The Bugger-cat is unwell. Listless, not interested in food, seems a bit wobbly on his feet. Since he’s still on chemo this is not a good thing, so the Bugger-cat has been taken to the local vet, who gave him a chunk of blood tests.
Naturally, the kitty oncologist wants to take a look at His Buggerness since he’s exceedingly anemic, and both sets of vets are worried that his treatment has led to gastric ulcers.
Welcome to the House of Kate, where any time things seem to be settling into a more or less sane pattern, the world will upend you and destroy your plans. Or at least, it seems that way.
In any case, I’m taking him to the oncologist, and in the meantime keeping an eye on him since the Husband and I would rather like him to be around for a good long while. He’s only 13 – not that old for a kitteh, even one who managed to earn himself the name Little Bugger.
He earned that name fair and square, as an itteh bitteh kitteh hiding from the Husband and forcing him to search the entire house in order to get his Little Buggerness to his first vet appointment. And by hiding I include artful camouflage so he wasn’t noticeable even with the Husband looking right at him (I was at work that day. The Husband already had the day off).
Obviously as a kid I had it all wrong thinking that adults had it good. Instead of those nice long days of summer break, time just flies and there’s never enough of it, and that’s when things are going well. Nobody tells you you’re going to get slammed with responsibilities and you’re going to put those ahead of anything else because dammit you’re an adult now and that’s what adulting is all about.
Yeah, I’m a tad frustrated. Bugger was doing so well, damn near doubling his body weight over 6 months. I just hope this is a minor setback, not anything worse.
So today was move da rocks day to patch da road day. I was the young, tough guy, who was collecting and throwing all the bits of granite that had missed the road, into the bucket of the skid-steer, while Alan drove it along at a steady pace (so no slowing down, just keep bending and throwing). I did about three and half tons of rocks… Which ain’t 16 tons of number nine coal. But 1) I’m not young. 2) I’m as tough as a junket sandwich 3) at least with a shovel you don’t have to pick them off the ground by hand. It’s the bending that killed me. I still feel another day older and deeper in debt. Although, as a sensible self-employed writer I avoid debt like the plague. Income is erratic. Don’t owe money. That way you’re only broke. Read more
Welcome to the business of monetizing intellectual property.* No, you’re not in a different dimension or that nightmare of a class where you showed up for the test without studying (or clothes). I say again, welcome to writing and publishing.
What is a story? What is a nonfiction book, or a work of art? The writerly answer may be that it’s a form of communicating facts and emotions to an audience. The business answer is that it’s intellectual property, and intellectual property is something you can resell again and again to many audiences, in may formats. For art, the original may be an oil painting, but it can be resold as a poster, a fine art print, a t-shirt, a mousepad, a desktop background, or a book cover. For a story, it might have been written on paper (or not), but you can license or sell it as a paperback, as a hardcover, in English, in Polish, in ebook, in Indian translation, in audio, as the basis for a movie, a play, or tv show, or all of the above. As long as you hold the copyright, you can license the IP to anyone you want, or not, for any terms you can come to mutual agreement on how long, and for how much.
My wife is constantly
nagging chiding reminding me about the need to maintain a healthy work-life balance. Of course, our definitions of what’s “healthy” are frequently not very well synchronized…
The book I’m supposed to be plotting resembles a vast desert sprinkled with various artifacts — a couple of characters here, some dialogue over there, an enchanted swan in the distance — with nothing but echoing emptiness between. The part of my mind that’s supposed to be dedicated to writing seems to be skittering merrily around, pulling up bits of old stories and chattering about current events. Hence this irrelevant and probably unimportant meditation on Thomas the Rhymer, the Wise and Foolish Virgins, and what I am reliably assured is a college loan crisis. Read more
So I’m off-routine this week because I’m actually taking some vacation time – it can be a challenge to take time out, because where I work, the programmers and me act as upper-level help desk, which means there’s interesting juggling of schedules to keep a decent level of coverage. That interacts with the deployment schedule, and gives some ‘fun’ time-off blackouts to play with.
Since my ability to organize myself kind of crapped out some years back – I suspect the screaming breakdown that ended my very short teaching career was the start – I tend not to take time off nearly as often as I should. So anyway… I’m off-routine which means I forgot to write a post last night, so I’m stream-of-consciousnessing at you.
I’ve been beyond sick for the past two weeks, with the cold-that-would-not-leave. It’s probably a sinus infection at this point, which means I’m wandering around in a fog and my head feels like it weighs nine thousand pounds. Yippee!
But I realized recently that Amazon Prime Day is July 15 and 16. Read more