Bethanie's Brain

OK. Supper is over. The dishes are cleared. The extra food is put away. The Husband and Ms. Three are downstairs watching a movie. It's nice and quiet. Sounds like a perfect time to get some writing done. I just called my sister and left a message for her to call me. I've logged into yahoo messenger. I've logged into my work email. I have a browser page up with my personalized google. I'm almost out of water. And I need a snack. It must be time to get started. Must be.... guess I'll do that now... unless the phone rings or something...

So this has been the weirdest pregnancy. Well, weirder than the other one. Everything is happening earlier – belly button popage; massively painful hip displaysia; pubic symphisis rebellion; sacroiliac complaints; breathlessness; constant heartburn; etc. Oh, and the good stuff too – kicking baby; hiccups; the precursors to lactation (“Houston, we have colostrum!”); etc. OK, maybe that stuff’s not weird. But a couple of weeks ago, everything I ate that came out of my freezer tasted like bananas – ice cubes, ice cream, hot dogs, everything. And then, there’s the following: I am, apparently, partially color blind. Whether or not this is pregnancy-induced, I have no idea, but there is a particular shade of green which no matter how hard I try, I cannot distinguish from black. Now I don't have any problems with any other shade of green (so far as I know) and I passed every color-blindess test I could find on the web, but this one shade just is beyond my ability to discern. No am...

It's a tiny little speck, but it's there: Orangina can be found south of the M-DL. In fact, I have proof of this little speck of hope in the form of an undiscloable number of little bottles safely tucked out of sight under my cube's desk-like appendage. You may wonder: How on Earth did this happen? Answer: Apparently, I am truly pitiful. So pitiful, in fact, that my previous post bemoaning the (apparent) lack of Orangina prompted a comment from a friend, a native of Exile. This lovely woman not only had suggestions on where I might find Orangina AND called around to see which places actually had it, but WENT AND GOT SOME FOR ME . And would not take any money for it. This sweet and selfless act brought tears to my eyes and still does. ( Yes , I love Orangina that much. What do you want, I'm pitiful, remember?) I can only hope to return the favor some day. Now. If only I could get my mitts on a Moe's.

*sneaks surrepititiously onto posting page* Just taking a little break from the wonderful world of polymorphisms, abstracts, and SORRY-your-biosketch-cannot-be-longer-than- 4-pages-stop-looking-at-me-like-that-I-don't-make-the-rules- I-just-work-here to check in and ... well, goof off. 'Cuz I need my damn brain back for five minutes so I can remember what else I get to use it for besides hunting for errant commas and missing definite articles. Spent all weekend and all evening editing other people's stuff. Not done yet. Actually, it's not as bad as it sounds as this is a perfectly legitimate excuse that keeps me from having to edit or *gasp, clutch at heart* write my own stuff. Yeah, that chapter still ain't done. Oh crap, there goes my damn email again... What the hell ever gave me the not-so-bright idea that working from home was a good thing anyway?

So after 8-1/2 years together and nearly 6 years of marriage, it has finally happened. A member of the right-wing, religious-nut side of the family ( his family, people, not mine!) has asked The Question . Five little words: Do you believe in god? I assumed she meant her god, the Christian one, and answered rather bluntly. I think I even used the word “bunk”. (What!? It was late, I was tired and I just couldn’t think how to put it any more politely.) She was quietly scandalized and made the mistake of asking for further details. Which I provided her. I was nice, really, I was. I mean, I have to see this woman again (at least several times a year). She’s my sister-in-law and she’s really a nice person – good mother and stay-at-home-mom to two boys and a girl. And Ms. Three and her daughter just adore each other. In other words, there was some incentive there not to actively alienate her. So I gave my standard, very succinct and polite-as-I-could-manage definition of agnosticism...

