When real things happen to imaginary people

I am feeling marginally better. My throat doesn't hurt, the waves of hot & cold seem to have stopped, and I don't sound quite as consumptive. However, as the Stroppy One very sternly reminded me, this does not mean I am completely well, and I should not try to Do Stuff. So I'm still ensconced on the Couch Of Plague, doing line edits on tech docs.

Thanks to the comments on my previous entry, I have been told that the Sir Christopher Lee symphonic metal project is not worth bothering with. Damn. Because, hello, SIR CHRISTOPHER LEE. (I think this means I will have the Hammer Studios Dracula movies on in the background today.)

... OH MY GOD PEOPLE, I AM SO TIRED OF FEELING UNWELL. I have stuff I want to do! I would like my energy levels back! However, if I want to be healthy enough to attend Mourning Market next Sunday, I suppose I should take it easy. That doesn't mean I'm not going to be slightly cranky about it, tho'.

So the question is now cold or flu? And whooo, do I feel wretched. The Stroppy One let me sleep until 11:30 (blessed, blessed Nyquil-enhanced sleep), and now I am either too hot or too cold, woozy, and have a kinda consumptive-sounding cough. This is not what I asked for, I would like to return it.

Ugh. Flopping on the couch it is.

Last night, in the process of trimming Ruthven's back claws, one of them was cut to the quick. That was a LOT of blood, which freaked me and the Stroppy One out. Plus, y'know, feeling like THE WORST CAT MOM EVER. After much Googling, we put some cornstarch on the cut, and that helped stop the bleeding. But between the freaking out and the crying (see previous, WORST CAT MOM EVER), I figured working from home today was a good plan. Which, it was. I'm being productive, AND I can keep an eye on Ruthven. Who, it should be noted, is frisking and scampering around just like always, thank goodness.

So yeah, crying hangover. Ugh. Plus other cryptic, nebulous stuff that is going on. Which means I'm going to try and concentrate on good things now, in an attempt to reboot my mood.

- julzerator gave me a paperweight with a tiny brown bat encased in it! He is the cutest thing ever, and his name is George.

- My dress for the Vampire Ball is DONE! (Except for the buttons.) And it is AWESOME. The Infamous BlueJay outdid herself, once again.

- The Infamous BlueJay also brought over homemade chocolate-hazelnut shortbread cookies. So, so tasty!

- The Vampire Ball is on SATURDAY! Fancy event! People in pretty clothes! Seeing friends! Oh, I can't wait.

... okay, that's what I've got so far. What good things are going on with you peoples?

I went to lunch with my team today, and we stopped by the booth that was offering photos with Frosty the Snowman. The photographer, apparently smitten with me, said he needed to get photos of me with Frosty, then he'd take the team photos. So there I was, standing on a big red velvet arm chair, one pointy-booted foot up on the arm, hands on hips, looking as if I had just conquered the poor guy in the Frosty costume. It was very fun. The photographer told me to stay there, and arranged the rest of the team around me. Yay, photos!

We waited around, and picked up our CD of the photos. I cart it back to my desk, put it in the computer, and ... discover that those are not our team photos. They are photos of some guy with a small child and Frosty. Woe! We are denied our photos!

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Tonight, we put up the Christmas tree. I sense hot cocoa in my future.

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Thanks to everyone who suggested phrases to embroider on gloves! I think I'm going to go with Cup ♥ Cake, Goth Cake, and maybe Love Cake. (Yes, I have pairs of gloves to do all of those. I just need to dig them out, and perhaps see how well one of the pairs does in a pot of pink RIT.)

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Another crafty/D.I.Y. project I'm contemplating is taking a piece of ruffled pink fabric (seriously, it's stretchy nylon covered in rows and rows of ruffles), cutting a large-ish heart out of it, and appliqueing that onto a skirt. I just don't know how well it would work. I'd fuse some interfacing onto it, but I don't know if that's possible with this sort of nylon knit. Time for experimenting, I guess.

For whatever reason, my brain decided I wanted to re-read Anne Rice's The Witching Hour. Look, I don't understand why, either, but I've been dawdling through it the past couple of evenings. It's just as much silly, overwrought fun as I remembered. Oooh, the bombast!

The only problem is, the book is making me crave gumbo. Really, REALLY crave gumbo. Which is so far beyond my cooking skills as to be laughable. And I have no idea where I would go in Seattle to find good gumbo.

Woe. Woe is me and my craving for gumbo. Oh well, back to reading the silly, oh-so-gawthic, novel.