WillowBrush of Shadow
Oct. 27th, 2022 08:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoI kept pretty busy today. I had to get up before dawn--which is not that early these days--to go and get my blood drawn. At least the sun was up and it wasn't dark by the time I was in the car. Quite the opposite, in fact. It frosted hard last night, and I had to scrape the frost off my windshield. The sun had that blinding intensity that it gets on frosty days. As I passed the lake, it was steaming like a cauldron, and the surface reflected the low sun and was blinding white like a crucible full of metal. I got my blood drawn and was out of there in no time. In my experience, phlebotomists are mostly very competent and agreeable people. The only bad time I recall was with a trainee, who stuck me six or seven times but couldn't get the vein. It had become rather painful, but I kept smiling and encouraging him, because I knew that making him more anxious wouldn't help. "I know you can do it! You'll get it this time for sure!" I said, while the sweat beaded up on his poor little forehead. Finally he did get the needle in. I had a fine bruise from that one. But, as I said, MOSTLY. They have to learn somewhere.
I stopped at home briefly, before buzzing off to see Madame. I passed the lake again, and only a few wisps of mist were left. The sun had risen higher, and the water now mirrored each bright tree in a calm blue surface. Madame texted me that she was on her way, but had to go back to get the hearing aid that she had forgotten. When she arrived, we went to get our refreshments, and she didn't have her credit card. We both thought she probably put her wallet down when she picked up the hearing aid. She said she had been feeling anxious all week. Her daughter has been scolding her for being forgetful. I said I was sure she didn't do it on purpose! She said yes, but her daughter wanted her to remember that she was forgetful, and do something about it, like writing everything down. Sigh. I said that was a fine idea, as long as you didn't forget where you wrote it down, and we both laughed. I paid for her lunch with my card, and she saved the receipt, so she'll remember to pay me, and wrote our next meeting time on it. Then we had a chat about "many things--of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings." She said she'd been looking forward to today, because she could get out and forget about her worries.
When I got home, I wrote another 1000 words. I've reached 50,000 now. The problem is, I'm about at the end of my outline. The coda will add another 10,000 words, probably, but then the question is whether my editor will be pleased with a shorter book, or will want me to add another whole section to bring it up to 80,000. It's not really a problem, but it is ironic that when I have permission to write longer, I write short, where I've always written long before! Then I went out and raked up more leaves. I filled 5 1/2 bags. It would have been six, but I was working on #6 when our reclusive neighbor came out to chat with me. He's having surgery next week to have a spinal stimulator installed to try to deal with his back pain. He told me how his back got messed up--by landing wrong when he jumped off a boulder in a rock-climbing class. Poor guy! He smelled very strongly of alcohol. Nevertheless, he is a sweet person, and I'm always pleased when he emerges to exchange a few words before bolting back inside.
I stopped at home briefly, before buzzing off to see Madame. I passed the lake again, and only a few wisps of mist were left. The sun had risen higher, and the water now mirrored each bright tree in a calm blue surface. Madame texted me that she was on her way, but had to go back to get the hearing aid that she had forgotten. When she arrived, we went to get our refreshments, and she didn't have her credit card. We both thought she probably put her wallet down when she picked up the hearing aid. She said she had been feeling anxious all week. Her daughter has been scolding her for being forgetful. I said I was sure she didn't do it on purpose! She said yes, but her daughter wanted her to remember that she was forgetful, and do something about it, like writing everything down. Sigh. I said that was a fine idea, as long as you didn't forget where you wrote it down, and we both laughed. I paid for her lunch with my card, and she saved the receipt, so she'll remember to pay me, and wrote our next meeting time on it. Then we had a chat about "many things--of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings." She said she'd been looking forward to today, because she could get out and forget about her worries.
When I got home, I wrote another 1000 words. I've reached 50,000 now. The problem is, I'm about at the end of my outline. The coda will add another 10,000 words, probably, but then the question is whether my editor will be pleased with a shorter book, or will want me to add another whole section to bring it up to 80,000. It's not really a problem, but it is ironic that when I have permission to write longer, I write short, where I've always written long before! Then I went out and raked up more leaves. I filled 5 1/2 bags. It would have been six, but I was working on #6 when our reclusive neighbor came out to chat with me. He's having surgery next week to have a spinal stimulator installed to try to deal with his back pain. He told me how his back got messed up--by landing wrong when he jumped off a boulder in a rock-climbing class. Poor guy! He smelled very strongly of alcohol. Nevertheless, he is a sweet person, and I'm always pleased when he emerges to exchange a few words before bolting back inside.
