Slow days...I don't like 'm.

I wake at the usual time, but still being tired, I open the front door to let the dogs out and roll back under a blanket and snooze for another thirty minutes before I start with the morning rituals.

I’ve got quite a few kinks in my back when I wake the second time, but some serious stretches get most of them out before I get dressed and head on down to the house. It is workout day, and since I’ve been a tad lazy, I need to get to it fast, if I still want to do other things before it is time to bring mom to her doctor’s appointment.

What with not having done my exercises for three or four days, it takes me a while to get warmed up, adding about ten extras to every routine until the blood gets pumping.
Once my muscles are cooperating without protest, I grab my boxing gloves and start pulling them on. They’re a size bigger, and though they’re a little roomy over my palms, I do appreciate the extra length of support these gloves offer once I start on the jabs.

Like the other routines I add an extra ten to these, too, figuring that with my inactivity these past few days, the body can do with a little extra exercise.
Halfway through the punches and jabs, perspiration breaks out, requiring a pause when I’m out of breath, and right before the kicking is to commence.

It goes well. It seems that my body is finally adjusting to the new rhythm, accepting it and allowing for proper movements that are whole, smooth and pleasantly powerful. The boxing bag bounces around satisfyingly when the high shin kicks increase in speed and force, until at last the next routine needs to be dealt with.

The extras take quite a bit of time, making the entire workout last for up to eighty minutes when I finally cease and catch my breath with stretches, and the last routine of knee pull-ups on the bar. Eighteen today, meaning I’ve gone up eight since I first started doing them. Yay.

After my shower, a couple slices of bread (my stomach’s off again) and a mug of coffee, I settle at the computer to do some reading of the book I promised to review. It goes well, the story getting interesting and the first few paragraphs of the review written down. I manage two chapters, with big brother sitting across the table, asking me an occasional question about how he should write something down for the vampire book.

I’m actually sorry that there isn’t time to write today, but since I hate being able to get in only an hour at most with writing, I don’t even try since I will just have to quit halfway into a scene to get ready for our departure. Can’t stand such interruptions.

Book noting where I left off, I shut the computer down and head on up to my cabin to clean up a bit before heading for the doc’s office.

Luckily it takes little time, and when the sun disappears behind the horizon we’re back home to have the dinner little sister has prepared.
A wonderful vegetable mix on large thin pancakes, of which I eat as little as possible since I’m still feeling nauseous, that goes down relatively well if only because it tastes so well.
Next middle sister and I paint the storage closet doors for the last time, while I shift between doing that and helping big brother to attach the large clean laundry closet on the other side of the kitchen. As I’d feared, halfway through the meal comes back up again, but since I’ve had a good breakfast I don’t worry about it too much.

We had wanted to hang that door as well–it will match the others–but since we don’t have appropriate hinges we’ll have to postpone it ‘till another day. Big brother and I are in the midst of discussing whether or not we’ll add another metal hook to the bottom side of the large cabinet, when I notice something strange. Rather than my eyes being at mouth height, I’m staring at his nose.

That’s odd, and stating as much we take out the tape measure and check my height. 6’ 2”. Taking off 1” of the soles of my shoes it means that I’m an inch higher than I was since I last measured myself, several years ago. So, either something really weird is going on and I’ve grown a full inch, or the weight loss, along with the stretches that have me hanging on my arms have stretched out my spinal cord, which had undoubtedly been suffering some serious shrinkage over the years. Peculiar…and sort of funny.

Yadzia needs another shot today, so I deal with that after painting, giving the good dog an approving petting that has him wiggling his butt in enthusiasm right after the injection that he bears with a certain amount of resignation.
It worries me a little that the medicine doesn’t appear to have an effect at the moment, but I hope that by the time his second course starts in a month or so, the changes will occur.

