrived…with sunshine for a change. This has been the wettest winter we’ve had in the two decades since we’ve been visiting and living in Spain. In about four days there was a downpour of approximately 1 cubic meter, which is astounding for this area, for as far as I know. Heck, we’ve been on the edges of full blown hurricanes, or so I’ve heard.

The sun is actually sparkly bright, however, blinding me, and making me stumble back with the reminder of last night’s little problem, brought to the fore with a fierce pounding on both my temples. Great! That’s just great.

I take my time with the morning rituals, sluggishly going through them until I can no longer postpone starting on the day and head for the house with the dogs scattered about, since they get distracted by the nice warm weather.
Chaos is lagging behind, Knight II is already waiting at the gate and Bommel is studiously finding his way by memory, rather than sight. The rest of the pack is just dashing back and forth, doing their very best to evade the crazy Monster Boxer’s feinting attacks with benevolent disinterest.

There are some chores to be done, laundry, some kitchen cleaning, breakfast, and then the fun part; cleaning Tika’s cage. It’s a mess, and we need to clean it out before we release the big pack from the patio.
Tika, our big eclecto parrot sits on her perch when we take the cage down from the ceiling, looking curiously at the few dogs that are seated around the table on which her cage is now set. The dogs are literally trembling with their need to hunt, but obey the frequent commands and warnings we utter as we work. Tika twitches her beady black eyes, walking back and forth on her stick with apparent amusement as she flutters her magnificent wings in challenge.

After she’s had her shower, and the cage is once again clean…as well as the table…the dogs are released from the patio and big brother and I set up our computers.
While big brother starts working on “Calamity’s Luck”, one of the romances I’ve been writing on for that past few years, I open up the latest project and add two more pages to yesterdays scene. That one done I start writing another one for a new scene.

The computer alarm goes off, at the end of the page and it’s time to get ready to head for school, as is our biweekly schedule of late. We arrive at the appointed time, and get busy both on the computers as well as the paper tests.

Though I’m occasionally bothered by the sporadic pounding in my head, the tests go well enough, making me feel relieved that if we had gotten any of these 200 or so questions we would have passed our exams.

Afterwards we take a quick detour towards the home improvement store and then head for home where the dogs and dinner is waiting.
After some relaxation in front of the TV with a recorded episode of “Life” to enjoy, I turn on my computer and start surfing the Net for the latest news and chats, only to come upon, what I can only describe as a new trend in the romance book scene.

Here’s my rant:

Seriously, I’ve read blurbs, excerpts and have come to the conclusion that the so-called mild erotica is worse than the average playboy. Forget a fun plotline, characters and even a hint of actual emotions. It’s blatant in-your-face Sex with a capital S.

I’ve known for years that these kinds of stories exist, heck I’ve even read one or two, but they’re getting worse and more explicit by the year. (And then I’m not even mentioning the trend of not just millionaires for heroes, but billionaires instead. What is that? Money and sex are all that sells, or something?)
And it’s not just man/woman, man/man, woman/woman or whatever. Heck I can understand loving a person no matter what the sex, but this is different. According to these tales the “good” and really erotic lays are about ménages of whatever sex is available, quartets and genuine orgies.

Remember all those once so despised badly filmed porn flicks, anyone? Were those considered pinnacles of literary excellence, or were they considered be crude animalist things that only perverted people watched?
Remember all the TV shows where women looked down on men because they couldn’t get their minds out of the gutter?
Guess things have changed considerably while I wasn’t paying attention.

But back to these “titillating” orgies…
Now, from where I stand one woman getting “done” by three men without her actually knowing them, or even getting on a first name basis, is considered to be a threatening thing.
I mean, I clearly remember “The Accused” being seen as something atrocious. Was that just me?
But from what I understand of these stories it is “exciting” for women to do this kind of thing because it’s “FUN”. Explore their sexual side, men, women, who cares, and all that.
No wonder guys no longer know which way is up when it concerns the signals women give. Heck, I’m a women and I’m completely confused.

