August 17th, 2008

criminal minds prentiss deed's sake tenn

woke up. got out of bed. dragged a comb across my head.

And now I am faced with the rather cheery proposition of figuring out what to do with today, since I don't have to write. I mean, okay, I need to do something about the grossness quotient of my floor and bathroom, and I should use up some of these groceries, but I'm off duty. And that's kind of an amazingly pleasant sensation.

(This is for posterity, and the next time I go shoe shopping, so please excuse exhaustive discussion of My Feet to follow.)

A climbing milestone yesterday, in that I have bought my second pair of shoes. After spending over an hour in Eastern Mountain Sports (climbing shoes =serious business; at least as serious as hiking boots and running shoes, if not more so.), with the able aid and tolerance of The Jeff, I wound up seriously torn, because I was feeling very affectionate towards these Moccasyms, which made my feet feel cheerfully like little hard hooves (which is what you want; ponyboys and girls pray attend; I have a sport for you. except you'll have to use your hands) but which they only had in two sizes: very slightly too large, so my foot rubbed at the heel and my toes weren't properly compacted (this is a euphemism for "jammed together") and very slightly too small, so the left foot fit absolutely perfectly, but my middle toe on the right was jammed up awkwardly and uncomfortably. If they'd had them in a men's 8/women's 9.5, I think I might have ended up with those. When next I need shoes, I may mail-order a pair of those, since now I know what size I want. And they have really wonderful stiff, aggressively sticky soles. It was almost no effort to stand up on the edges of my toes in those.

What I bought instead, after much agonizing and edging around the gym fixtures, was these, in a 9.5: the Evolv Elektras, thus continuing my tradition of purple climbing shoes. (Climbing shoes are not something where you get to pick the color. You buy the shoe that fits, which happens to come in a color. You can have any color you want, as long as it's the color that shoe comes in.) The funny thing is, I usually can't wear women's climbing shoes; I have big high-wolume feet with a second and third toe both longer than my big toe, and it makes it hard to jam my foot into narrow little girl shoes that are supposed to fit footbindingly tight. And in these, I have wound up with a pair of shoes so comfortable I'm honestly a little suspicious of them.

Climbing shoes are not supposed to be comfortable. They're supposed to not hurt so much you can't walk in them.

I need to go try them out now, of course, and despite having been up until two AM at a Call of Cthulhu game with some new friends and some people I haven't seen since the 1990s, I'm ridiculously energetic and bouncy.

So I'm contemplating either wandering down to the gym to boulder a little, or finding out if Jeff or Alisa wants to head outdoors today. I was sort of planning on hanging around the house and being lazy, but I actually find I'm pretty restless and want to go do something physical. (This is probably a side effect of having been a slug since Wednesday; I didn't run all week, and I did my grocery shopping in the car.)

Alternately, I might try the closer gym, because honestly my gym sets pretty darned hard, and the bouldering routes are almost all beyond me. Of course, falling off things is good exercise too, but it's not very satisfying if that's all you're doing.
sf doctor FANtastic!

(no subject)

Hey, if anybody wants to perform a service to a sad-eyed author, I just happened to notice that on Amazon, Ink & Steel and Hell & Earth each have a single, solitary, sad little reader review... by you-know-who. To anybody who's read them and wants to go have an opinion, positive or negative, I would be grateful.

...at least Harriet liked them.
  • Current Mood
    lazy lazy
rengeek will and tilda

these days it's all about the monkeys.

It's only 9:30, and I have taken  to my bed. Not because I'm tired--well, okay, I lie. I'm physically tired from exercise, but not sleepy--but because it's comfy in here and the cat has come to snuggle and I have nothing else to do.

The malady persists. When I am not working on a story, I have no idea how to fill up my days. So many of the things I like to do with my spare time involve thinky for fun, after all, and one of the reasons I need breaks between writing things is that telling stories is an exhaustive mental effort. They use up all my thinky, and then I am left without too much else to fill up my time. (There are physical limits on how much climbing and running I can do, after all.)

And it cracks me up, because when I am actually working on a story and it's ready to be written (as opposed to being hacked out of the living rock to beat a deadline), I am crabby and reclusive and very defensive of my precious time, and very very aware that there's not nearly enough of it. The winged chariot is right at my heels, and there is never enough time in the day and strength in my poor mortal frame to get as much done as I want to. So I tend to slough things off--things like grocery shopping, practicing guitar, and cleaning the house, and getting up to go for a run--because I get up and go to work instead.

And then in the times between stories, I cook and put things in the freezer, and wash the floor, and make sure the plants get watered. (The cat is better at complaining when her needs aren't met.

I determined something today, which is that I think I need to eat more carbs. Collapse )

Anyway, work happened last week, and right now my thinky bit is resting, and so while I'm wishing I had the brain to finish Bone & Jewel Creatures or maybe get a draft of "Smoke & Mirrors" and also do some work on "Mongoose," well.

Despite the fact that I am bored and at lose ends and have no idea what to do with myself right now (A condition technically known as "post-novel ennui"), there just is no there there. And asking for it is as useless as asking a marathon runner for just one more sprint when he's just crossed the finish line.

Some days it's all about the recovery time.