I SO need an Orangina today. They SO don't have them in Exile. *loud, dramatic sigh*

So I was bopping about online looking for I-don't-know-what when I somehow stumbled upon the following quote from Robert Jordan: Harriet, would you let someone who quit his job to go write fantasy anywhere near your nuclear reactor? He said this after 10 or 15 years of writing in response to his wife reminding him that, if he ever got sick of writing, he could go back to being a nuclear engineer. It made me laugh. I'm not sure why. Maybe just the sheer juxtaposition of "fantasy" and "nuclear reactor". Those two things sorta shouldn't really be in the same sentence, know what I mean? Now I've never read anything by Robert Jordan, but I think I might just because he made me laugh. That and a bit further down in the interview he talked about writing women characters. As in, he's done it and apparently done it very successfully. That made me feel better because I tend to like writing my male characters so much better than writing my female ones...

OK, so here I am out. Out on a limb. I cruised by this writer's website last night and, if you join this forum, you can post the first 13 lines of whatever you're working on to see if you can interest anyone into reading the rest of the piece. I was tempted to do it except that what I'm working on (new prologue to novel #1) isn't finished. However, my exhibitionist tendancies are getting the better of me... So here it is: the first 13 lines of my novel. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lars let his boots make plenty of noise as he strode down the stone paved hallway. He was a large man, taller by a head than most and built like the trunk of a main mast tree, so there was plenty of bulk to put thunder into every step. The sounds echoed, bouncing to the end of the hall and back again off the grey stone walls of Keep Talistor. Probably, the noise wouldn’t make any difference. Probably, Fenn was too high from smoking magweed to hear anything of th...

Observation: It is very difficult to edit scientific papers while your three-year-old is watching Seasame Street in the same room. This does not seem to be the case with other shows she might be watching while I am working. Seasame Street, however, is a different story. Perhaps, it's because I watched it myself as as child and when my favorite characters come on (Ernie & Bert, Cookie Monster, Super Grover - they didn't have Elmo way back then), I am drawn back into my own childhood for a few precious moments. That's very hard to resist. Then again, maybe I've just had too many polymorphisms for one day...

OK, I don't know why and it makes no sense at all, but I was googling "science writing master" just now because I'm thinking about getting a Master's degree and, among some science writing programs, one of the links it came up with was: " Church of the Flying Spagehetti Monster ". Eh? This has WHAT to do with science writing? Naturally, I click on said link - I mean, how can you NOT - and find this website dedicated to spreading a new religion that makes about as much sense to the poor little agnostic brain as any of the others out there (which I think is the point... I think... it's getting late...). Anyways, worth a laugh if nothing else. Still no earthly idea what the Flying Spaghetti Monster has to do with science writing. Eh, who cares!

Spotted on the way to work this morning: A white oval with bold black letters over a pink ribbon that said... Save the ta tas Humorous and effective, what could be better?

So the old friend mentioned in Owls dropped by, left me a line, started her own blog and turned me on to this: Your Toes Should Be Black A total rulebreaker (and heartbreaker), you're always a little punk rock. Your flirting style: Wacky and a bit shocking Your ideal guy: An accomplished artist, musician, or writer Stay away from: Preppy guys looking for a quick bad girl fling What Color Should Your Toenails Be? Egads! Is that really me? The bit about the punk rock, certainly. Wacky and a bit shocking? Well, I try. But rule breaking? I doubt it. Heart breaking? That'll be the day. And as for artists, musicians and writers... one in the house is probably plenty....

Did you know you can make S'mores in the microwave? Me neither. At least, not until I had the happy accident of noticing instructions for making S'mores in the microwave on the back of the graham cracker box when we went camping (not bringing S'mores when camping is like not bringing water). It's shockingly easy and takes less than 10 seconds: Place 1/2 of a graham cracker on a microwave-safe plate. Place 1/4 of a Hershey's chocolate bar on top of the graham cracker. Place one regular-sized marshmellow on top of the chocolate. Place the other 1/2 of the graham cracker on top of the marshmellow. Place the entire contraption in the microwave, being careful not to upset it. Nuke for 4 seconds - WATCHING CAREFULLY. As soon as the marshmellow begins to swell up, open the microwave door and squish the contraption so the top graham cracker doesn't fall off. Rotate contraption a 1/4 turn, close microwave door and nuke another 4 or 5 seconds. Remove from microwave, s...

