Convalescence? It's like adolescence: painful, and slow

[desperance]

I hope we all learned something today.

For me, I have learned this: that damage recovery takes longer than I'm ready for. If I had put in this much keyboard-time a month ago, I'd have had two thousand words or more behind me by now, and I'd be happy and charging forward.

Today? I don't believe I've achieved half that. And I am sullen, because almost all of me believes that I should have done; and I am still dragging myself onward, and it's all grim and lightless and without tone or form.

Also, if I were to believe anything my hand tells me today, I would believe that it's gone backwards. Today I cannot reach into my pocket without yelling. And the idiot cat has attempted his favourite idiot leap to the top of a bookcase that is already piled high with boxes; he does this regularly, with always the same result, that all those boxes come tumbling down alongside of him, and then he has to run away while I shout and put all the boxes back. And this time he pulled a boxful of paperclips off a shelf as he fell, and they are now glitteringly strewn all over the floor, and something else I cannot do is reach down to pick up paperclips. I could get down on my knees and scrabble, I suppose, but - well. Tomorrow.

Comments

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Aha! Like the little old men use for retrieving their boules when they play pétanque! That is quite cunningly bright. Except that I have no magnets. I am not sure I ought to be allowed magnets, in a room quite so full of electronically-stored data? Given that I will certainly play heedlessly with them, and fumble and drop them, and toss them casually aside on my desk, and that's before the cats get their paws on them...

[lamentables.livejournal.com]

Cats with magnets is a pretty terrifying thought, yes.

[badbookworm.livejournal.com]

Surely you've got fridge magnets?

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Damn. Of course I've got fridge magnets. (Is struck by sudden revelation: everyone has fridge magnets! It's a cultural meme!) Also string.

I still don't think it's wise, mind. 'Specially magnets in association with string; I could not conceivably label anything more explicitly as a cat-toy. (My new emergency thumb-drive is on string; Mac has been trying to pull it out of the computer all day long.)

However. I can find a way. Thank you!

[badbookworm.livejournal.com]

Everybody DOES have fridge magnets. Weird.

[pennski.livejournal.com]

Sadly we have the wrong type of fridge, so all our fridge magnets end up as washing machine magnets, which aren't nearly as much fun.

[badbookworm.livejournal.com]

Yes, but you still have them. It must be some kind of fundamental human drive!

[pennski.livejournal.com]

Ah but ours were bought for us - which I think is perhaps the even more fundamental drive!

[badbookworm.livejournal.com]

Do they have pithy sayings on them, that aren't as funny as they initially appear to be?

[pennski.livejournal.com]

Mostly they are momentos of shows we were in - with pithy sayings that are only funny if you were in the show.

[jemck.livejournal.com]

Ah yes, this would be the grey ovoid thumb-drive on a lanyard that we got out of the box on my desk. It now occurs to me that it lives in the box because Sable (resident desk-cat) will not be convinced it's not a mouse (rodent) and thus diligently attempts to kill it whenever she catches sight of it. Not overly conducive to the writing process, I find.

Sable is of course, the cat who did deliberately and with malice aforethought once kill a computer mouse.

But hey, at least now that you're back home, you won't be tempted to instinctive and incautious grabbing of Buzz (resident hunting cat) as he attempts to dive under the dining table and eat a mouse (rodent) there.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

That's the very thumb-drive, and the very lanyard; and yes, Mac is utterly convinced that it must die. See how it dangles...!

So I took it out of the computer and stowed it neatly within the hollow of a roll of packing-tape, and he spent half an hour trying to dig it out again. Aaaargh. I have said to them both, many a time and oft, that my desk may be a bed but is definitely not a playground. They, um, don't listen. How can this be?

(We are still glad to have it none the less, because I still can't find my proper back-up thumb-drive; it is neither in the computer nor in the purse nor on the desk, and there is nowhere else that it could be. Snarl...)