Marissa Lingen (mrissa) wrote,
Marissa Lingen
mrissa

State of the Mrissa Report: Wednesday

I am crossing out whole pages and sections of Sampo as changes in motivation and structure pile up, as I approach the end of this read-through. It's all right. Freeing, even. Also, my brain is preparing to do something when I'm done with the edits. I don't know what yet, but you know how books feel like rocks in my head? (If you didn't know: they do.) There's something coming to the fore that is large and cool. I don't even know yet if it's an idea I've already had coming to fruition or something new. I just feel it coming.

(Please keep in mind that I have never argued with the idea that all writers are fruitbats. I just hope to be one of the interesting fruitbats.)

The dysosmia is, if anything, getting worse. Certainly more frequent. My dreams last night smelled thoroughly of beetles (the shimmery green kind, squished), and today's odd smell shift was when timprov's soda went smelling like a bologna sandwich on Wonderbread with Miracle Whip. We don't stock bologna or Wonderbread, never have. The thing about smells is that if you see things weirdly, you can close your eyes, and if you hear things weirdly, you can plug your ears, but if you smell weird things and put in nose plugs, you will smell the nose plugs weirdly. At least I will. For awhile it was limiting itself to food I was also tasting, but even then I was not allowed to stop eating as a solution. Now, there is no "safe" time. I am always smelling something, so that smelling can always go awry. Most of the time I manage not to think about this, but sometimes it's alarming and very hard not to think about.

The pup does not approve of tornado sirens or losing her baby teeth but has otherwise been in a pretty excellent mood in the last few days. Much wagging. She also decided for awhile this morning that she had to be touching the manuscript of Sampo while I was working on it. She didn't interfere in any way or attempt to chew on the Special Stick; she wasn't even awake the whole time. But she had to have her paw on the corner of the binder, and if I shifted, so did she, even without waking, to keep touching it. Strange are the ways of puppies, but sweet.

I feel like I'm getting by with some kind of minimum this week, just the things I really need to do and no more. Which is better than not hitting that minimum, I suppose. Next week markgritter will be in California on business, and I think I will be asking for help. It'll partly depend on how timprov is doing and what he can handle, what he needs. But yah: we'll get through it, and I'm not fussed about calling in cavalry. So there's that.
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