Mood Swings

So, the pregnancy symptoms are continuing to arrive. Sunday morning, the mood swings and fits of nonsensical weeping reared their ugly heads. I don't know exactly what set me off, but I ended up feeling like Alice in Wonderland. You know, that one scene where she cries and cries and can't stop, until she practically cries an ocean? And then she suddenly comes to her senses and says something like, "Oh dear. I do wish I hadn't cried so much." It was like that. Like flipping a switch.

And then, at work, I could not stop being angry. I was so irritated it felt like my head was literally getting hot. I felt like a monster. I wanted to kill something. Everything set me off - every sound, every smell. People just would not stop being stupid, obnoxious, needy, and noisy. Someone downstairs was whistling - just whistling - and I wanted to hunt them down and wring their neck. People kept repeating dumb questions like, "Do you have any Black Friday specials?" (NO! We're a Goodwill! Everything is always on special!) and "Do you guys have a computer system where I can look up what books you have? Why not?" (BECAUSE WE'RE A FLIPPING GOODWILL!) Rrrrgh.

The thing that was driving me the most crazy, though, was the radio. I never listen to the radio usually because I'm just not into the music they play. So imagine going from that (no radio) to what I suffer through now (40 hours of radio every week). I swear, they only play ten songs over and over and over and over... Every time one of them came on, it made me want to storm downstairs and smash the radio system. Or rip the speaker out of the wall. I even made a list of songs that make me want to smash the radio:

"Moves Like Jagger," by Maroon 5
"Someone Like You," by Adele
"Forget You," by Cee Lo Green
"Need You Now," by Lady Antebellum
"Tonight, Tonight," by Hot Chelle Rae
"Apologize," by One Republic
"Grenade," by Bruno Mars
"Edge of Glory," by Lady Gaga
"California Girls," by Katy Perry

Rrrgh. Just looking at that list and knowing I'll probably hear every single one of those songs at work today makes me grumpy. Thank goodness I have tomorrow and Thursday off. My patience with work is thinning, and fast.

Oh, I was also going to mention my annoyance with people pushing their politics at me while I'm ringing up their items. On Sunday, it was this lady who was purchasing "The O'Reilly Factor (For Kids)" and spouting "tide comes in, tide goes out" bullsh*t. Yesterday, it was this old guy buying...bah...I don't even remember. But when I asked him if he was eligible for the senior discount, he starting ranting about how Obama was stealing money from old people and making young people pay the bill. And then he said the most racist, stupid, horrifying thing. I quote: "...then Obama will sneak back off to Kenya (where he belongs) with all our good American money to get that phoney-boloney birth certificate of his."

O_o

Then he had the audacity to ask if I agreed with him. I responded, in a shell-shocked sort of way, that I was non-political. (Which seemed the politest way to say, "HELL NO I DO NOT AGREE!") He told me that I'd damn well better get political, or Obama was going to continue to pull the wool over my eyes. I then bid him a good day and hurried off to shelve things.

I am saddened that these people actually exist.

I am also saddened that I have to go to work now and deal with them.


Now that I think of it, I wonder if my mood swings would be so bad if I got to stay home and chill... This job probably just exacerbates things.

Good News!

Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone! Still digesting the smorgasbord from Thursday? Yeah, me too. Gorging myself on down-home type foods is one of my favorite holiday traditions. Forget calorie-counting! Pass me the mashed 'taters!

My husband and I had a very happy Thanksgiving ourselves. We spent the day high on life (and carbohydrates). As some of you may know, we got some very exciting - and unexpected - news yesterday morning: come July, WE'RE GOING TO BE PARENTS!

(Of course, that is taking it for granted that everything goes smoothly and to plan.)

It's weird, waking up in the morning and knowing you're different than you were, that you're carrying a life inside you (cheesy as that sounds). Mark and I were starting to think that it was impossible for us to have a baby - we were just starting our infertility appointments with the doctor - and now...

I don't feel all that different yet (other than the knowing). The big symptoms (like morning sickness) aren't supposed to start for another couple of weeks. Right now I'm just feeling exhausted and hungry all the time, and I do have some mood swings. Baby Williams (or Babby Dubs, as I have taken to calling him/her) sure does love red meat, though. I cannot shake this craving for hamburgers. And whenever I get to eat one, my mouth feels like it's never been happier. My taste buds come alive!

Haha, it's funny. While I normally like hamburgers, I have never had such a strong desire for them. And they have never tasted quite so delicious.

So I suppose the food cravings have begun, at least.


