Fridays off are weird

I’m not used to being off on a Friday. This is weird.

I work retail, I am a low-tier manager in a retail store. Being off on a Friday is like somehow managing to get off on a major holiday. Maybe it’s just me.

My plans for today have been thwarted by the lingering migraine that went from “I am going to ruin your day off” to “haha, now you have to call out, sucker.” It backpedaled a bit and then has come slowly trudging back to “I am going to make you sick, everything you eat or drink, or even take to alleviate this, will make you sick.” blegh.

I’m in this weird flu-like feel of “I have eaten, I have had caffiene and willow-bark capsules. My eyes are crossing, I feel nauseous, and now all I want to do is sleep because reading isn’t working.” Which sucks because I’ve got shit to do today (clean the craft room, work on making fabric-yarn, basic house cleaning/care, hose down the indoor/outdoor carpets that needed to be hosed down last week, bathe the dogs because Cricket stole flour and is now partially white)

But no. I am sitting here, with a very fat cat purring on my lap and wanting to just close my eyes.

Anyway.

I made Jamie a hat. It is too small. Did I mention this already? I can’t remember. If I did, whoops. It’s a brown gradient and super soft, and there’s little crocheted ears on it so it’s a bear-hat for my Bear. I’m making another because I’ve got enough yarn to do so and the more I use up the yarn the faster I can get rid of it.

Because if I let myself think about it and pay attention, the yarn looks like…legs. Fuzzy legs.

And that’s all I’m saying because I will freak myself out if I continue.

Beyond that:

I’ve finished a short story (yay, it’s been so long) and I emailed it to Jamie to look over so he can let me know how it looks/feels since it kind of went in another direction than I had originally anticipated. But, he’s yet to read it. I’m tempted to ask a friend of mine to check it out and see what she thinks of it before I post it anywhere, mainly because of a small chunk of it jumps from one spot to another. I haven’t re-read it all the way through since I finished it, and I kind of don’t want to, but I know I need to.

I’ve been using WIP names for various stories. Attempted Novelette and Weird Grandpa are the two main ones. It’s been a while since I’ve worked on either one, like really. I have to re-read what I’ve got for Attempted Novelette because I forgot who my characters were, which seems much more ominous than I totally forgot where I was going with this.

This is my life.

I thought I was a few months behind, but I find out that, depending on what’s going on and such, I’m like well over a year behind on everything. Time is wibbly. And it’s true, the older you become, the more you go “Wait, wasn’t it just ___?” It’s  strange. The concept of time is strange.

Instead of working on Attempted Novelette or Weird Grandpa story (both of which are at a standstill because I can do awesome intros, I just suck at everything else), I’ve been working on a different idea all together. Asking myself questions, writing notes to myself, making quips. And getting shit for having “so many pens” in my hair (different coloured pens helped while I was working through some stuff for it so pffff)

And now I’ve got bits of fabric that I’ve cut into strips because I’ve gotten the brilliant idea to Make Something for a friend of ours. Who knows how long this will keep my attention.