nanfantoot rules
Nov. 19th, 2004 05:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7she hasn't updated her journal in like a year, but she rules nonetheless.
My littlest sister Ann is the only one in my family who's ever read my writing, really. She just sat down and read through the whole folder of things I'd written, a couple years back when it was just one folder. And oh yeah, before she got cool and busy and had no time.
I asked her if she'd read my first draft of This Damn Novel (hey, there's a title), because I know that Katy won't like it, Fiona won't have time, and Adam will just laugh, whereas Mom will be way squicked out at the sex, and Dad will probably have issues with my unhistorical dialect. And Ann, wonder of wonders, said yes.
Which is definitely an improvement over my squinting at it myself at this point. As I am to the point where it is unlikely whether I could distinguish between my own ass and a hole in the ground. "Hmm," she says, squinting, "dark."
Also, I was trying to type up a dialogue scene in one of the last scenes of the book, and realized halfway through that I'd switched the characters' names. No big deal, except that I'd given my main character's name to her primary antagonist.
You know, you'd think I'd know the main character's name after 175 pages of this.
So I said, "I need ice cream." And Dave said, "OK!" And we went merrily over to Condrell's, a wonderful old-fashioned ice-cream parlor in Kenmore (by Euclid).
And that was lovely.
________________________
But over our sundaes, Dave confided that he can't actually afford the tuition for next quarter. And I simply don't have any money either. So he's faced with the dire possibility of having to take YET ANOTHER quarter off. After having delayed his degree for 3 years, he's now got 1 last quarter to go (RIT uses quarters, not semesters. So, half a semester left). And can't scrape up the money. SO FRUSTRATING. HALF a goddamn semester.
So that's got me feeling pretty bad. I didn't know it was this tight. If I'd known, I could've taken a dumb job this summer just to get some more money, and then I'd be able to say, "I'll spot you this last bit", because c'mon, even without the degree he was making $60k a year. He's extremely good at what he does. With the piece of paper he's just about set for life. May need to relocate again, but it's not like he's going to have to use his diploma to keep the rain off, like I have. He's a software engineer.
But, I don't have the money.
I WANT to be his sugar-momma, really I do. Buying him tires made me feel all happy and good. Even though they were about $75 more than I thought they would be and I almost went into shock. (Before the "fuck it, you don't have any money anyway! What's $75 more? Nothing! You don't have any of it!" reaction set in.) And he was so absurdly grateful, and I was like, You've been carting my lazy ass all over the state for almost two years now, and tires is the fucking least I can do, but he was still like You're the best I'm going to make you fresh-cut french fries and kiss your neck! Which I will admit made me happy because I am shameless and take it when I can get it.
But anyhow. Not thinking about the bad, really. Trying to think about good instead.
___________________________
Dave's so bloated and lethargic from all the sugar that he's sitting beside me on the couch, unable to move more than his mouse-clicking finger. ("I can't go anywhere that isn't bookmarked," he said sadly.) But he just picked up the pillow beside me, laboriously raised it above his head (grunting), and then swung it and hit me with it, much to my astonishment. He then dropped the pillow, exhausted.
"What was that?" I asked, blinking.
"Pillow fight!" he said, mostly horizontal at this point.
Buh. It was good ice cream but I think I'll throw up if I try to move.
Now Dave has my mouse and is wiggling the cursor through what I'm typing.
I don't need children. He's plenty.
My littlest sister Ann is the only one in my family who's ever read my writing, really. She just sat down and read through the whole folder of things I'd written, a couple years back when it was just one folder. And oh yeah, before she got cool and busy and had no time.
I asked her if she'd read my first draft of This Damn Novel (hey, there's a title), because I know that Katy won't like it, Fiona won't have time, and Adam will just laugh, whereas Mom will be way squicked out at the sex, and Dad will probably have issues with my unhistorical dialect. And Ann, wonder of wonders, said yes.
Which is definitely an improvement over my squinting at it myself at this point. As I am to the point where it is unlikely whether I could distinguish between my own ass and a hole in the ground. "Hmm," she says, squinting, "dark."
Also, I was trying to type up a dialogue scene in one of the last scenes of the book, and realized halfway through that I'd switched the characters' names. No big deal, except that I'd given my main character's name to her primary antagonist.
You know, you'd think I'd know the main character's name after 175 pages of this.
So I said, "I need ice cream." And Dave said, "OK!" And we went merrily over to Condrell's, a wonderful old-fashioned ice-cream parlor in Kenmore (by Euclid).
And that was lovely.
________________________
But over our sundaes, Dave confided that he can't actually afford the tuition for next quarter. And I simply don't have any money either. So he's faced with the dire possibility of having to take YET ANOTHER quarter off. After having delayed his degree for 3 years, he's now got 1 last quarter to go (RIT uses quarters, not semesters. So, half a semester left). And can't scrape up the money. SO FRUSTRATING. HALF a goddamn semester.
So that's got me feeling pretty bad. I didn't know it was this tight. If I'd known, I could've taken a dumb job this summer just to get some more money, and then I'd be able to say, "I'll spot you this last bit", because c'mon, even without the degree he was making $60k a year. He's extremely good at what he does. With the piece of paper he's just about set for life. May need to relocate again, but it's not like he's going to have to use his diploma to keep the rain off, like I have. He's a software engineer.
But, I don't have the money.
I WANT to be his sugar-momma, really I do. Buying him tires made me feel all happy and good. Even though they were about $75 more than I thought they would be and I almost went into shock. (Before the "fuck it, you don't have any money anyway! What's $75 more? Nothing! You don't have any of it!" reaction set in.) And he was so absurdly grateful, and I was like, You've been carting my lazy ass all over the state for almost two years now, and tires is the fucking least I can do, but he was still like You're the best I'm going to make you fresh-cut french fries and kiss your neck! Which I will admit made me happy because I am shameless and take it when I can get it.
But anyhow. Not thinking about the bad, really. Trying to think about good instead.
___________________________
Dave's so bloated and lethargic from all the sugar that he's sitting beside me on the couch, unable to move more than his mouse-clicking finger. ("I can't go anywhere that isn't bookmarked," he said sadly.) But he just picked up the pillow beside me, laboriously raised it above his head (grunting), and then swung it and hit me with it, much to my astonishment. He then dropped the pillow, exhausted.
"What was that?" I asked, blinking.
"Pillow fight!" he said, mostly horizontal at this point.
Buh. It was good ice cream but I think I'll throw up if I try to move.
Now Dave has my mouse and is wiggling the cursor through what I'm typing.
I don't need children. He's plenty.
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-20 04:53 am (UTC)I have one of these!! Must be an engineer thing.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-20 02:08 pm (UTC)What, a lazy lethargic lump whose only movement is to click the touchpad on his Powerbook?
They're a great accessory for the couch. What I like is when he's that lethargic, he can't run away, so I can snuggle him. Ha ha ha ha ha!!