Day, things:

Woke up, the roommates had departed.

Went to work. Worked. Started writing a history of my relationships (V. showed some confusion about who my blonder half and That Idiot Shawn were, and what the contents of those relationships were/are like -- being one's muse does not necessarily mean the relationship was good.) in the format Dear you, ..., love, me. Got as far as mostly through That Idiot Shawn (for purposes of clarity, I put Queenie before Shawn) before work let out.

It was exhausting, doing that, but it ate up time and paper like anything. Evidently I had a lot to say.

That's the thing about writing. When you're a writer, you're never empty. Once you think you've emptied yourself of stories, there are always more. Once you've told all your own, other stories start to come. Once you've shed all the true ones, then come the truer-than-true ones. If you think there are no more stories to tell, you're kidding yourself -- there's a big one in there, that right now your pen is too small for it to come out, which is why it's not flowing just yet. Or it's too hard to pull out, too emotional, and you don't want it to come out.

Sometimes you have to hit the writer's block with a hammer.

It's the creation of a linear mind, anyway, the writer's block. You get stuck on a detail when you just need to put in a placeholder and run with it. For whatever reason, the boy in "A Cup of Time" borrowed the short version of norabombay's boy-character -- the "A Cup of Time" boy is Nick for placeholder, but in this case it's short for Nicholas, not anything more esoteric. My girl's name is Katy. They wanted to be redheads but I wouldn't let them, as that was too Heinlein.

Saturday: work

Went to work. Introduced othercat and trystan_laryssa. Worked. Drew up a few cartoons.

The fufurrah with the ice machine? Some fuckwit poured dish soap inside it, contaminating the entire thing so that it would have to be cleaned exceptionally completely to get all the soap out. Machine is still down for the count.

Results? Peeved staff, an injunction to not be in the break room unless you're on your break (which is evidently a lock-the-horse-after-the-barn-is-stolen measure to keep people at least under observation when they're about to fuck themselves and everyone else over royally), no ice for anyone who hasn't brought their own, and a cartoon from the Lunatic featuring one stick figure sprinting away with a bottle of dish soap in hand, and some stick figure phone goons and supervisors brandishing fists, pitchforks, torches, baseball bats, and very pissed off expressions.

That which pisses everyone off, I draw and make funny.

I was sitting in the same area as Mr. Bitter, unfortunately for both of us. He commenced his usual habit of talking in an outside voice about sports to someone one over from his next-door neighbor. He did this while I was on the phone. Results? When the Lunatic got off the phone, the Lunatic turned around and asked in a very reasonable tone of voice for them to please keep it down. When they assented, I thanked them. Mr. Bitter's objection: "You aren't even on the phone!" Riposte: "I was."

Mr. Bitter was strangely quiet for the remainder of the day, keeping his voice down to a level where I actually did not notice it more than any of the other voices around me, and was able to tune it out.

Introduced othercat and dustraven, and also Figment (non-LJ-that-we-know-of). Figment and othercat had already met, as they'd been in the same training group.

What do you call the extra sense that's sort of like a gaydar, but instead points out LDS folks? Complete Lunatics would really like to know.

trystan_laryssas really like to be petted. If this keeps up, half the non-fen are going to think that she's my girlfriend, when in fact my actual girlfriend is far less local. *looks Sithward*

Work let out early, so I have actual spare time. I went and got Actual Food to take to work so I won't have to rely on slimfast and vending machine stuff, and then Actual Food to eat tonight, mm. I've gotten worse at fending for myself, but hey, I can do some things...

I think I'll pass on the longhotevil bus ride to Sam's, unless I get a second wind within bus range.

Potterisms that aren't

There is not, nor should there ever be, the spell Slushify.

Never.

I'm going to have to use it in a very silly fic.

Also: I wonder if there's a Fanon vs. Canon checklist going around? For example, Albus Dumbledore's brother. What's this about goats? Is that fanon or canon?

Ahh, old memories.

The Pink Skirt.

Someone in cty_therapy made a bunch of icons.

When I go home, I'm going to have to scan and collect as many of the pictures that I have that I can fit on disk or burned or mailed to my lovely gmail account or something like that.

Icon bunnies: "I know that you're in love with him" -- me and pyrogenic collapsed at the dance; "can you teach me how to dance real slow" (?); and then I know there are shots of the American Pie lineup around somewhere.

But, yes, the pink skirt.

So much to do. I don't want to go to bed until dawn, but then I've got to work that 12.5 hour shift, so I've got to sleep sometime.