Though it had been our intention to do more writing tonight, I’m a tad down from the doc visit, so we watch the Mummy III instead. It starts well enough, only to dwindle down, there at the end where a bunch load of action is crammed into ten minutes of images. What is it with the pacing in movies these days? ‘T is so very disappointing.

I would rant on about it for a while here, but since I’m going to try to get to bed early today, I’m just going to have to wrap it up here, and leave it for another time.

Upon arriving in my cabin–the temperatures have dropped considerably during the previous night, the heater is back on two bars–I feed my dogs and then spent some time transferring the photographs from my phone to the computer so I can load them onto Myspace some time in the near future.

Which brings us to the end of today’s recount. Not very interesting, I fear, but that is a part of life too, regretfully.

Invisibility, or something? Curious.

Wonderful weather today when I wake. The temperature is brilliantly warm, and for the first time in weeks the wind isn’t chilly. Yay.
When I wake I don’t even mind being sore all over–from being squeezed by the dogs– for a change. I stretch and yawn now that I’m not forced to keep huddled under the blankets, lest the cold hit me in the face.

The Monster Boxer is, of course, making a nuisance of herself, but I don’t care as I lunge for her collar and toss her out into my small backyard so I can let the other dogs out without her pouncing on them in her usual enthusiasm.

The pack trips over each other in their haste to get out of the cabin, the lot of them storming out into the open and heading up the sheer rock wall for a morning run. Shaking my head at their silly antics, I turn and smile at the cozy surroundings of my newly remodeled cabin…best birthday present ever…and head for the bedroom to make the bed.

Rather than start on the morning rituals, I waste some time taking pictures. I gotta post a few on Myspace to show it off, of course. I need to make pictures of the finished kitchen too, but I’m waiting until it is completely “done”.

After lingering in my cabin for about an hour, soaking up the wonderful temperatures, I head out. I’m going to wash my vest today. It’s been at least a week and what with the change in weather I decide to risk a slight chill in the evening, in favor of having it clean.

When I arrive at the house, big brother’s pack practically colliding with mine since he beat me to the main living area, I find a package for me on the kitchen counter.
I’m delighted at unwrapping it and finding a copy of my W.I. Investigations/Shape Shifter, in the Digest size. It took over a month to get here, but looking at it, I actually think that I like it better than the pocket size. The cover jumps out much better in this size and it’s looking pretty darn great.

Now I need to see if it is possible to put my ISBN on the digest, rather than the pocket, ‘cause that certainly should attract potential readers what with the price being cut in half that way. It is so horridly expensive at the moment that I’ve hardly had any buyers at all.
It is something I should look into for sure.

The strange thing is, besides the occasional feedback that I’ve messed up an occasional punctuation and oversaw a typo here and there, the overall opinion is that the stories are good, and yet there seems to be very little word of mouth going on.

I do wish I had more time to promote the works, but what with daily life, writing and doing what I am already doing…which pretty much fills the days to a point that I fear I can’t get anything done at all…there is very little more that I can do.

It almost seems as if those who read the stories forget them, no matter how much they actually like them. I’ve asked several of my readers, and they can’t explain it either (being very apologetic about forgetting to even pick it up for reading) but somehow it slips their minds to read it and then get back to me in due time.
It’s not that I mind waiting, but it does make me worry if there is perhaps something missing in the W.I.s or perhaps my name that doesn’t “click” as it were.

The same goes for publishers and the likes, really, I’ve had more than one in the past that I didn’t hear back from, and then when I send them a query letter, asking if they had received my manuscript it had gotten lost somewhere without being read, and if I’d be so kind as to resend it…only to never get back to me. It does make a body wonder.

If I were superstitious–like some characters in my stories so obviously are–I would think I was hexed, or something. No one doesn’t NOT like it, since many have assured me that they DO, and yet…well…it boggles the mind at times and an interesting premise for a book. It deserves some thought. Hah.

Enough pondering about the subject, I’ll save it for when I go to bed and my mind starts keeping me awake again with useless ponderings. Hah.

