Well, I got the Missing Scene for Ch. 7 of Grail written to the tune of 580 words. This was all harder than it had to be because of a massive attacks of bad brain chemicals*. Now I am consoling myself with milkfat (hot cocoa) and booze (schnapps). And there is delivery Indian on the way. Sadly, I suppose the funny man with the lovely phone voice is not on the menu....
...yeah, that would be the schnapps on an empty stomach talking.
This is a sad, sad excuse for a snowpocalypse so far.
Left on tonight's to-do list:
Eat my weight in curry and poori
Front page thingy for SU
Edit next chapter
Blog post for Charlie's Diary
Sign and package books and postcards to mail (this is so getting bumped to tomorrow)
Watch Criminal Minds and Leverage.
*I'm out about this, but I don't talk about it much because it's boring. I'm ultra-rapid-cycling (ultradian) bipolar I with comorbid post-traumatic stress. However, I have been this way for a long fucking time, and it's old now. But I guess as some sort of Minor Internet Celebrity (who does she think she is?) it's incumbent upon me to represent for the Bad Brain Chemical crowd.
Normally, my bad brain chemicals are pretty amenable to exercise as a treatment option, but today all the running and yoga did were change me from irritated, anxious, self-hating, and sad to sad sad sad. Of course, I've had so much cognitive training and self-training at this point that I am more or less capable of looking at that and going "Gee, that's totally neurochemical!" and then tracking down the trigger and intellectualizing the hell out of it.
Which does not actually make me less sad or triggery or whatever. But it does keep me from acting on it.
Bipolar has such a high suicide rate because it's so much fucking work.