Marissa Lingen (mrissa) wrote,
Marissa Lingen
mrissa

This, that, and the sirens

There are few things I hate so much as being corrected when I am right. Receiving an edited version of a manuscript with, "They were especially hard on my servants and me," changed to, "They were especially hard on my servants and I," makes me want to be especially hard on she. With a hockey stick.

I'm also ready to scream at such corrections like, "Velvet feels rough when stroked against the grain. Are you sure you don't mean stroked with the grain?" Yes, rather sure, actually. It's a pretty specific sensation, and it's the one I meant to evoke, and I didn't use any words like "smooth" that contradict it. And inserting adverbs, inverting clauses, and breaking up perfectly good sentences willy-nilly -- YARG. (Yes, okay, sometimes my sentences are too long. But breaking up a sentence of less than two lines into two choppy sentences, when there's no jarring repetition of that structure in sight? BLERG.)

Let us not even discuss the elements of the fantasy genre this person apparently believes originated with Harry Potter.

I appreciate a good copy-editor. I just wish this zine had one.

The dysosmia continues at a rate of one or more events per day. This morning I spent some time looking for where Ista had had an accident on the rug, only to find that there was no such accident, and the smell morphed back into the lavender smell of the soap we have in the downstairs bathroom. Poor maligned Ista. Yesterday she smelled like anise for about five minutes. I hate anise. I have an ENT appointment next Tuesday, and I'm trying to maintain something like hope for it. The fatigue is back to its current norms after yesterday; I slept well last night, which was a relief but not a surprise.

Other than that, I have a long-scheduled outing planned for tonight, and I'm excited about that. Also, I have in my head the Toad the Wet Sprocket song that doesn't actually have the line, "There's something at the boat show" in it but we always sing it that way anyway. ("I wanna get me a little Bolivian baby." "She's got a tick in her eye." "I'm in love with your goats." "Forty-five virgins and a pelican." We're not actually big on the right lyrics around here.) And it's cool and rainy and happy.

Aaaand there go the sirens. Whee. I'm not finding anything online that says there's a torando warning in the area, and I would really like to continue to get stuff done up here in the office for awhile longer, now that the temperature is berable in it. Well, if the sky turns green, I'll head downstairs.
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