Here I thought that feminism had been all about women having the right to say no to Tom, Dick and Harry while they looked for a man they could love, or care about…little did those poor women fighting for our rights know that by what they put in motion, women were going to be inclined to do that sort of thing voluntarily.
Heck, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed it.

Since when is sex a form of recreation and a matter of “the more the merrier?” anyway? I mean, the electricity goes off for a night in some heavily populated area in a city and nine months later there’s a birth wave going on. Aaargh.

I do know that originally, it (sex) is supposed to be a procreation method, no matter which way you turn it, and in the best of cases a way to show true affection…but showing such intimate, ehm, “liberation” to a bunch of strangers? I don’t know. I can’t see the attraction. Seems a little like devolution to me, actually. We’re supposed to be intelligent, aren’t we? Able to control our most basic urges? Hmmm.

For years men get to be called pervs and whatnot for reading dirty magazines and now the big bucks are being raked in from women who basically buy the same thing, only under the guise of mainstream literature…and enjoy it to boot. For all intents and purposes these stories are promoting: “Try it out! It’s fun to get “busy” with a quartet.”

What is that, I wonder? It reminds me of a piece I once read where a psychiatrist explained that the reason why a girl (in the story) was an “easy lay”. It was because she had been gang raped once and had decided in her post-traumatic shock that for her to prevent that event from ever happening again she would just have to stop saying “no” entirely.
Something along the lines “If ya enjoy it, it’s not rape!” Baffling!

Then there are those that claim that by having casual sex, just for fun, is the ultimate freedom of men…HUH? Now, logically speaking it would appear that those who think as much have been led to believe some huge scam made by men, so they can get what they want from women, without having to make a single effort, or being accused of rape…now that would be an interesting topic for a novel, if it wasn’t for the fact that a lot men have “changed their ways” over the last couple of generations due to tedious and strenuous sensitivity propaganda, forced upon them by the first feminists.

It all just seems like we’re trading places, of something. So what happens next, women treat men like toys for the next few generations to get back at them for centuries of forced submissions and then its turnabout’s fair game again? The old adage of history repeating itself, does come to mind.

Right! I’ll better stop my rant before I end up yapping about it for ages, but I think it reflects poorly on those who still like to consider sex as something special which should only be shared with a person you care deeply for, not an itch that should be scratched…which reminds me: How can anyone in their right mind even think about casual sex with all the illnesses and viruses running amuck?

I mean, eating from a used plate is icky, but having orgies with strangers is “just sex”? Bodily fluids mix in both cases, if I remember correctly. Right?

Basic logical thinking seems to be…Oh wait, there’s not much thinking involved in casual sex, is there?
As for safe sex…let’s face it, except for abstinence or “self-help” there’s no such thing possible when all’s said and done.

Ah well, to each his own, I guess. It just stuck in my craw, and I had to get it out before I popped a vein, or something. Hah.
Hmm. Guess I'm getting more conservative with age. Who'd have thought that was possible? Not me, that's for sure.

But anyways, after discussing this matter with the sibs, (who completely agree) rather heatedly, since it is ruining a genre that we’ve enjoyed for years…aka Romance, the real kind…I gather up my things and dogs and head for my quarters to prepare for the night.

Stormy days...they're slow.

I had turmoil dreams again, which is so very frustrating since it won’t allow me to actually log what they were about. They’re just fragments, bits and pieces that make no sense whatsoever. It’s such a pity, too, considering that my dreams so often make for a wonderful basis of my books. There’s “Trust Me” Said the Spy: Based on a dream.
“The Chronicles of the Ashta-Mahk”: Dream.
Same goes for, “Memories of the Future” my very first novel ever. “Hunters”, “Surviving Fate”, “The Expert”, “Horse Mistress”…and so many, many more.
Dreams, I have found are a marvelous way to get inspiration for stories.

No matter, though, since I wake up at the sound of the alarm and frown at the sight of thick clouds still overcastting the sky like a thick moist blanket. I’m starting to get sick and tired of all this rain. Can you imagine what your clothes look, and feel like if you’ve got almost a hundred wet dogs vying for your attention. It’s not pleasant, I assure you.

