Oy, vey.

The Import got back from Annapolis on Friday, and we've basically goofed off ever since. I really don't have that much of a goofing off tolerance these days, and I've napped as much as anything. That said, we've done anniversary stuff--it's tomorrow, but he has to work--and eaten out way too much. He has Guitar Hero and a Nintendo DS case he actually likes (and some more things on the way), and I have a lovely Lush box set and something else coming. Oh, and the A/C in his car died ten minutes into today's trip across town and back, and he said, "No, we'll be fine," when I asked about going back for my one.

Today's high was in the range of 106°. That's a little over 40&deg: Celsius. This is considered normal where I'm from. I dream of the day when I can retire to either England or Minnesota.

Finally saw The Dark Knight today. OMFZ. Talk about a kick in the teeth, laid bare and put on a movie screen. Yes, Heath Ledger was amazing; his Joker was the embodiment of Death. The whole thing, though, was great. There was a moment about two-thirds of the way through when I went, "That's the whole thing?" But no, no, it wasn't, and, yeah. Fantastic. I know there's a thesis or fifty there. My personal favourite would be titled something like: "Batman and the Joker: The Psychological Interplay of Humanity's Drive for Meaning in the Face of Death." If anyone more educated than I would care to write it, please feel free.

Going to edit for a bit longer, then get some sleep. After a day of driving around in the heat, I need it. Note to self: get up early enough to take his car to the shop.

I want to go back to school.

Dr. John Huehnergard of the Harvard Semitic Studies Department is officially the coolest professor in North America.

That is all.

Useless? You decide.

I feel like I've accomplished absolutely nothing today. I know that's not the case, even if I still have to clean litter boxes and haul trash out tonight. So far, I've finished editing a short and gotten it ready for submission, done grocery shopping, bought a bunch of girly stuff (lip balm is my cosmetics boyfriend), worked on pronoun issues for two or three more chapters, and knitted the toe of a lace-and-cable sock. I know that a toe doesn't sound that impressive, but I'm using tiny yarn (about a third the size of that Red Heart stuff you get at Voldemart) and US 1.5 needles (about the same size as the yarn). My joints are KILLING me, but it'll be so worth it in the end. Mmm, socks.

All right, what haven't I done? Apart from the litter boxes. There's laundry, exercise, cleaning, lunch, dinner....

Ah.

This is why I shouldn't be left on my own for long periods of time. Food becomes my bottom priority. Wonder if I've got time for a sammich?

ARGH!

I give up. When someone's gender (and species) is "angel," you can't call ilim sir or ma'am. (Yes, I'm practising. Shut up.) So what title do you use?

I'm being lazy and clinging to my copy of Lawrence of Arabia. Efendi it is.

(For the record, my three favourite movies ever are Lawrence of Arabia, Edward Scissorhands, and The Changeling. If you haven't seen them, I heartily recommend all three. Widescreen, HD. Especially for Lawrence.)

S'too early for this.

The pronouns have been revised AGAIN. Hopefully for the final time. The most difficult part is finding something that sounds and reads like a pronoun, while giving subtle visual hints as to which one it conjugates as. I finally have:

il (he, she, it)
ilim (him, her, it)
iliš (his, her/hers, its)
ilištum (himself/herself/itself)

As said before, š is pronounced sh. I'd write sh, but it doesn't correspond to anything in English. Even older forms, to the best of my knowledge, only used th (ð or þ) as a third person suffix, and, yes, they're pronounced differently. (Why, no, I really don't have anything better to do with my time than study dead languages for no constructive purpose. Why do you ask?)

All right, back to context conversion. I think this might work. It still hurts to do, but, hey. Might as well see how it goes.

Ohh, my poor lawn guy.

Last night, I passed out with the light on, my glasses crooked, and a romance novel on my chest (shut up, I'm experimenting). I was also wearing my latest attempt at liquid eyeliner.

This morning, my lawn guy stops by to get his check from Saturday, as he mowed while I was out. I haven't actually brushed my hair yet, so I answered in my "my cats walk all over me" nightshirt, hair everywhere, and my eyeliner smudged like Siouxsie Sioux. He just grinned, fortunately. I dread to imagine what went through his head.

It was just a romance novel! Honest! Blame the author! She's the one who had an entire room rocking with laughter at Conestoga.

Third-gender, third-person pronouns revisited

I have tentatively given into agent (and editorial) suggestion. After much experimentation, I have finally settled upon il - ilu - ilish - ilishtum, which conjugates in the same way as he - him - his -himself. You have no idea how much my teeth are grinding, but if it helps sell the book, so be it. Right now, I'm gripping my head, hoping with all my might that I don't lose half my readership in the first chapter.

Thank you, John Huehnergard. Without your in-depth and easily understood knowledge of a murderously complex dead language (which I happened to usurp for my nefarious purposes), I'd be hanging by my fingertips right now. As it stands, I've got at least one finger wedged into a fissure at the edge of the proverbial cliff.

Tonight definitely calls for a drink.

ETA: make that iliš. It's pronounced the same way as ilish, but is far less visually distracting IMO. Ah, special characters. How did I know it would eventually come to this?

I still want my beer.

ETA2: Aaaad now ilu is ilum. Will the madness never end???

Wow.

On second look, this isn't the screwball comedy I'd intended. In fact, it's quite possibly the blackest comedy I've ever written. Still gonna submit it. It'll be a tough sale, but, hey, it's done. No sense in stuffing it straight into the trunk.

So. Yeah.

How the hell do I keep my mind off the Novel From Hell now?

Amazing what you can do with a little determination.

The rough draft of the comedy that's been languishing on my hard drive for months now is finally complete. It gets a little serious at the end, but that's okay. It suits the story. And it's still funny overall.

I'll give it a second read in the morning, after I take the trash out. For now, I'm goin' to bed.

Made of Daft

Dear self,

You have three weeks to rest your brain and work on some blunt comedy. You know perfectly well you've been comedy starved. So why is it that you insist on going, "Oooooooh, that'll help the plot!" regarding the Hellogy every thirty seconds? You've already written half a page of new dialogue AND advanced the Nefarious Plot (as well as the story's plot) a dozen times.

See that short story you've got up? Work on it. Also? Eat something, then get a shower so you can run to the library for ten minutes. You also need to fill in your bookstore application, because that would be the best job EVAR and you know you're good enough to get it.

Now put away the novel, and work on something else. All right? Good little addict.

More annoyance than love,

Me