No laundry today, other than my winter vest, yay, so with that particular chore circumvented, I settle behind my computer right after breakfast and deal with the day’s messages.
Not too many, Mondays are always slow, but this is good since I only have a few hours to get some work done on the latest vampire story.

After rereading some of yesterday’s work, I get to writing and manage a page or so before it is time to start get ready to leave for town. Added to the fact that I need to get to the sports department, big brother and I need to go to school as well…hopefully with the computers working this time.

We put up the new back-light cover of the truck on, before we depart–it came in this morning–and while Dani, our driver for the day, reverses up the mountain, she promptly drives into the moped parked halfway up the road, once again breaking the very cover big brother has just screwed on. Drat! €17 down the drain. Hopefully the garage will be able to get another one ASAP.

She’s dreadfully embarrassed, explaining that she has the hardest time reversing on mirrors only. We laugh it off, making a mental note to do the reversing ourselves the next time. It is such a bore needing a driver, but until we have a valid Spanish drivers’ license going without one really isn’t a risk we’re willing to take. Since following the silly lessons we’ve found that being caught without a Spanish drivers’ license won’t allow someone to get a new one for two whole years. Yikes!

But anyways, at the sports store I manage to get my hands on the last pair of boxing gloves and we arrive at the school promptly to start our lessons. The computers have been repaired, but we have to wait for ten minutes before our teacher finds the time to give us our new codes. Fifteen minutes later we can get started at last.

We work at the computers for almost two hours, rapidly going through eleven tests and passing them with 0-2 errors on the whole. Good statistics, and by the time we’re done I feel pretty confident that soon we will be able to sign up for the exams.

After lessons, we pop in at the home improvement store for some quick supplies, the video rental for four DVDs ‘till either Thursday of Friday, and then head home, where little sister has dinner waiting.
My stomach has been off most of the day, and though I am hungry, I’m not really able to eat properly because the meal doesn’t go down well at all, no matter how tasty.

I’m nauseous most of the evening while we watch HellBoy II The Golden Army. It’s not bad, but it wasn’t as good as part one. They turned it more into a kids’ movie, which is a pity–and an affliction I’ve been noticing a lot with today’s movies. Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull had that problem, and I have no doubt that The Mummy III will be worse that part II. I’ll know in the next few days.
I wonder why they do that: Take a perfectly good, serious or semi-serious story and mess it up like that? Perhaps it’s the PG13 rating they’re all pretty much striving for so they can earn more money.

Suffice it to say that I was slightly disappointed at the end. And Adam Sandler’s Zohan movie was a bit on the iffy side, too. There were some funny aspects, but they were straddling the line when it got remarkably close to being annoying.

In the midst of movie two, we find my new gloves on the floor…with no idea how the dogs managed to get their teeth in them this time. I’d put them high and back on arrival. Luckily the damage is minimal and I can still use them.

For the remainder of the evening, I try to keep my stomach calm with watered down OJ. To no avail, since the moment I get up to my cabin, I can no longer keep my stomach contents down and worship the porcelain bowl for a few minutes.

Feeling decidedly better, I settle down with my computer for some chats, messages and the day’s Blog, bringing the day to an end.

Dreaming is grand!

I wake this morning, literally frozen in place. Not so much because of the temperatures for a change, no, it’s the pack. For some reason they have all gathered around the top part of my body moving closer and closer, until I’m hanging on by a hair on the very edge of the mattress.

I swear, if I could manage it I would get a twenty by twenty feet bed, just to be able to stretch out, roll over and actually not be in danger of falling out of bed…I assure it has happened before, and undoubtedly will again.

But as I was saying; there I am, my arm twisted beneath my torso–feeling pretty much dead to me–one leg thrown over…Chaos, I think, who’s lying sprawled over the foot end of the bed and I am trying to prevent myself from waking from the discomfort when I’m experiencing a rather interesting dream that is book material, for sure.