During the morning rituals, I start reading a new copy of one of my review books and am pleasantly surprised by the story. Though it could do with a bit more…elegance perhaps, in the way the sentences are shaped, it’s good. It draws me in and creates a pleasant atmosphere to immerse into as a young medieval knight, struggles with his alcohol problem.
That would a tough thing to do in that time, I imagine, since ale and the likes were pretty much the only thing they could safely serve. Interesting concept.

Anyways, by the time I get to the house the rain starts up again, sending the dogs scurrying after me under the cover of the aluminum plating that spans most of the courtyard.

No laundry, gratefully, but the pantry flooded again during the night’s storm, filling it with a solid inch that we’ll have to tackle at some point in the near future.
Since there is little else for me to do, and my head is pounding too much for a comfortable workout, I decide to do a bit of organizing and cleaning in the kitchen instead, while I wait for big brother and grandpa to join me in the main part of the house.

There’s quite a bit of talk about the weather, and its unusual shifts that are purported to last at least another week, if we’re to believe the reports. Blast it! Global warming’s a pain that’s a fact.
By the time our breakfast is over and the dogs are freed from the patio, big brother and I settle down at our computers and get to work.

Several hours pass as I finish the scene from the other day, and at the end of it start on a new one. Three to four pages to add…and they’re nice additions, I’m thinking, liking the way the new story is developing into a full blown suspense-thriller with just enough preternatural aspects to it, to make it really interesting. Hah.

When dinnertime arrives and little brother proclaims that he’s taking a turn at the chore, the chaos in the room is too much for proper concentration and I shut down my files in order to do a quick round of the usual places online.

Soon delicious scents are drifting through the house, an Indian curry tantalizing me even though I’m still nauseous and battling that annoying pounding in my head all the while.
Though dinner is soon ready, I postpone eating for at least another hour, allowing my stomach to get really hungry, hoping that this will prevent the meal from coming up again after consumption.

The ploy works, too, allowing me to eat about half a portion of a rather spicy curry with basmati rice. Oh my, was it spicy! It actually surprised little brother a little, and he apologized profusely, even though we all assured him that it was tasty anyway. It was…after adding a large amount of cottage cheese and eating it with bread, rather than a fork. Hah.

I had to drink three glasses of water afterwards, however, filling my stomach to full capacity and forcing me to stay immobile for several hours before I felt comfortable enough to move again without fear of chucking it back up.

Luckily there was an episode of “House” and “The Mentalist” to watch, keeping us all entertained for most of the evening.

As usual, when the weather’s wet and chilly, the dogs are restless during the course of the day. Cockers vie for empty spots on chairs and table. The larger Gaucho, (an Afghan) mid-sized Ama (Pointer) and mixed breed, Yama, too. All of them try to curl up on the table while the rest of the dogs squeeze themselves on the large rug that spreads out in front of the two heaters burning bravely in the sitting area.

It’s quite amazing to see how, when they’re all huddling close together, we literally get a living carpet of every available color of fur on the floor. This, particularly, makes it impossible for anyone to walk around without doing a serious exercise course, over, around and through the pack–if for no other reason than to keep yourself from stepping on any toes or tails.

Nearing midnight, I write a quick reminder to the publisher that I haven’t heard back from them in the promised three months about the short vampire story I sent them, and finally decide to take a painkiller when the pounding in my head gets to be a little too much for comfort.

That done, I get my stuff, take the dogs out ASAP in the short dry spell that has cleared the sky up just a bit, and head on up to my cabin for the night. After feeding the pack and the usual routine for the evening, I get online to see what’s been going on during my absence.

Bad weather all 'round.

Turmoil dreams this night, along with waking up lots of times, mostly due to a banging headache that makes me get up to walk it off a bit before I can lie back down, careful not to lie on the bandage taped to the back of my head.
The banging is not so much painful as it is annoying; still, it has a serious overtone in my sub consciousness, and dreams which now all lay in my memory with the sound of drums on the background. Hah.