My heart has rooms that sigh with dust And ashes in the hearth. They must be cleaned and blown away By daylight's breath. But I cannot essay the task, For even dust to me is dear; For dust and ashes still recall, My love was here. I know not how to say farewell, When farewell is the word That stays alone for me to say Or will be heard. But I cannot speak out that word Or ever let my loved one go. How can I bear it that these rooms Are empty so? I sit among the dust and hope That dust will cover me. I stir the ashes in the hearth, Though cold they be. I cannot bear to close the door, To seal my lonliness away While dust and ashes yet remain Of my love's day. -Stephen R. Donaldson ~~White Gold Wielder~~

Living in The South is Hell for me. No surprise there, right? And aside from the few things I do like about it (the food, the family (well, most of the time), the music, the very lovely springs with their awesome, and sometimes frightful, thunderstorms), it doesn't have much that would keep me here if I actually had a choice about leaving. I can, however, comfort myself with the knowledge that at least, if I must remain trapped here, I am trapped in a relatively liberal part of The South. (Relatively.) As proof of this, I offer up the following two facts: 1) The metro area I live near voted against W. and 2) I saw the following bumper sticker the other day and was much comforted: Republicans for Voldemort I must have one.

Thunder, lightening and rain started up around 4AM - no getting back to sleep for this mama (I did try). Why do storms like this come at such odd hours around here? It wasn't even hot outside or anything... weird... We did end up getting nailed yesterday - no tornados, but lots of rain, wind and some quarter-sized hail at the house. Got to the parking lot at work around 10AM and just as I was getting out of the car the sky cracked open practically over my head. The resulting noise was deafening, reverberating through my body like some kind of mega subwoofer. Decided to take the shuttle bus. I don't normally do that - I usually walk the mile or so to the cube, that being my only real opportunity for exercise during a workday - but something told me I'd better not try it. Good choice, as it turned out. Sky started spitting rain as soon as I reached the shuttle stop. More cracks in the clouds right overhead, more booming super subwoofer pounding through me. I could see ...

The sun came up, a fireball, then disappeared behind a blanket of clouds. Now everything is a flat grey-green. The rain patters inconsistently, and thunder rumbles on and on and on.

The sky is turning red now, red like Hell is rising, and the thunder is thrashing about like it's trying to get comfortable and can't. The birds sound frantic and cars drive by, all in a hurry to get somewhere. Lightening pulls color from the ascending sun and makes things pink instead of techni-glow bright. The rain has scampered off and is nowhere to be seen.

Woke up between 3 and 4AM this morning, finally gave up and got up at 5:30 to watch thunderstorms approaching - didn't want to miss the show. Watched out the bedroom window for a while then opened the door to the deck and stood listening. The sky was flashing and silent. Then rain started plinking the deck, almost hesitantly, like it was just testing it out, seeing if it really wanted to fall there. A few seconds later the first hints of thunder rumbled by on the edge of the horizon and the lightening started getting serious. No longer a vague flashing in the clouds, now it began to light things up, not enough to show color in that millisecond way that you see in the middle of a storm, but enough to remind you it could if it wanted to. The rain moved on to test out somebody else's deck and I went to make "coffee" (decaf, of course, which you wouldn't think is worth it, but when that's all you're allowed to have, you'll take it). I'm sipping it...

Woke up early-early this morning, which isn’t terribly unusual for me. I don’t sleep much anyway and pregnancy means sleeping less at a time (though naps are more frequent). Went through all the motions of “getting back to sleep”, which is usually futile and proved to be again this morning – although not for the usual reasons. April participates in the rare few weeks in The South when you can have your windows open at night. (The rest of the time they have to be locked tight against “cold” or suffocating heat.) Consequently, our windows were open in the early-early as I stumbled around piles of laundry and various toys to the bathroom and back. The sky was lightening, but still mostly grey-black, and there were lots and lots of birds starting up with their morning sing-a-long. Hoping to fool myself into another hour or so of rest, I lay down and attempted to get comfortable (this proves more impossible every day, but one must try). I snuggled the husband, closed my eyes, pulled t...