Ugh I’m awake at 3:30 am with an upset tummy,

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Ugh I’m awake at 3:30 am with an upset tummy, kind of, and it’s just, ugh. oh well.

I had a busy day yesterday, finished painting the barn interior. There’s a space we use adjacent to the slaughter area, where we package chickens— the hallway between the kill room and the evisceration room, and the space in front of that hallway— and the inspector said last year, if we’re in that space, the surfaces have to be coated. So we didn’t get to it over the winter, and did our first run of the year without fixing it, but B-i-L was super nervous that if the inspector comes and we haven’t done the necessary work, he’ll fail the entire operation’s inspection. And it’s so minor— we’ve done the major construction work that has to be done, and it’s just literally painting the walls and ceiling, so—

I realized right away this was a job I could do, not skilled or complicated, and most importantly, not involving sun exposure. I’ve only had mild hives this year so far, but they were from spending two hours in the shade in clothing that nearly covered me entirely, so. I know I can’t do field work at all. So I took over.

And yesterday I managed to paint the wall behind the ice machine and biggest chest freezer. We didn’t move either thing very much, and it involved me enlisting Sister to wriggle in and with her longer arms, reach a bit I wouldn’t have been able to— she accomplished this by wedging her pelvis between the ice machine and the freezer, standing on one leg, and hooking the other leg over the top of the freezer, and reaching as far as she could with one hand while bracing the other against the wall.

I had to do the same after she was done, she’s just both narrower and longer than I am so her range was greater for one crucial bit. Then I had to lie on top of the chest freezer and hang my head and entire upper body down into the space between it and the wall. Fortunately, I had foreseen this, and hadn’t painted the bit we’d have to mash ourselves against.

It worked, and the thing’s done. I haven’t managed the ceiling, but I did stand on the chest freezer and paint all the edge pieces I could reach.

It’s the kind of thing you don’t notice, but, honestly it was disgusting before; that used to be a cow barn, and the walls were this weird kind of whitewash-over-newspaper, caked in 70 years of filth. You could try washing them, but it would only sort of soak in. (I washed the ceiling in there over the winter. Believe me, those walls weren’t cleanable.) So, now they’re coated in the really good primer.

I think I have to go back over them with high-gloss bright-white paint, though, to make them washable going forward. Which is the goal. At least the doors and the one narrow bit, maybe not behind the freezers, where neither light nor dirt will ever penetrate…

I also washed the panes of glass in the one window, which was Something, let me tell you. I had to evict a lot of spiders. I did so soft-heartedly, carrying as many outdoors as I could, or into other parts of the barn where we don’t care if they live there.

* * *

In other news, I’ve done almost no work on anything personal, nor have I looked much at the Internet, except to get exceedingly upset about politics, as usual. I’m so upset, and it doesn’t help that I’m writing this at like, three forty-five because I was awake almost an hour ago lying in bed worrying about it. Ugh.

BUT. I think I did manage to finish the Yavin 4Some. So, y’all, brace yourselves, for some non-continuity, excessively pornographic, unredeeming smut, because who doesn’t love that. I don’t not love that. Why has this been the story that gets worked on? LOL because it’s the only one that’s on my hard drive not Google Docs. Should I relocate other things to my hard drive? Sure I should but that’s asking a lot of my organizational abilities.

invader-grim: “bisexuals are just

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invader-grim:

“bisexuals are just confused”

this is 100% true. many things confuse me. algebra, 19th century welsh fairy tales, bigots.

“Rules are to post the last line written from

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“Rules are to post the last line written from any five of your fics. ” I was tagged by @aimmyarrowshigh​. And I’m taking “line” to mean, “enough of the chunk you wrote to make some kind of sense” because otherwise we’re gonna have some weird fragments here. This will be a Journey, because so many of the things I’m “working” on, I haven’t touched in a week or better. Gdocs revision history doesn’t lie though, it’ll tell me what the last line I actually wrote is, regardless of what I remember or where the actual document ends. 

Except this one, which I was working on last night. 

From the Yavin 4Some: 

And, maybe best of all, Leia is lying next to him, sparkling and satisfied and breathing hard. “Holy shit, that was hot,” she says.

cut because most of this is nsfw, lol, that’s amusing.

june 10th: the document is called Jyn Pegs Cassian, but that hasn’t happened yet and it seems to instead have become a Cassian-POV rumination on the pain in the ass inherent in being a closeted bisexual among gossippy coworkers, and his own befuddlement about why the hell he finds Jyn so goddamn compelling. It’s Found Cat / Sled Dog Guy backstory, which is extra useless, but entertaining. [for anyone really into pegging, btw, the previous story does contain some, not to be spoilery. for more traffic, i might title it Han Solo Gets Pegged, people might like that.]

“It’s not that your dick isn’t great,” she said, “it’s just not like, the sole determining factor.”

“I get it,” he said. “I mean it.”

“What do you mean, you mean it,” she asked, breathless.

He picked her up and set her down on the couch, kneeling over her and stripping her underpants off her. “I mean that I mean it,” he said. “Right now I just need to eat your pussy, okay?”

“Like I’m going to say no to that,” she said, and he went to work, diving right in and making himself at home.

June 8th: Lostkings_6_Andor, which has thirty some thousand words of the Lost Kings saga, most of which is posted, but most recently, I wrote:

“Ay,” Kes said, genuinely disgusted, “what kind of operation are we running here, it looks like a yard sale, you’ve just got shit strewn around everywhere. C’mon, guys, get your act together!”

“By the Maker,” the sergeant said, giving Kes a double-take, “I thought you were–”

“What,” Kes said, widening his eyes a little and leaning in. “Drunk? You thought wrong. Come on, chop chop.” He clapped his hands. “Just because I’m in a good mood and it’s great news all around doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about load order. Whose fucking idea was it to just– come on.”

He pitched in, because clearly nobody else in this crew had ever actually loaded cargo before, and got the little freighter’s tiny hold organized in some semblance of reasonability– at least, the load wouldn’t shift coming out of hyper and disintegrate the whole ship– and kept up a steady stream of in-character grousing the entire time. It was only once the door had shut that he dropped the act, planted his back against the wall, and slid to the floor.

“Xacristo,” he murmured, “sorry everybody,” and put his head between his knees to breathe for a moment. That had been a close call, too damn close.

June 3rd: “alliance”, featuring future scraps that will be Lost Kings material, I wrote: oh hm, it was only weird little line edits. I haven’t added anything substantive since mid-May. So, nothing to report there.

June 2, I was working on HomeWind Epilogue, which should be the final chapter in the main section of Home Out In The Wind. It is literally sentence fragments because I wanted to remember that I wanted to write that section.

Poe was all loose and languid, his body that satisfying kind of sore that came with having fallen asleep after really good sex. He could get used to that, he thought.

He rolled over onto his back with a lovely little shiver of remembered pleasure, replaying the vivid sense memory of

… of what? of– I hadn’t decided, which is why I stopped. But I do remember what I was setting up.

So I guess the fifth most-recent thing I actually wrote is from the Sled Dog Guy document. That’s all fragments too but I don’t know how to put it all together yet.

“I assume he’s seen through your cover,” Baze said.

Jeron nodded. “Well. He knows that I have a cover, which is bad enough. I didn’t tell him any details, but he’s guessed, I think, what the truth is.” He shrugged. “Either that or he thinks I work for a cartel. I’m not sure. He didn’t want me to tell him. I figured I’d better not.”

“You’d better not,” Baze said.

enigmaticdoctorscully:pure [x]

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enigmaticdoctorscully:

pure [x]