I dreamed of Meryl Streep, of all people. Seeing as I’m not a particular fan of her work, even though she has some nice enough movies, her presence in my dream surprised me somewhat. Heck, I don’t know why on earth I would dream of her, but for no particular reason that I can think of the image stands out very clearly in my head.

In the dream she was in some sort of talk show, chatting with the hostess about…I don’t know, that part is vague. I do remember a circular kind of studio with bright, overly flattering lights. Sort of cozy; a white couch, blue armchairs, a big bookcase behind Streep and the hostess, and some sort of flowery ornament on the small light wooded table between them. It was odd.

About three minutes before my alarm is supposed to ring, the phone wakes me up, forcing me to roll to the other side of the bed, over Chaos who’s peacefully splayed there, and grab the offensive device for a croaky, “Yeah.”
In all honesty the conversation hardly registers and by the time it is over, I lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to force myself to wake up.

Wincing, when I flop back on my own pillow–I’ve forgotten about the bandage–I am quickly reminded of why this was such an interrupted night and growl a bit as I get up to let the dogs out of the cabin.

Getting around this morning is somewhat strenuous, and I take longer than usual with the morning rituals before I get dressed and head outside. Though when I went to bed the sky was clear, clouds have once again returned, announcing that another rainstorm’s well underway, as I make my way down to the courtyard.

I deposit my bag on the kitchen counter and return outside to get the laundry down before the last few days’ drying is undone by the swiftly turning weather. With the solicitous help from grandpa, we get it all inside fast, leaving me outside in the ever-increasing chill to hang three new piles on the heavily burdened lines.

That done, and with my fingers cold down to the bone, I head inside to put on coffee and have a quick breakfast. I start to wonder if perhaps the bump on my head has been the cause of my frequent nausea for the past year or so, for ever since the doc cut it open the nausea has been persisting, even causing a bit of dizziness. It certainly is an interesting thought, considering the fact that the doc was pretty confident that he removed everything, so that would mean that perhaps, while the cut heals, I’ll be rid of the nausea for good.

It persists throughout the day, however, and makes it hard for me to focus on my messages, while big brother starts on preparing our new mailbox for hanging by the road. In the end he postpones it so we can get to work on the editing session. It passes somewhat strenuously for me, my attention span scattering all over the place, allowing for only a few chapters.

When it’s time to feed the dogs, and in effect ourselves, we put the computers away, so I can head for the kitchen to start on dinner.
Since I certainly don’t feel up to an elaborate meal, I make a salad while big brother bakes fries, which will have to do for today.

Afterwards we watch the last DVD we rented the day before yesterday. “Linewatch” with Cuba Gooding Jr. I am surprised that I liked it, what with all the recent rental fiascos, but it’s good, interesting, and well played. It also made sense and the characters were excellently portrayed. I enjoyed the watch, that’s a fact.

By this time the bandage on my head’s pulling at my skin, seriously annoying me, and upon finding that I can’t remove the gauze, because it’s stuck to the cut, I head for the shower–at big brother’s brilliant suggestion–so I can soak it off. It takes a while but in the end it comes off, leaving me a tad dizzy and even more nauseous than before. What is up with that?

Since I did so very little today, I distract myself by painting the laundry closet one last time, along with the shelves that still need to be placed on top of the storage cabinet……..
(Yowza! The power just went down, and thunder is making my cabin shudder. That was a hard one. I hope I can still post all this before the battery goes down.)

Where was I, ah yes, the painting. That done, I lounge in front of the TV for a recorded episode of “Prison Break” and then prepare to take the dogs up to the cabin for their nightly feeding.

(The power goes back on. Ah.)

Though it isn’t raining when I head up the path, a small river of water is streaming down, making walking in the dark a tricky thing, and about five minutes after I get inside it starts pouring again.

(Another clash of thunder and power outage…and it goes back on. Man this is a big storm…Again!)

I’m certainly ready to call the day over and done with.

Doctor's visit.

A strange day that’s a fact. I feel pretty much banged up, for some reason.

