The Day With No Brain

It’s been a Day. Yes, the kind you describe with the capital.

The day job has the big deployment happening today at Oh God AM (it will be mostly done by the time this post goes live), which means that I’m writing this after all the last minute scrambly stuff before something major. Naturally, Murphy being the bastard he is, this was when a few overlooked bugs chose to make themselves known.

End result, the Kate is out of spoons and is rambling at you.

So, yes. It’s a Day.

There are positives to be had in all of this. I’ve been spurred (or possibly merely gently nudged) into starting the long, painful process of rehabbing my website. This means on weekends I do the harder stuff like last weekend reactivating my Amazon Associate account and redoing a chunk of the links on the page listing my stuff. I’ll be getting more of that done this weekend, and hopefully bringing the thing up to date. I’ve also got it automagically posting to the Book of Faces, Twitter, and G+, and I’m trying (and so far mostly succeeding) to post something every day.

My biggest issue with “post something every day, and people will come to read the stuff” is that I find it really hard to believe that I’m interesting enough for that. We’ll see, I guess.

The other big positive is that I’ve finally started trying to get my lazy arse fit. I’ve got issues with this – some are really common to writers: when your job and your hobby mostly involve parking backside in front of a computer and making heavy use of a keyboard, you tend to have difficulty getting and staying in shape.

Yes, the peanut gallery is correct. I am in shape. The shape in question is “amorphous blob”. I would prefer something a little more defined.

I’ve also got the thoroughly cocked up metabolism courtesy narcolepsy and all the fun and interesting medications that follow (which impact my digestive system, since sleep regulation and appetite/fullness regulation are managed by the same chemical. Go figure). And a sway back that means I tend to have trouble standing or walking for any length of time. Then there’s the rack which means that running is not an option. There’s way too much mass there to keep bouncing when I stop, and I’ve yet to encounter the bra that’s capable of taming said mass (Yes, authors, take note. Your Amazonian warrior with her metal bikini and improbable endowments is going to be really sore if she has to run or bounce around a lot. She will visit your dreams and curse you in interesting ways that you will not like – this is in part why Amazonian warriors were reputed to remove the rack. The other reason will be familiar to any woman who has clipped a boob with the bowstring. It hurts. And this is from the woman who drove a thousand miles with an untreated broken ankle. If I say it hurts, it effing hurts).

The upshot of all this is that I dislike most physical activity. But I don’t mind walking in pleasant environments (the local park works. And one day we’ll get back to hiking), and I used to like cycling. So now I’m cycling or walking for at least 20 minutes most days. I’m still in the beginners shock phase, but I’m actually enjoying the exercise so despite losing more time I don’t have to this, I’m good with it. I’m kind of hoping I get to the “you will have more energy” phase soon, though.

The Bugger-Cat has gone puke-o-matic on us, which, while still digestive distress, is an improvement on the automatic evacuation of the other end we were having. I think I’ve cleaned up more cat mess in the last week than I usually do in a month.

Such is life, I guess. You do what you can with what you’ve got, enjoy what you can, and keep slogging on. It beats the alternatives.