I wrote another thousand words yesterday, finished the second scene and the first chapter of the fantasy story, which still doesn't have a name. Yes, seems the habit is back. Three days in a row could have been an accident, four is a habit.
This is weird writing, much like I used to do it back in ye olden days. I'm getting only very small images and ideas. This one comes as a mosaic, there's, so far, no "bigger picture" and I don't know how it'll end. So I'm not even sure it's a "romance" or can be sold to a "romance publisher".
(I know, all my romance-reading readers are groaning now at their screens). It sure has explicit gay sex and I know there's a core relationship, but I have no clue how and where it's ending, and anyway, I'm only 3k in and really just in the stage of introducing my main character. It's not even a story yet. It's two scenes and a character. It's growing slowly, tenuously, like reaching around in a dark room. It might not even come to anything. I have several stories with intriguing beginning and no end, plot or resolution in sight. I don't have any idea what to do with them, since the little that I *do* have is too good to just throw it away.
And I have an "AWESOME" moment today after sending out my "I'm leaving" email. Guy asked me which place I'm going to. I told him, and he was all "oh wow, good place, and I know your future boss, and he's AWESOME, he's just so cool, congrats on landing THAT job!" Having worked there for ten years and closely with my new boss, his opinion should be pretty well-founded, but I'm immensely gratified that I made The Right Decision there.
Countdown. Next week at this time, I'll clean out my desk and delete what few personal files I had on this machine.
Tonight is packing and moving a few last remaining boxes. It's going to be mostly kitchen and bathroom stuff at this stage. Then throwing away trash and preparing everything for the cleaners to blitz the place. By Monday, we're finally out, and I hope to make some progress organizing the new house over the weekend.
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Friday, 11 June 2010
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Builders' Crack for Breakfast
English is a fantastic language. It has a word I've never got the chance of using - "builders' crack" - meaning the buttock crack that a builder bares when he works (or just sits). In German: Bauarbeiter-Ritze.
Well, up until this morning I thought "yeah, well, I don't think it's THAT bad." Then my builders arrived. They were very nice and friendly, but they were all cast from the same mold. First guy was no older than 16-18, I call him "wee lad" in my head. Second guy was what I call "strapping young lad", early to mid-twenties. And their middle-aged boss.
All of them had very short hair - we're talking maybe a millimetre left - all of them had those very typical English football hooligan faces. The type of guy that makes me cross the road when they haunt the streets when they are drunk on a Thursday/Friday night, jeering and hollering and sometimes accompanied by skimpily-clad equally drunk bimbos. I'm not making this stuff up.
Strapping Young Lad bent down to remove the heater from the wall - and there it was. The Builder's Crack. Nice ass overall, too. I've seen almost all of it after he was done with the heater.
They covered everything up, then basically told me to leave ("We don't want to keep you..."). Talked to Boss Man about removing the concrete in the front and back, too, I guess he'll write up a proposal (which might or might not cost an arm and a leg, but the concrete is really bugging me and is shit for drainage. That's my excuse and I'm sticking by it).
My biggest accomplishment of the day so far? I oiled the lock in the front door and it's now much smoother going. There were days when it took me five minutes to open the door. I hope the garden door lock agrees to the oil, too. There are days when I can't open that at all. And while I embrace quirks of old houses, my temper then wants to kick down the door and smash the window. NOT HELPFUL.
So, when I left, I heard them begin to hammer off the plaster in the hallway and kitchen (they have to damp-proof a couple walls). The hollow ringing sound of Strapping Young Guy's big hammer (hehe) made me wince a little. I guess I'm like a parent who has to leave the kid at the dentist, trying to ignore the tears of fear in the kid's eyes. It really tugged on my heart there and I realized they told me to leave because it might be a little tough to watch the process.
Gods, I'm getting way too attached to that house, but I just can't help it. I'm a Taurus, so "my house is my castle" squared. I know it's going to be awesome when it's done, and I see it getting there. It'll be all worth it.
And what really occurred to me yesterday was that my mother would have loved the house and especially the garden. I want to plant roses in her honor. Big, old world roses with a fragrance. My mother (who trained as a florist) always complained about beautiful but soulless, fragrance-less roses. She especially loved the English roses, and having lived here, I see why. I'll plant roses in the front and in the back (there's an enormous sprawling rose bush/tree which I'll have to show you guys or you won't believe it) in her memory.
Well, up until this morning I thought "yeah, well, I don't think it's THAT bad." Then my builders arrived. They were very nice and friendly, but they were all cast from the same mold. First guy was no older than 16-18, I call him "wee lad" in my head. Second guy was what I call "strapping young lad", early to mid-twenties. And their middle-aged boss.
All of them had very short hair - we're talking maybe a millimetre left - all of them had those very typical English football hooligan faces. The type of guy that makes me cross the road when they haunt the streets when they are drunk on a Thursday/Friday night, jeering and hollering and sometimes accompanied by skimpily-clad equally drunk bimbos. I'm not making this stuff up.
Strapping Young Lad bent down to remove the heater from the wall - and there it was. The Builder's Crack. Nice ass overall, too. I've seen almost all of it after he was done with the heater.
They covered everything up, then basically told me to leave ("We don't want to keep you..."). Talked to Boss Man about removing the concrete in the front and back, too, I guess he'll write up a proposal (which might or might not cost an arm and a leg, but the concrete is really bugging me and is shit for drainage. That's my excuse and I'm sticking by it).