So, I wake up this morning, finding the back of my head coated with this crystal-like substance, which has completely coated my hair around it. I remember vaguely banging my head back against the wall during the night, but it didn’t really register since I was having a rather intriguing dream (I told myself to remember it, but, of course, when I woke up all I remembered was telling myself that) but other than that particular knowledge it’s all pretty much a blank.

But anyway, back to the crystal-like substance. It appears to be coming from this small pea-like bump I’ve had on the back of my skull for over a year now. It was not very large, just something I noticed when I brushed my hair, and except for having some tension around the area it really didn’t bother me much. Apparently, due to the collision with the wall it has burst open and is leaking the liquid. Very strange.

So, I get up, do the usual morning stuff, and then head on down to the house in another dry spell that the weather’s offering, for just the occasion of me heading down the rocky path. I’m very grateful, too, considering it startes raining again, no more than thirty minutes after I arrive at the house.

Workout day has arrived, and I get to it…taking way too long since conversations with grandpa and big brother keep distracting me. It’s at least and hour and a half later when I finally finish the session, heading for the shower, where I find the bump still leaking. Annoying!

Since we have a standing appointment at the doctor’s anyway (mom’s check up) I decide to ask the doc to have a look at it while we’re there, just to see what the problem is.

Time is limited, especially since I took so long with the workout, so I do a quick round of the messages and such, before big brother and I edit several pages of the gangster novel we’ve been working on.
It flies past, as they say, and before I realize it we have to get ready to depart.

Our battery charged drill has given the spirit, so to speak, and we need a new one, so big brother joins us on our trip to the village and starts roaming the stores for a good bargain (that’s still quality) while mom and I are at the doctor’s officer.

As it turns out, the raging storm we had just recently is reported to have been a full-blown hurricane in Málaga. Go figure. A hurricane in the midst of winter no less. This is so not the area for such weather conditions.

When the doc’s ready checking mom over, she urges me to ask the physician about my bump and after a short examination he offers to cut it open and scrape out the mess that has gathered under the infection that he’s detected.

Deciding that this is probably the smartest course to take to get rid of the problem that has gotten to be a little painful, I agree and lie down on the practitioner’s table while mom heads for the car to wait until it’s done.

There’s a slight prick…I hardly feel the sting, really, the pressure of the lump which I’d pretty much gotten used to over the past few months “outvoices” anything…and lay there while the doc waits for the local anesthetic to work.

A cling of medical tools rings in my ears when he splays them on my back, holding my head with one hand (like I’d be stupid enough to move it when someone’s holding a scalpel to it, hah) and makes a cut with the other. I don’t actually feel any pain, just a sting, pressure and then, when he takes some sort of spatula thing and starts scraping a rather raw feeling. Ewww. It’s a horrid sound, sort of like nails scraping over a bubbly surface, and while he increases the pressure I actually feel a bit dizzy.

Now, I’ve got a vivid imagination, and it does play parts on me when I’m basically pressed down to the table facedown. So, staring at my sleeve (I’m resting my forehead on it) and papered top, I get this hideous image in my head of the back of my skull lying open as the doc uses some sort of parting device to keep my skin out of the way.
It’s not smart to let your imagination run away with you on such a moment. Especially not when the guy is using the scraping thing again and irrevocably sends your head swaying left and right through the force he’s applying.

All in all, he’s pretty much finished after fifteen minutes and I can get on to put my boots and coat back on. He doesn’t think the cut needs stitches; he calls it relatively small, and tells me to just keep it clean after he sprays a liberal amount of antiseptic on it and tapes it up.

After paying for the two consults and treatment, I head down the stairs, feeling downright nauseous, reach the building’s lobby and, five minutes after leaving the office, step in the car.

Since Big brother failed to find a good drill while we were gone, we scour the village for a ferreteria (basically a supply store) and are, in the end, successful in finding one that has an affordable machine.

By this time the effects of the local anesthetic is wearing off, creating a rather fierce headache that for some reason resembles the feel of a freezing ice pick slicing into my skull every time even a little breeze hits the bandage. Wonderful!