I was in a log cabin…probably due to the book I’m working on at this time where the protagonist is staying at a nice big cabin, in the midst of winter.
It is a beautiful place (the dream, of course…the book, too, but I’m trying to explain the dream), white stretching planes of snow-swept hills and valleys, with a faint little sun rising from the distant horizon as dawn arrives.
It is idyllic, beautiful…and as it turns out, quite dangerous.
I am hunkering underneath a shattered window, cold wind sweeping into the cabin making copper colored curtains blow inside with billowing folds. Glass crunches under my bare feet and I peer suspiciously outside. There’s a shotgun in my hands, one of those sawed off things they always use in action flicks, and I know, somehow that it is fully loaded.
There are some scrapes and bruises on my hands, which feel cold from the chill that cannot be countered by the fire blazing in the hearth, and my right arm hurts, somewhat fiercely. (Reality and fantasy mixing, undoubtedly.)
A glance down shows a nasty cut slashing down from my shoulder to elbow, blood already drying on the woolen sweater that appears to be cut by some sort of cutting device during…whatever event occurred during the night (I don’t recall what it was, drat!)
I’m shifting uncomfortably in my crouched position by the window, a couple of mean looking dogs–not my own–stalking around throughout the cabin chamber, as if keeping their vigil on doors and window alike. They wary, hyped with adrenaline, and snarling occasionally at whatever it is that’s stalking around the cabin.
Blinking against the flare of early sunlight, blinding me for but a moment, I almost miss the move from a small gathering of pines, at least sixty feet away from the building. I tense involuntarily, my hands tightening around the butt of the shotgun and bringing it up to aim, right when something large, dark and ugly comes rushing straight at me.
It’s huge! Vicious teeth sparkling in the morning light as it leaps, inhuman talons flashing and the large body hurling through the open window just when I pull the trigger and…I wake up. Grrrrr.
The monster boxer is attacking the quilt again, and Knight II is jumping up and down the bed in an attempt to wake me up by trampling, half an hour before waking time.

Damn it! Just when things start to get interesting the darn dogs always wake me up. They can’t wait a measly five minutes to let me finish a dream. No. It is their way, or the high way.

Just to make a point, and to let them see who’s the boss, I stay in bed for the remainder of the thirty minutes that are left to me, desperately trying to fall back to sleep to finish the dream. But it is to no avail. By the time the alarm screeches, I roll out of bed and let the dogs out into the main garden for their morning run.

Rather than start the morning rituals, the way I should, I return to the bedroom as soon as I’m alone and reset the alarm for another thirty minutes. I’m off into dreamland the moment my head hits the pillow, but regretfully this nap was uninspiring compared to the interrupted dream and a little grumpily I finally get up and get dressed to the impatient barking of the pack.

The cabin is looking good. The paintings jump out beautifully against the backdrop of the light turquoise varnish of the walls. The couch actually looks neat for a change, and pretty much everything is in place when I go through the morning rituals and finally take the dogs down to the house.

Throughout the morning the sky was overcast–I now have a perfect view of the valley, and I checked several times–but by the time I arrive at the courtyard gate, the sun breaks through, feeling nicely warm on my skin just seconds before I head under the corrugated aluminum roof that covers most of the courtyard.

Most of yesterday’s laundry has dried, and as soon as I’ve deposited my bag on the counter, I head back again to take it down. There is only one dog blanket to hang and while hanging it I come to the infuriating realization that sometime during the previous day some pesky dog got its maul into one of my boxing gloves. Darn it! The dog in question must have literally dug into the closet shelve four feet high and picked out the one thing I can’t easily replace.

The glove is ruined, too, or so I see once I pick it up in hopes of still being able to use it. The half-fingers are gone completely, and the padding has been torn to pieces, leaving nothing but the back behind. I curse a blue streak, grumbling dire warnings at my innocent looking pack as I toss the ruined protection in their midst and stalk back into the house.