My biggest accomplishment of the day so far? I oiled the lock in the front door and it's now much smoother going. There were days when it took me five minutes to open the door. I hope the garden door lock agrees to the oil, too. There are days when I can't open that at all. And while I embrace quirks of old houses, my temper then wants to kick down the door and smash the window. NOT HELPFUL.
So, when I left, I heard them begin to hammer off the plaster in the hallway and kitchen (they have to damp-proof a couple walls). The hollow ringing sound of Strapping Young Guy's big hammer (hehe) made me wince a little. I guess I'm like a parent who has to leave the kid at the dentist, trying to ignore the tears of fear in the kid's eyes. It really tugged on my heart there and I realized they told me to leave because it might be a little tough to watch the process.
Gods, I'm getting way too attached to that house, but I just can't help it. I'm a Taurus, so "my house is my castle" squared. I know it's going to be awesome when it's done, and I see it getting there. It'll be all worth it.
And what really occurred to me yesterday was that my mother would have loved the house and especially the garden. I want to plant roses in her honor. Big, old world roses with a fragrance. My mother (who trained as a florist) always complained about beautiful but soulless, fragrance-less roses. She especially loved the English roses, and having lived here, I see why. I'll plant roses in the front and in the back (there's an enormous sprawling rose bush/tree which I'll have to show you guys or you won't believe it) in her memory.
Monday, 31 May 2010
Slowly crossing the line
The move is a strange beast. Right now, I'm fully engaged with preparation work. Today I spent the day with further vetting books and papers I have, packing stuff for the various charity shops in the area, packing six massive archive boxes with books and clothes - without making a visible dent into my "library", and then I listed half a shelf's worth of books on ebay, in the hope that there might be a stray pound somewhere in all this.
Vetted more books, piled them differently (to sell, to give away, to re-organise). Tomorrow I'll take my two surviving plants over to the new house. The bonsai will love the natural light, and the hebe has a fair chance of flowering again. That will clear up the desk so it can be taken over to the new place on Friday, along with all the books.
Yeah, and curtains. I feel ridiculously domestic and more than a little ridiculous. In none of my previous abodes did I even have curtains. I'm allergic to dust mites, I just tended to not have carpets or curtains, but they are building an apartment building across the street and the bedroom is facing the street. And while I'm a bit of an entertainer, I'm not entertaining in that way. And the living room bay window needs to be covered up as well. I dislike showing random strangers all the gaming consoles and DVDs on their shelves.
So that's my mission for tomorrow - head back into the flat and take the measurements of the windows, then head to the curtain shop to get some ready-made curtains. I'll install them after the repairs and the other work around the house. And I'll get a tub of white paint and paint our picket fence. I simply cannot resist the irony of that.
I met all neighbours and they are cool, friendly people. And then somebody from further down the street, who seemed very welcoming too. I guess if you're living in the same Victorian terrace, there is a sense of community, but it's nice to actually talk to the neighbours. I've been told that's rare in England (less so in Germany, where you tend to invite your neighhours around after moving in so they can feed their curiousity and to get to know each other).
So tomorrow is mostly going to be a day of fiddly stuff getting taken care of. One last deep breath before the really big things happening. I'm off work all week, too, to be able to do all this in the first place.
Since the muse is on holiday (sending the occasional guilt-ridden postcard), I'll print out a couple novels and work on them on paper. Yeah, and the fact I won't be connected to the internet for a few days in the next few days is a quite unpleasant thought. So if I'm gone, I'm moving. See you on Saturday latest, that's when I'll get re-connected in the new house.
Vetted more books, piled them differently (to sell, to give away, to re-organise). Tomorrow I'll take my two surviving plants over to the new house. The bonsai will love the natural light, and the hebe has a fair chance of flowering again. That will clear up the desk so it can be taken over to the new place on Friday, along with all the books.
Yeah, and curtains. I feel ridiculously domestic and more than a little ridiculous. In none of my previous abodes did I even have curtains. I'm allergic to dust mites, I just tended to not have carpets or curtains, but they are building an apartment building across the street and the bedroom is facing the street. And while I'm a bit of an entertainer, I'm not entertaining in that way. And the living room bay window needs to be covered up as well. I dislike showing random strangers all the gaming consoles and DVDs on their shelves.
So that's my mission for tomorrow - head back into the flat and take the measurements of the windows, then head to the curtain shop to get some ready-made curtains. I'll install them after the repairs and the other work around the house. And I'll get a tub of white paint and paint our picket fence. I simply cannot resist the irony of that.
I met all neighbours and they are cool, friendly people. And then somebody from further down the street, who seemed very welcoming too. I guess if you're living in the same Victorian terrace, there is a sense of community, but it's nice to actually talk to the neighbours. I've been told that's rare in England (less so in Germany, where you tend to invite your neighhours around after moving in so they can feed their curiousity and to get to know each other).
So tomorrow is mostly going to be a day of fiddly stuff getting taken care of. One last deep breath before the really big things happening. I'm off work all week, too, to be able to do all this in the first place.
Since the muse is on holiday (sending the occasional guilt-ridden postcard), I'll print out a couple novels and work on them on paper. Yeah, and the fact I won't be connected to the internet for a few days in the next few days is a quite unpleasant thought. So if I'm gone, I'm moving. See you on Saturday latest, that's when I'll get re-connected in the new house.
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