Marissa Lingen (mrissa) wrote,
Marissa Lingen
mrissa

Not Patient

Or at least, I'm not very good at being (a) patient.


I miss food. With, you know, varied texture. I miss conversation on the order of more than two whispered sentences. I miss physical activity that takes more than five minutes and the tiniest bit of energy. Hell, I miss being able to be vertical all afternoon without coughing constantly and getting all worn out and having to go lie down again.

I am very, very sick of lying down. My body, however, has not vanquished this stupid virus, and it seems to be using energy for that purpose rather than for bouncing around happily doing stuff. Go figure.

What I really want right now? I want to go out for lunch and sit and eat food that's hard to swallow, and I want to talk over lunch to someone interesting, someone I already like, preferably someone who doesn't live in this house or dine here most nights. I want to be able to drive myself there and I want to sing songs in the car on the way back. Does this sound unreasonable? It does not. It's not such a big dream.

Also, I want spammers never ever to use "Editor" as their "from:" line, because then if I'm writing another e-mail, I get a little notice at the bottom of my pine window: "New mail from Editor!" Bastards.

Also, I want Orson Scott Card to stop writing sucky books in a series that started well, and I want people to stop buying books like The DaVinci Code. Because honestly, I couldn't stomach any of it past the prolog. I wouldn't have tried if Mark's grandma hadn't lent it to me. But I didn't expect it to be that bad.



But I've read a fair bit, and some of it has been good -- The Harp of the Grey Rose broke my "annoyed with Charles de Lint" streak, and now I have Will Shetterly's Chimera sitting on my desk at the ready, and did you know Lin Carter was a man? I didn't know that. All my male cousins with names that sound like that spell them Lynn, I think. You probably all knew, but I just go around assuming people are, you know, women and stuff. I don't know why. Probably because many of them are.

Also I'm almost done with this Kalevala bit and can soon get back to blood and politics, though more of the latter than the former, in Sampo. Even though I have to get through Lemminkainen first, and Lemminkainen is the very worst of the Kalevala if you ask me. Which nobody did, but honestly, "Oh, you went and visited your friends and I didn't want you to, and now I'm going to tie you up at someone else's farm and go kill things until someone else agrees to give me their daughter instead?" Bloody Lemminkainen. Spoils everything. I mean, Ilmarinen is at least some kind of proto-geek, yah? And in all likelihood had a beard, so there you have that.

And there are a few e-mails, including an unexpectedly complimentary one -- not that I expected this particular correspondent to be actively uncomplimentary, mind, but nor do I expect extravagant compliments out of the blue via e-mail -- although if you have any extravagant compliments, I suppose that's as good a delivery method as any and better than most just now. ANYway, there are some e-mail to sub in for conversation until I'm better able. Which means that some poor people have heard more from me than they'd probably need to, but hey, at least I'm happy.

And I really do like soup. I'm now having to remind myself of that. But I do. Soup is nice. Ice cream is nice. Applesauce is...um...nice-ish. Definitely nice-ish. Yes. Oatmeal: also nice.

And I can have hugs when I need them. Which I do. But then I have them. So it's a good thing. Doesn't even hurt the throat or wear me out. Yay, hugs, long, hair-and-back-petting snuggledy hugs.
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