A nip on the nose means “I love you.” And codeine.

My GP prescribed a bag of goodies for me: an inhaler, antibiotics, and codeine cough syrup. Woo. And yet I still feel like crap. Maybe if I mix alcohol with the codeine, exactly the way the bottle says I shouldn’t, that’d help? Err, better not.

And I’ve got an appointment with a Rheumatologist next week. Doctor appointy goodness.

Hobkin is of the opinion that a nip on the nose means “I love you.” Last night, while I was dozing on the couch, he crawled up on my pillow, nipped my nose (thereby waking me up) and then proceeded to snuggle with me for the next several hours. Cute? Yes. An appropriate display of affection? Sigh. Apparently so.

Brief update: still sick, Hobkin, writing stats

Haven’t been LJing much. The cold I thought I was almost over seems to have decided to migrate to my chest and camp out there indefinitely in the form of a really annoying cough. Blah. Lung bits anyone?

In Hobkin news:
The other day I was making a pie, one of those no-bake, pie-in-a-box dealies. One of the instructions was to beat the filler on high with an electric mixer for three minutes.

Hobkin completely freaked out when I turned on the mixer. For something like half an hour after I finished using the mixer he tore around the house at full speed, knocking into things when he couldn’t corner fast enough, terrified out of his little fuzzy mind. I tried to pick him up to calm him down and had to trap him in the bathroom in order to catch him. And then he nearly jumped out of my arms so that he could go tearing around some more. We offered him a little bit of food and he was so scared he wouldn’t take it from us.

Eventually, he calmed down and then it was business as usual as he came up for snuggles, but it was really weird. I’ve used the mixer before around him and while he doesn’t like it, he hasn’t had this sort of response. He doesn’t respond as wildly to the vacuum cleaner either.

Poor lil guy. I guess that means no more pie-in-a-boxes for us.

Writing stats:
– 8000 words into the novel. Still going strong.
– Re-write of S&S piece has commenced. Still surprised at how positive the feedback has been on this one.

Skunk bath, Paul, and Firefly

Gave Hobkin a bath this morning. He really does not like them. He kept trying to cling to my sweatshirt and pull himself out of the tub while still sudsy. And his tail kept flipping around, splattering me with soapy water. And the expression on his face! It was very “Why are you doing this to me, Mom? What did I do to deserve this treatment?” Poor thing. After I toweled him down he shook (of course) throwing water everywhere, and then scampered off to his area to hide under the hutch. Silly animal. I left him alone so I could go clean the bathroom up, and when I came back, he’d forgiven me and just wanted to cuddle. Now I have a damp skunk on my lap. Well, at least he smells like apples.

Our friend Paul is flying in today! Hurray! Much pre-Halloween merriness to ensue. Wonder if Hobkin will remember him from when he was here in August.

I liked Firefly a lot last night. After the first few episodes, I was pretty disappointed with it, but after last night’s, I’m interested again. Excellent pacing, excellent character development, and a much-needed explanation on the history of Serenity and her crew. It didn’t have the Joss dialogue moments I look for in anything he touches, but it was well written nevertheless. I hope they don’t cancel it now that it’s starting to get good.

Blink blink.

6:30am again, and Hobkin has demanded I wake up and feed him breakfast. On a Sunday. Brain failing. Critical thought processes . . . terminating. Need. Sleep.


“Comedy of Errors” last night was amazing, just amazing. I laughed so hard I think I sprained something. If any of you Atlantas are at all interested in Shakespeare or live theater, go to the Shakespeare Tavern. They do Shakespeare the way it’s supposed to be done. And the food’s fabu, too! Matthew and I are longtime Shakespeare connoisseurs, and we can honestly say that they do it better there than anywhere else we’ve seen. The audience gave the performance last night a standing O, and it really deserved it.

And, happy happy, my contract from Leading Edge arrived in yesterday’s mail. “Second Daughter” will be appearing in the Oct. 2002 issue. Hurray!

Insomnia, hah!

I used to suffer from early morning insomnia. Not anymore. Now I have a baby skunk who thinks that 6:30 is the proper time to be awake. After all, that’s breakfast time. Even on Saturdays.


But he’s awfully cute. Last night, we had a discussion about who owns the remote:

Tonight Matthew and I have tickets to see “Comedy of Errors” at the Shakespeare Tavern. The idea was to keep Hobkin awake all day so that he’d be konked out tonight. Have you ever tried waking up a skunk who’s determined to be asleep? It’s like handling a rag-plushie.

Sigh. Anyone know a skunk sitter? Heh.

It’s all about the words . . .

Having–although I guess it’s probably more of a “had” by now–a mini-debate over on mouseferatu‘s LJ about whether Atheism constitutes a religion.

Obviously (or perhaps not so obviously), I’m taking con. Being an Atheist, I don’t consider myself to have any religion, and defining my disbelief in things supernatural as faith don’t make no sense to me.

But that’s largely tangential, or rather the catalyst for this entry.

Has anyone else noticed that most real debates end up being comprised almost exclusively about semantics when you finally pare away all the other dross?

Matthew and I have discussed this before. We’re both science-minded folks–his background’s in Physics and mine’s in Psychology. Add on to the equation that he did the graduate school in Philosophy thing, and suffice it say, we’ve gotten existential on some snow-bound lazy Sundays. Anyway, comparing notes, it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that most debates just plain devolve down to semantics. Not talking ’bout the “why can’t you clean up around here a little?” or “I don’t wanna watch ESPN, gimme the damn remote!” sorts of conflicts, but rather the ones about what people believe and why. I’m thinking the numbers might come down to 90% of those debates are about semantics. Maybe even more. By the time all terms are expressly defined by all parties, people often find that there’s nothing left to argue about. Of course, getting to that point is often a battle in and of itself.

And then there’s the small percentage of debates that aren’t about semantics. The only way they can manage it is ’cause all the debaters have spent a goodly amount of time specifying explicitly what their terms mean in the first place.

Strange to think that we’re all ostensibly speaking the same language yet at the same time we can have so much difficulty understanding each other.

Hobkin, on the other hand, communicates just fine. When he paces back and forth in front of the refridgerator, he’s saying “It’s time to eat! Now!” Sometimes we disagree, but he’s always right.

Well . . .

As it turns out, I didn’t go to belly dance class after all. It was raining as I was coming home from work, and as it always does when the weather is the least bit inclement in these southern climes, it slowed the traffic down to a crawl. I get home with less than fifteen minutes to change into my dance clothes before I have to head out again. So I rush through the door, ready to haul ass big time, and a small bundle of fuzzy cuteness comes bounding off the couch, runs to me, overjoyed that I’m finally home, and proceeds to wiggle and wuffle in my arms with delight when I pick him up. Damn. Can I be heartless enough to abandon something so adorable, that’s so utterly thrilled to see me? Nope. No way in Hell.

So, I guess my hiatus from belly dancing is going to last another month and a half. Classes run in six-week sessions where a full choreography is learned in each session. Missing one class is like missing one sixth of the dance and the teacher doesn’t do make-up sessions.

Oh well. My activity level, aside from chasing or being chased by Hobkin around the great room, has dropped to an all-time low. Oddly enough, though, I continue to lose weight. It’s probably all muscle mass, dammit.

I set a goal for my writing this week. A thousand words (although more is all happiness and joy) a day. Day three and so far, I’m on track. Although I continue to need multiple cups of coffee in order to make my goal. But at this rate, I might actually finish something! *gasp*

Hmm. I’m decreasing my activity levels and I’m taking artificial stimulants regularly. Wonder when this’ll come back to bite me in the ass.