I’m pretty much cross-eyed from it when we get home, and am practically upending my computer bag in search of a strip of painkillers that I distinctly remember seeing in it just a few days ago. I’m about to growl like a rabid dog and throw the bag against the wall in frustration, when Big Brother offers to search for me, looks inside and then raises the strip after a single glance. It’s right there, in the tangle of wires I’ve just raised from the bag and then stuffed back inside in complete frustration. I hate it when that happens.

Popping one, I take the meal little brother holds out to me and settle at the table to see if I can choke the delicious meal down without loosing it immediately afterwards. I manage to choke a few bites and give the rest to the dogs eagerly gathering around me, without showing it to little brother who obviously put all his efforts in the meal.

Afterwards I sit in front of the TV, trying to ignore the nagging discomfort at the back of my skull. Luckily “Babylon A.D.” manages to capture my attention enough to distract me, and though this movie, once again, isn’t a “WOW” experience, I get through the evening without too much trouble and head for my cabin just after midnight.

After feeding the dogs and a rather useless attempt at reading, I set up the computer and start on tonight’s session.

So tired, without good reason

I’m going to keep today’s Blog a little short. I find myself to be exhausted for some reason, and the very thought of writing out something long and cohesive is making me want to whimper pitifully.

So, I wake late this morning, the alarm accidentally set thirty minutes too late…I’ve no idea how that happened, but okay, no real harm done in the end.
The dogs are restless, tugging at my blankets to get me out of bed, and making a regular nuisance of themselves until I finally throw the door open and watch them storm out into the mud.

The rain had gratefully let up, but the ground is covered with a thick, moist layer of mud that literally makes the soles of my shoes sink into them by the time I’m through with the morning rituals and head on down to the house.

Chores seem to take longer than usual, and big brother gets dragged into his own, not allowing us to settle down in front of the computer until just an hour and a half before it’s time to leave for our lessons, and grocery shopping.

We spent most of the time online, working on the publications at the printer’s, figuring out how to make some last minute revisions to the new format. It’s all rather frustrating considering that the time literally seems to tick in my head. Before we’re actually done, time’s up and we need to hurry.

Once at the school, we spent about ninety minutes doing tests, in the front lobby, rather than the over-crowded classroom, before time runs out again and we need to hurry on out to the car to start on the bimonthly groceries.

I’m in need of some warm sweaters; I’ve only got two of them left, and luckily I manage to find a sale in one of the chain stores at the mall where I’m able to buy four items for the price of one. Two sweaters, a vest and a T-shirt later we’re back in the car heading for the supermarket.

Once the groceries are done, we start back on our way home, carrying the movie “Wanted” and “Babylon A.D.” with us as a small reward for a job well done. Hah.
At home, after suffering through the usual jubilance of the dogs, we store all the purchases in record time and have dinner of the meal little sister prepared during our absence.

It’s good, and for the first time in weeks, after returning from school I’m actually not nauseous afterwards. We’re all pretty much done for after that, putting on “Wanted” a movie we’ve wanted to see for months now. (No pun intended.)
It’s not necessarily bad, the story had great premises, but I found it lacking in the execution of how they brought the story to the screen. A pity really: It could have been grand.

It’s already close to midnight by the time the movie is over, and after some channel surfing I gather the dogs and take them up to my cabin for the night.
Once I’ve fed them and read a few pages, I settle behind the computer to do a little more reading of the review book I’m working my way through at the moment and then log on for the final round of the usual places.

Flooding makes a good writing day.

So, I was pretty much bouncing up and down, waving the acceptance letter of a major publisher around in jubilant excitement when disaster struck…The alarm went off and I slam wide awake to a dreary rainy morning in Southern Spain with a pack of dogs going completely bonkers around me. Talk about disappointment! Man, it had seemed so real.

Dreams are so very cruel that way, especially when they’re so specific. There you are, happy as can be on a bright sunny morning with the best possible news you can get right there in your hands, only to be forced back into depressing reality with the shrill sound of an electric clock screaming in your ear. I seriously considered smashing the damn thing from sheer frustration.

