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Shattered Sleep
I am unusually snarly today. The previous entry hints at that, but does not begin to give you the full measure of my irritability.
Here are the things I am not currently doing.
1. Finishing the source code at work. I have not written a lick of code on that since Thursday and am therefore two working days behind (Monday was a holiday in this area). I have an absolute, cannot-move-again deadline of the end of April. Why? Because we close on the house on the first of May and this project has to basically be tied up by then, because after that I'm going to be tied up.
2. Finishing the CGI code for Heather. (Me, in ICQ a moment ago: "What's the time frame on this? Do you want it, like, yesterday?" Heather: "Pretty much as soon as you can without getting your panties in a wad about it.")
3. Finishing my own CGI code for an improved weblogging and messaging system, which I really would like done so I can post some of these Stay Tuned fragments I'm dying to get rid of, not to mention so that mouth organ's creaky underbelly can get an overhaul.
4. Packing, or even thinking about packing.
5. Writing the L story. I finally realized where I was going wrong with the current concept. I need to take the setting from the beginning of this draft and save it to use in the Jessica Gray story I want to write. Then I have an altogether different idea - faster, lighter, less reverent. The basic problem was that I was trying to do a moody piece for a subject that really should have been a fluffy one.
6. Writing a piece of transgender erotica. Heather sent me a call for submissions and I have a couple of interesting ideas, but haven't even planned them out.
7. Doing laundry.
8. Writing that Jessica Gray story (which would be the rejected L concept minus the sex and with a change of tone).
9. Updating mouth organ - I'm sure readers are about ready to pack up and leave.
10. Feeding the cat (who is busy reminding me that it's six o'clock). Well, that one's easy enough. Hold on - be right back.
Why am I not doing any of these things? Why am I sitting here writing this stress-relieving but otherwise unproductive journal entry?
Mostly because my sleep cycle has shattered into a million dark, brittle shards, like a disk of obsidian dropped from a great height.
I cannot seem to sleep for more than three hours at a time, max. It doesn't matter how long I wait or how tired I am before I go to sleep. It doesn't matter when I sleep. And three hours at a go is not enough. It leaves me unable to do much but sit and stare when I get up.
It leaves me able to write things like this, but I can do this even if my brain hurts and my eyes itch, because this is not writing. (See previous entry.) But it means that anything requiring real concentration - i.e. writing fiction or writing code - is unworkable.
This morning I got up when Nonelvis left the house, decided to go to work to see if I was coherent enough to code, realized I wasn't, turned around, went back home, and tried to sleep (from about ten to about two, when the phone woke me up). It is now six, I have had food and coffee, and I still feel like utter hell. I felt like utter hell most of the weekend. I will continue to feel like utter hell until I get this resolved.
Meanwhile the wolves continue to bark at the door.
Just kvetching. Don't mind me.
© Columbine
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