Bethanie's Brain

Word count: 100 or so Wikipedia consultations: 1 (Viking ships) Tune-age: None I was editing, see, instead of writing. Somehow that justifies not cranking out quite so much. Actually, I was hoping to CUT 500 words. Didn't do so good there. Oh, well.

Right, so I just spent the better part of an hour labeling most of my past posts. Yes, I just went through the whole goddamn list and opened every post I've posted since I started posting and thought up a bunch of snappy-sounding labels for them. I'm ridiculous, I know, but I've been itching to do this for over a year. Now I feel better. So organized. So clean . So refreshed! So envigorated! OK, yeah, that could very well be the caffiene talking.

Word Count: 552 Forays into Wikipedia: 0 (Eh?!!?) Other Peripheral Distractions: Multiple checks of email leading to the discovery that Blogger FINALLY has fucking categories! Woo-hoo! Had to sign up. Tune-age: Hand That Feeds (NIN) (yes, over and over and over...) OK, this 500-word goal thing is working. I churned out all this crap and suddenly found my chapter swirling at light speed to a (sorta) cliffhanger ending I hadn't seen coming. Not only is that cool, it also made clear the solutions to all the other problems with this chapter AND means I might just squeeze out that deadline on Sunday. !!

Word count: 619 Forays into Wikipedia: 5 (Chinese surnames, 100 most common Chinese surnames, Chinese Nobility, Han Dynasty, Warrant Officer) Tune-age: The Hand That Feeds (NIN) That actually wasn't so bad. Today. 'Course I got to sleep for 4 hours in a row last night. THAT probably won't happen again for a week.

So I was reading this thing about increasing your "writing productivity" today and one of the tips is to set yourself daily goals. They can, thankfully, be small goals, but all the same, it apparently helps you to crank out the wordage. I'm thinking about trying it. Partly I want to try it because I'm one of those people who's so annoyingly goal-oriented that I can't function properly without a damn To Do list even when I'm on vacation. I also need SOMETHING to get my ass in gear with this book. I want it finished. I want the fucking thing out of my head so I can move on to something else. I also need something else to think about besides whether or not I should brave changing the baby's diaper (there's always a chance she's not quite done) or how to get Ms. Four to do something else besides chop scrap paper into teensy, tiny pieces (yes, I'm the friggin' idiot who bought her the scissors, and yes, my living room floor looks distin...

I am not a shopper. Well, let me rephrase that. Slightly. I am a shopper, but only for certain items. That is to say, I do not like to just “go shopping” in the conventional sense where one spends hours joyously wandering around some mall with one’s girlfriends spending gobs of money on god-knows-what just for the sheer pleasure of it while one’s significant other sits mournfully but patiently on a bench somewhere with other significant others. I know I am betraying my gender, but unless it involves books, textiles or shoes, I am not that kind of shopper. I’m not sure why exactly. Probably a combination of things. I don’t like crowds of people. I don’t like looking at every single, stinkin’ thing in the store. I prefer to get in, get what I need and get the hell out before the crowds of people get me, which is probably why I don’t like stores that aren’t properly organized (TJ Maxx and its ilk are a nightmare). In addition, I don’t like buying things I don’t really need (unles...

It’s my first day back at work after maternity leave. Somewhat sleep deprived, I arrive at my office just before 9AM. I sit down in my swivel chair and turn on my computer, then go get some coffee from the kitchen. I check my email first. Nothing new. Not too many people know I’m back yet. I get started on my first project. Then suddenly, it hits me: I’m still in my pajamas. Not only that, Ms. Four is watching Sesame Street just behind me and Ms. Baby is sleeping in her bouncy seat about four feet away. I’m at home. I’m working. I love my job.

It will never be cold enough here for me, but last night I got to wear pajamas. It got down below 50. We left the windows open. We threw another quilt on the bed. I'm not sure we needed the second quilt (not with the pajamas on anyway), but there's just something about the weight of that extra layer. It was positively delicious.

So I am happy to report that we have not one but two resident arachnids at the new house. I am also happy to report that neither one has taken up residence in any of our windows. Both have located their webs in rather more conventional spots. Well, at least one has. At right and below are front and side-view shots of the larger one, which I'm betting, based on her size, is a female. She has affectionately been dubbed by Ms. Four as "the new Jack" and has a very nice web set up between our garage and the path into the backyard. The location, as far as people are concerned, may not be ideal, since one must walk past it in order to visit the backyard. If one is not overly fond of spiders, the proximity could be distressing. In addition, I suppose there is also the possibility that the new Jack could relocate her web across the path into the backyard. However, based on last year's observations of the old Jack, I think we're safe - the old Jack had her web in ...

I went blog surfing for the first time today. Not sure what I was looking for. Not sure I found anything. But lots of people are writing about The Anniversary, so I thought I ought to contribute, if for no other reason than to record what I remember. (And let me forewarn you by saying that I found out I was pregnant two days after September 11, 2001, so everything about that day is colored for me by a hormonal haze. What does that mean? Well...) The smell of bagels. I was at some meeting that morning, a meeting with breakfasty snacks, and the odor of fresh bagels about knocked me out. Shaking. I was living in the Mountain time zone and hadn't listened to NPR on my way in to my office, so I had no idea what was happening until my boss called me. I turned the radio on and just sat there shaking so hard my teeth chattered and I couldn't seem to stop. No planes in the sky. We lived out West where the sky is really, really big and you can see lots and lots of it all at o...

So they've got a lot of bugs here south of the M-DL* and they grow 'em BIG. If you're a regular reader (um, yeah, like all two o' ya), you'll recall last fall's Spider Chronicles (Episodes I , II & III ), which featured Jack, the great, big, yellow-and-black arachnid who had taken up residence in our living room window and who I was, bravely and against every natural instinct that I have , using as a science lesson for Ms. Four. Now Jack was large as spiders go – she definitely warranted classification as a Big Bug. But Jack had nothing on some of the too-many-leggeds we've come across since moving to our new abode. Most of them have warranted classification as Downright Monstrous. Example # 1: Cave Crickets. Don’t they sound cute? They’re not. Nothing that gigantic is cute. I'm sure they have a scientific name (I don't know it), but I’m not sure why anyone would think to call them crickets, because from my perspective, there’s nothing...

I'm a fairly smart person. I should be able to figure this out myself. But alas, I think my age is showing. I want to buy a song. One song. I don't want the whole damn album. I just want the one song off it that I know I like. HOW THE HELL DO YOU DO THAT? (Arrgh!)

The milk startles me when in drips onto my arm. I don't know why. I felt it let down, after all. I grab a cloth diaper from where I keep it on the back of the couch and stuff it inside my shirt so to catch the rest of the drips. Then I save the chapter I'm working on and listen. Sure enough, within a minute or two, I hear Ms. Baby stirring. How my body knows she was about to wake up and need her 'nummies', I have no idea. I turn the monitor down and walk to the other end of the house to find Herself, eyes still closed, waving her arms in the air and nursing her blanket. I pick her up, latch her on and watch as my body fills her tummy. She does her usual - five very intense minutes, followed by five minutes of 'don't take this thing out of my mouth yet' token sucking. Then I put her on my shoulder and make what I know will be a fruitless attempt to burp her. My theory is that people just don't burp in their sleep (she has yet to bother opening her...