But, be as it may, the new day has arrived and it’s time to rise and shine…even when it doesn’t. (Neither do I, for that matter, but it’s the thought that counts.)
Rain is pouring down buckets, the sky covered with thick heavy clouds that seem to be locked in place by the sheer size of them, and the temperature is appallingly low.

Still, I need to get to the house, and since I was stupid enough to leave the umbrella down there, dangling from the coat hooks, after the last rainstorm, I have no choice but the brave the elements and hurry my way down the rocky path.

Upon arrival in the house, I find the chill to be abysmal, and the first thing I do is turn on the heater before I head for the radio, only to find that part of the power in the house isn’t working because there’s a short somewhere that the sibs were unable to locate during the night.

With a grimace I decide to have breakfast while I wait for big brother to arrive and see to the matter. I eat only a little, since my stomach’s iffy again, even after a good night’s rest, and am just about to put the coffee machine on when grandpa and big brother arrive.

While the coffee percolates, big brother sets out to find the cause of the short, and I start hauling out the night’s laundry for hanging. The batch from yesterday and the day before that still isn’t dry, and with these two batches added, the lines are rapidly filling up.
Big brother, however find the cause of the short, and heads on up to the patio exit where exterior lanterns are causing the fuses to break.

It’s wet everywhere, and like every winter, small flooding affects the pantry with an inch of water over the tile floor. Rather than battle it now, when the rain is still pouring down, I lock the door and head back for the kitchen where big brother and I discuss the lousy weather and the disruption of the plans we made last night about what we needed to do today. They’ve all been smashed, and so we have to make new plans instead.

First thing’s first. My lower back is killing me, due to the fact that Trin Trin was cold tonight and demanded that she be allowed sleep on the bed. This in effect brought her in a tight embrace, in which she kept pushing me into an unnatural bend (backwards, of course) literally dislocating my spinal cord.
So, I want to do a workout, if for no other reason than to get my muscles in working order so they can pull it all straight again.

It’s effective too, since fifteen minutes into the workout the pain in my back subsides, allowing for a full session that lasts until well after the younger sibs awaken and join us in the house.
Considerably relieved with the pain gone, I take a quick shower and then set up the computer for today’s work.

For the next few hours big brother and I work on the historical romance we’ve been editing for the past few weeks, and while I finish the final scene that is to replace the removals we start to see some progress in a project that’s been interrupted time and again. The new ending’s much better, and creates a rather sweet note for the finale.

One more full edit–because of all the new scenes–and it should be ready to send out. Yay!
That done, along with a quick scan of any commands that really shouldn’t be in there (it’s a disadvantage of working with a file that used to be a WP in the past, you won’t see the commands unless you work in outline) and then knock off so I can start on dinner.

There are some leftovers from yesterday’s meal, consistent of mashed potatoes and carrots, and since that won’t be enough for a solid portion for everyone, I add a rich salad, while making the mashed potato carrot mix into crispy burgers.

It all goes down well, the crusts adding to the taste, and the salad filling any gaps the burgers leave. Once everyone has eaten, and allowing the food to digest for about half an hour to digest, I return to the kitchen for cleanup.

Since yesterday the sink for the dishes is finally ready for use, allowing for easy washing and way more space on the rest of the counter, the chore isn’t half as troublesome as it was before. Next, I spend a while cleaning out shelves and checking supplies (tomorrow’s grocery shopping day) before the serious pounding from outside draws all our attention.

The rain is coming down so hard that it is almost deafening on the corrugated aluminum roof of the courtyard. Thunder rumbles furiously in rapid succession of blinding slashes of lightning, making the power fail entirely at least seven times during the remainder of the evening.

Though I find risky to use my computer battery when I’m not sure when the power goes back on, I settle behind the monitor anyway.

Since the rejection letter for the second short vampire story, big brother and I have been wondering what to do with it now, rather than letting it gather the proverbial dust in some file.

