Cleolinda Jones (cleolinda) wrote,
Cleolinda Jones
cleolinda

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Urg. Things have been happening around here.

  • Remember the One-Eighth Nobly Fallen Tree? Well, it was one of a pair in the front yard--ornamental Barton pears, i.e., not fruit-bearing. Mom was saying that the other one would eventually split and fall, too, but since lightning was involved with the first one... I don't know. I really think they just got their yuppie on and decided they wanted different trees. So they decided to cut the other one down, which I found to be incredibly wasteful and borderline cruel--assuming you can be cruel to a tree, that is--but okay, whatever. And they decided, since it's only about 15-20 feet tall, that they wanted to cut it down themselves rather than pay someone to do it. Okay, fine. Now, why George had to get out there yesterday afternoon with a chainsaw and do it, I have no idea. Chainsaws, incidentally, make me hella nervous, and have ever since I was reading Reader's Digest when I was nine or ten and read one of those "Drama in Real Life" things about a guy whose saw kicked back while he was alone in the woods (!) and just about cut him in half, but of course he managed to radio for help with, like, his toe or something and they saved him after round-the-clock surgery and a radical stupidectomy. I still shudder just thinking about it. But George is a yuppiejack and he's okay, so whatever.


  • Sister Girl overdosed on sleeping pills last night. Wait, let me back up--that sounds a lot more dire than it really is. Sister Girl can't sleep at night, partly because she's gotten into the stay-up/sleep-in pattern while she's waiting for the next Culinard term to roll around--she dropped out of the previous one due to a combination of illness and Lt. Boyfriend visiting for two weeks from Afghanistan. Anyway. She's hyper--some might actually say "manic"--and her doctor gave her a prescription for some Ambien to take occasionally if it got particularly bad at night. Well, I've had Ambien before, when I was in college and stressed to the max and couldn't sleep, and Ambien didn't do a damn thing for me, let me tell you what, so I understand why she took two. Strangely, it was after taking the two Ambien that she got more manic, and I came this close to popping her in the jaw--it's one in the morning and I'm TIRED and she, a legal adult in her majority, is jumping on my bed and I can't get her to leave. I kept trying to walk her back to her room but she was having none of it--it reminded me a lot of when--ahem--a currently LJ-enabled friend of mine got high the first time and shouted, "Oh, MAN! This is so AWESOME! I gotta tell Jeff about this!" Jeff, by the way, was the security guard on patrol outside my dorm. We, which may or may not include me, depending on how you define the word "is," spent about fifteen minutes dragging our friend away from the suite door lest we all get busted. But I digress. I was mostly pissed off because Sister Girl was enjoying it way too much--my theory was that she was catching a bit of a buzz off the stuff and was then playing up to it, all like, "Whee! I'm on drugs! Look at me, I'm SO HIGH!" I will confess to you that I eventually broke down and had a little Colin moment of my own with the "I hate you!" (MY SISTER IS BROKEN!).

    Then she decided to take a third pill.

    Sometime before I finally gave up and went to bed, I found her throwing up in the bathroom. Repeatedly. Serves her right, I guess. She got up about her normal time--noon--today, but looked she'd been rode hard and put away wet, as they say. OF HORSES, PERVS.


  • "I hate regurgitation," my Milton prof announces--and really, who doesn't? Sister Girl sure hates it now--so she's giving us a midterm on... three pieces we've never read before. Well, we have a week to read them. And we're going to have to write one essay about whichever piece she chooses, connecting it to the other three things we've already read (Comus, Areopagitica, some of Paradise Lost). On the plus side, she is booking the computer lab for us, and that's really the only reason I hate exams--the handaches. Since I've become mostly a typist, it makes my left hand itch to be left out of the action, and my right hand passes out and can't move for days afterwards. But I can type like a mofo--I think I may actually type as fast, if not faster, than I talk--so I am prepared to go tear it up on Thursday.


  • I cramp. Not as exciting as the other three, huh?


  • I got a deluge of books in the mail the other day. Lemme see:

    From Vladimir:
    Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, which apparently Neil Gaiman just thinks is the absolute shit
    The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish, by said Gaiman
    Liberty Meadows: Creature Comforts (aw!)

    From my publisher:
    The Difference Engine
    The Snow, written by "the king of high-concept SF"
    The Ultimate DVD Easter Egg Guide
    The Year of Our War
    Ash: A Secret History

    From myself, because presents to oneself are always a nice pick-me-up:
    The Grim Grotto, which I have yet to read because I completely suck, and must read tonight
    The Crimson Petal and the White for $2, hardback, because my library copy is due next week and I want to hang on to it for Black Ribbon research purposes
    A House in Gross Disorder, that book on the 17th-century Castlehaven sex scandal I was talking about a while back

    Seriously, everything came all in one day, except for the last two books, which came today. And I'm way behind on my own book because of the hurricane/new computer confluence--fortunately, I've given up on the October 1 deadline, as both my publisher and agent basically started laughing at me. "Deadlines? Shpfffff. We don't even get to work until 9:30 in the morning. What do you think this is, a bank? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" So I'm going to be running this three-ring circus of Milton, M15M, and Black Ribbon through October. Pray for me.

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