Of course they have ruined the right hand glove. It could not have been the left one, seeing as I’ve got a spare from the last debacle. So this means that tomorrow I can’t do my exercises, since we won’t be going to town later in the day. Drat!

Taking a couple of deep calming breaths, I shove my displeasure aside and set to folding the pile of dry laundry, at which time big brother and grandpa, arrive.
Breakfast comes next, and while the coffee percolates I set up the computer and log onto the net, while, once again, big brother and grandpa head out of the house to repair the inner fence.

We are really going to have to buy a new roll, since the younger, more persistent buggers in the pack keep attacking the metal fence until they have torn another hole in the ten year old fence that keeps them from wreaking havoc on grandpa’s little pack, which lives in the upper part of the garden. It’s in their twisted little minds at the moment, and nothing we do is going to stop them until a full replacement has been put up.

After dealing with a few messages and doing a quick perusal of the chat forums, I get off-line again, and start working on the book project.

The characters are developing nicely, I’ll admit. Their quirks and secrets are becoming more prominent and their habits and behavioral patterns solidifying, as the first indication of romance is thrown into the story.
It is going to be very different from its predecessor, I can already tell, but still there are enough similarities between this character and her sister from part one. Gotta love writing about the Irish. Hah.

I’m pretty focused on the story in the hours that follow, not resurfacing until the evening arrives and my stomach starts to growl.
It doesn’t help much that big brother’s baking a small portion of yesterday’s pasta with cheese, and since he didn’t deign it necessary to make me dinner too, I head to the kitchen to see what I can stuff down my throat without going through too much trouble.

In the end I settle on reheating a serving of spaghetti with yesterday’s sauce and eat it there where my computer has heated the surface of the table during the typing session.
One of the advantages of pasta, I always think, is the fact that it digests easily and doesn’t need a long time to settle. By the time it does, I get up and head for the kitchen to do a few dishes and then tackle the glass–and–wooden doors that I want to hang in the second to last closet for the kitchen.

They’re tall, fully intact and the result of digging through the local landfill area. The stuff people throw away…why, you could build a small house from it. Oh wait, we did that. Hah.
The doors fit perfectly in the closet that we hung in the corner of the kitchen, and after roaming through the supplies for a considerable time, I am finally able to locate enough hinges to hang them.

The temperature is decidedly less hostile today, since I am able to move around in a sweater and T without feeling like I’m freezing. Neither do I hear anyone else complain about the cold.

Though in most places the paint on the doors is still intact, there are enough flaky parts that make me break a piece of glass so I can remove the chips. Sure, I could use the sanding machine–and I will, later on–but freshly broken glass really does the job much better.

While big brother is fitting the first two hinges, I’m clearing away thick layers of bright blue paint and then we both start hanging them into their frames.
Next I sand the wood, removing any bumps and bruises from the old, but still good, wood, and declare the closet ready for the next step at the exact time big brother finishes attaching the last hinge.

Afterwards there’s some debate about which color we’re going to paint the doors, red or blue, and in the end, since the younger sibs think the red color looks fancier, middle sister and I start slapping on paint

The end result is rather charming, I think. It looks a little like one of those old telephone booths in the UK, and everyone is pretty pleased with the way things look.
Just one more painting session to go and we will be able to transport the supplies from the last part of the old kitchen and declare the new one as good as done.

Little sister and I spend the remainder of the evening cleaning up the kitchen that is once again filled with wood shavings, sawdust and light blue paint chips. It’s a mess, but by the time the evening draws to an end, we are both delighted with what was done today.

I have another slice of yesterday’s cake while I sit in the living area, Arthur, one of the big pack members, crawls on my lap for a petting, before the time to go up to my cabin arrives.

Up the mountain another big batch of books awaits sorting. They are the pile that big brother sneakily stole from my shelves during the course of the past six months, or so, and for a while I wonder how it is all going to fit. But, with some strategic shifting and shoving I finally get them all in place and settle behind the computer.

Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, I’m sure. There will be the lessons to fit into the schedule, a trip to the sports store, and a quick trip to the home improvement place.

Ah well, no matter. This was another good day, all things considered. Got things done!

Rat hunt for my birthday!

I was quite delighted when I lay down last night and found that I was able to stare out over the valley while lying in bed. It was beautiful, a play of little lights in a variety of colors, sparkling against the black, velvety backdrop of the night. The last thing I remember before dropping off, was watching the glitters in the distance, as a matter of fact.

Apparently the monsters think that rude awakening, four friggin’ hours before it’s time to get up, is a proper birthday greeting. It is not, I assure you. Nor are the hourly waking calls (a paw in my face) from Trin Trin, who wants to get up on the bed and then proceeds to jump off again, less than ten minutes after I wake and drag her up, time and again.

The ritual goes on and on, until, by the time the alarm goes, the monster Boxer and Knight II are both hanging in the foot end of my quilt, doing their very best to pull the blankets from me.
I toss a pillow in their direction, sending them scattering only momentarily and take my time stretching and yawning before I roll out of bed to let the noisy pack out into the open.

The sun is wonderfully warm when I step out onto the porch for a minute, the chilly wind is blocked by my cabin and allows me to soak up some heat before I start the morning rituals of making the bed, cleaning up any messes the dogs might have made and getting dressed.

Obviously thrilled by the sun as well, the pack has gathered on the porch and surrounding sunlit patches, their furs rapidly warming and feeling actually hot to the touch.

I’m still thrilled with the changes in my bedroom, and am already looking forward to starting on the living room later today, when I shoo the dogs away, and lock the door behind me.

It is not because of burglars or anything that I do this. Considering that the key just stays in the lock on the outside during the course of the day, it would really be a moot point. What with our pack of ninety something walking around all day, it really isn’t necessary for worry about human intruders. No, such an action is only to protect the inside of the cabin against the dogs, as a matter of fact.

There are several dogs that have long since mastered the art of using a handle, and will gleefully open any door that is closed to them. Thus came the safety measure, after some trial and error in the past.

It is no fun whatsoever to arrive at one’s quarters to find half a dozen books shredded on the floor, cushions torn to bits and scattered into every niche and crevice and clothes dragged from the wardrobe. You learn real fast how to keep unsupervised pets out through such events.

By the time I get to the house, the dogs rushing inside ahead of me, I start on laundry as soon as I’ve turned on the radio and inform big brother of the fact that he needs to get a new gasket for the heater.

Only two batches to hang and a similar amount to fold, so it is done in record time before I have a quick breakfast and put the coffee on. Next I set up my computer and get ready to reread and edit some for the full-length vampire flick big brother and I are working on, before settling in to write.

It goes well enough, I guess. I manage a page, but time is short again today, so after that one page I’m forced to shut down and start on dinner. Well, not forced, perhaps, but I feel like veggies today, and since no one else feels like cooking, it will be up to me.

No matter, soon water is boiling for pasta, and a fresh tomato sauce is bubbling with herbs, onions and canned red bell peppers, before I add cream for a softer taste. On the side I’ve nice eclectic mix of veggies to satisfy my palate today, and half an hour later we’re all having dinner and loving it.

That done, I precede big brother up to my room and start throwing out cushions and the likes so we can commence the remodeling immediately.
By the time he arrives, along with grandpa, who curiously comes along to see what’s up.
I’m just about to start on the cabinet I want removed, open the door of a couple of shelves that I haven’t used in a year…and slowly, carefully and quietly push it shut again at the sight of several rats huddling in the corner.

Gawd that startled me, but I’ve managed to keep quiet enough not to startle them into fleeing when I turn towards grandpa and big brother and inform them of my find.
After some debate big brother heads for the courtyard, where my dogs are whining pitifully as they stare up at where we’re working. We’re going to need Sitabah for this little adventure, and though the others would love a little hunting party, too, they would really just get in the way of such things.