We’ve been playing with some ideas and taking those to heart, I make the decision to expand the story into a full-length novel, so it’ll be suitable for more publishers than just those bringing out novellas and short stories.

A scene is playing through my mind, and since the TV isn’t working anyway because the storm is blocking reception, I have two solid hours for writing.
It comes quite naturally, a completely new scene that suddenly casts an entirely new light on the story that we slaved on for several weeks. It changes it from a simple vampire romance into a political thriller with the hint of paranormal added to the mix.

I always find it intriguing how that works: One scene, describing a new angle of a character and transforming it almost instantly. I actually think that it’s going to work out really well in the end, and I’m more than curious how the story is going to turn out in the end.

By the time midnight arrives I’ve written four pages that set the scene for a new beginning of the story, and I’m pleased with the progress. The way I figure, I might actually manage to get the story eked out just by writing approximately ten of these scenes.

Shutting the computer down and carefully putting it back in my bag, I start preparing to take my dogs up to my cabin, and need to wait only twenty minutes before the rain lets up long enough to allow me to get up the path without getting drenched in the process.

The dogs storm through the door posthaste. They’re as pitifully horrified about the wetness and cold as I am, and soon each and everyone of them are inside, waiting for me to feed them. Rolling my eyes at their eagerness I get the feeding over and done with and then do about half an hour of reading before I start getting ready for the night.

At last I push the power button and settle in for the last typing session, in the shape of this Blog before I log onto the Net for the nightly fun stuff.

Ehm...Nothing, just rambling.

The last few days have been a tad boring, and since today was pretty much the same let’s see if we can liven things up a little and see where it leads.
So, what to talk about? Politics? Hunger? Environment? Economics? Nah, it’s been done in every way imaginable already, and though I’m sure that at some point I’ll have a good rant about any of those subjects, I’ll not bore anyone with it today.

What else is there to talk about, movies, music, books? All three give the same problem as the before mentioned subjects, don’t they, and though they are all amazingly fun to talk about in the right place and at the right time, I’m not really in the mood.

Which leaves what, exactly?
Excellent question, and I can see you wonder, “what the heck is she thinking of?”
Well, I’ll tell you: Nothing.
My mind is an utter and complete blank, which is annoying considering I’m supposed to yap on for at least half a page to make at least a token Blog post today.

NOTHING!
An interesting word; nothing. So what does it really mean?
No Thing: as in there is not a single thing to talk about? Hmmm, let’s see what the synonyms are for this particular word.
Nothing: not anything, zero, zilch, nil, naught, nobody, and nonentity are the words that come up on Word, which really isn’t interesting so let’s check the dictionary to see if something a little more exiting turns up……….
Something that is nonexistent. Now that is interesting!

Can “something” really be nonexistent? Or is that a contradiction of terms, perhaps? If you call nothing, nothing, do you not give that nothingness a name, and if something has a name does that not bring it into existence?
It might not have shape or form, but still for there to be nothing there has be an absence of something, which in effect would make nothing something. Okay, that’s a mind-wrecker. Hah.

It brings to mind that saying of: If a tree falls in the woods and there is no one to hear it go down, does it still make a sound?
Would that not go the same way for nothingness? If you acknowledge nothing, does nothing than not come into being, just by being “nothing”?

It is baffling what a mind will think about once you let it. Here we have three paragraphs filled with a contemplation of a word that is really average and can pretty much be used on any given day, and yet it is a whole bunch of nothing. So there we have nothing, having been turned into something by simply writing it down in a Blog.

Gotcha going there, don’t I?

So that brings today’s Blog to an end, I suppose. There really isn’t much else to say.
That’s what you get for boring Saturdays, as this one so obviously was.

I did, however manage to cut out four pages of the latest book project, adding only three, allowing for more writing tomorrow, should I decide to work on it some more.
I really should, since this project certainly would be a worthwhile investment of time. With the proper adjustments, it would even be suited for publication. Ah well, we’ll see what the day allows, considering that there are actually some projects looming for the morning.

I certainly hope that I’ll have something more to write about tomorrow and not just…ehm…nothing! Hah.