Both Sitabah and Dax come dashing up the mountain, eagerly looking around when I call them towards the cabinet, of which I’m keeping the door firmly shut until the time has arrived. I take a minute to get Sitabah really excited, grab the handle and jump back when the two dogs face the opening. They stare straight at the stirring rat bodies inside for a full second before they pounce.

I jump out the door when the vermin scatter rapidly. The rats and I similarly impressed with Sitabah’s prowess…admittedly for vastly different reason, hah…when she snatches the first, shakes it around a bit and tosses the spasmodic body aside to chase the second.

They’re going every which way, crawling over electrical wires, furniture and paintings alike in their frantic flight with Sitabah snapping at their heels.
There are six of them, I’m shocked to see, dodging Daxie, who’s going in hot pursuit of one of the furry little buggers. He bravely faces the critter, half his size, shaking the squealing baggage like mad but failing to finish it off.

Sitabah, momentarily distracted from her attempt to crawl underneath the couch, speeds after him, easily snapping the wriggly rat from his grasp and killing it expediently.
Two down, three vanished without a trace through the open window, and one hiding somewhere in the mess that used to be my living room.

Since we can neither see, nor hear it, big brother and I start removing the cabinet in its entirety. As it turns out, the critters have pretty much decimated the back cover, and since a most disturbing smell drifts up from it, we carry the thing out of the cabin and immediately toss it on the truck-bed.

Next we remove my books…there are hundreds of them, or so I realize when slowly my bed gets completely covered by them, until at last all the bookcases are empty and we can start on removing them, taking off a section and then placing the remainder against the opposite wall.

Halfway through, Sitabah pounces on my shoe cabinet, digs in and jubilantly reappears with a wriggly gray body clenched between her teeth. Victoriously she prances around the room a bit, preening in our vocal praises, before she hops onto the couch and cracks the critter’s skull, and drops it with what appears to be disappointment.

She has this proud look in her eyes, coming over for a quick pat on her head before she goes back to check if the rat is really dead, and then resumes her vigil of every nook and cranny in the room.
Three successful hunts, and she wants more. Hah. Good dog!

Once the corpse is removed, big brother and I resume our project.
It is terrifyingly cold tonight. The heater certainly can’t compete as our extremities slowly drop in temperature, urging me to more speed, lest it gets too bad.

Not wanting to waste the removed part of the bookcase, we attach it to another section, which takes up most of the northern wall.

Once everything is properly attached, the out-of-season chest moved to a corner, and small drawers shoved out of the way, the couch is pushed against the west wall, creating a wonderful amount of space. As an added bonus, I now have a blank wall on which I can hang one of my paintings. Yay! I missed my paintings.

The drawers are piled together, and big brother and I spend the next hour or so carrying back the books to the shelves.
What with brother only wearing slippers over socks, he is forced to leave me alone with the remainder of the task. But I don’t mind. I can be fussy about where which book needs to go, and I spend the remainder of the evening organizing the books until they’re all lined up to my satisfaction, and then continue with cleaning the floors.

At long last I’m done. It is close to midnight when I return to the main house and soak up the heat now that I’ve noticed that the chill was really bad enough to make my insides shiver and my teeth chatter…almost.

Little sister has a surprise when I settle in the chair that faces the heater. While we were working on my room, she’s made another cake–this time for my real birthday– and I enjoy the treat while watching a recorded episode of “Life”.

With my insides still shaky, and my skin painfully warm now that I’m getting back to my usual temperature, I am actually dreading going up to my room. I know I’ll be cold again, even though I left the heater on, and this proves to be correct when I open the door and let the dogs dash inside.

Sitabah leads the way, hopeful of some more hunting only to be left disappointed.
I do some more organizing…there’s still some that needs to be done, but in the end I settle behind my computer and start on the night’s chats, leaving cleaning to tomorrow.

I’m tired, a little achy, but on the overall it was a good birthday.