I want to write more about everything, but I am soooo worn out. Full-time retail work and pregnancy can really do a number on a person's endurance.

So good night! Talk to you later!

Sooo...this job...

...is not going as well as I would have hoped.

They hired me as a bookseller, right? That is what I said before? Okay, just checking. Because I have not set foot in the book loft since my first day. They've had me on the main floor doing general cashiering all day, every day since then. (Well, except Monday and Tuesday, because I wasn't there. I'm talking during my work schedule.) By myself, about 90% of the time.

The work itself is not difficult. It is frustrating - no bar codes, every entry has to be selected from a category on a touch screen, then you select the price (if it's not a common price, you have to enter it manually). Then there's the dinosaur of a credit card machine. And the wrapping of glass items (there are lots). And the ridiculous procedure that goes with people purchasing furniture. And the impossible multi-tasking.

There are five glass cases near the front register. Each has a lock, and a separate key. Each can be opened only by an employee. Then you have to stand there and babysit the customer while they diddle-daddle over the merchandise in the case. You cannot leave them alone by the case, because THEY COULD STEAL STUFF.

This would not be a problem if there were one person to watch the customers at the case, and one person to operate the cash register for the perpetual line of customers. But there ISN'T. Customer-watcher? Me. Cashier? Me. Other Goodwill employees? Vanished. Probably in the back, chatting. Nowhere in sight. And the cashier is not supposed to get more than 15 or so feet from the register, so I can't go looking for help from my coworkers. No PA system, no walkie-talkies, no phones. I am pretty much all by myself, screwed, with the impatient customers at the front who expect me to be able to do five hundred things at once.

And this was not the job I was hired for. This is the job I somehow keep getting foisted into. If I am not back upstairs tomorrow, the managers and I will have words. I do not want this job. I want the book loft.

The book loft is peaceful. It's like working at a tiny Barnes & Noble. When I was up there, I was tempted to think it was boring. Now it seems like heaven. God, I miss it.

My book lead, Kate, said that if I'm not upstairs tomorrow, she will also have words with the managers. So at least there's someone on my side.

There's so much more I could complain about, but I'm not going to. It's too depressing.


Also, I cannot get the smell of homeless people out of my nose (as awful and heartless as that sounds). They hang around in the store a lot. Sometimes they buy weird things. ...yup.

Also, also, I should be packing tonight, but I'm so worn out. But when else will I be able to pack? *siiigh*

Mooooving!

So, this weekend is the weekend we're moving to our new place! I'm very excited for the new apartment, but the move itself has me a little worried.

As you know from my last post, I'm not going to be a whole lot of help with the actual "moving" process. Heck, I don't even know if I have any days off this weekend - I might not even be able to be around. That worries me like crazy, because I get super finicky and controlling about this kind of thing. I like to be independent about it. I like to pack all my own stuff, clean up after myself by myself, etc, etc. We're having people over to help, which is great, but I... I dunno. I just want the place to look as clean as possible before they come, because I don't want to be embarrassed by our messiness. (You know, cleaning the fridge, the bathroom, the dog hair out of the bedroom carpet...) But I work today from 2:30-9, tomorrow from 10-6:30, and Friday from 12:30-9. I'm going to have to work in my pre-cleaning around that. Plus I still have to pack the whole bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and the other random stuff hanging around the living room. While not over-taxing my shoulder. And being tired from work.

Oh, new apartment! I am excited, but you stress me out! Whyyyy? Whyyyyyyyy!?

Got to find some socks and get my teeth brushed now. Maybe I'll talk more later. If I'm not packing, that is.


EDIT: Working all weekend. My next day off is Monday. Woohoo.

Weak "Weekend"

Yesterday and today were my "weekend" this week. (At least, I think they were all I'm going to get for the week. I only know my schedule as far as Friday, so I don't know if I'm going to get Saturday or Sunday off. I hope I can get at least one.) It's nice to get two days off in a row. I doubt it'll happen much (unless I request it) now that I'm a full-time worker again. Still... it was a pretty lackluster weekend.

Why? Well, because of the doctor's appointments. You know, the ones I've been talking about for quite some time now.

Blah. Yesterday I got seven stitches put into my shoulder. The process itself wasn't painful or even all that stressful, because I knew what was coming. What sucks is that I now am unable to lift/push/pull more than 5lbs for the next two weeks. I also can't do anything that stretches the skin on my back - can't lift my arms over my head, can't use my arms to push myself out of bed... The stitches are right over where my shoulder blade stretches the skin, so I have a really limited range of motion. *sigh* I'm glad the process is mostly over, but it's a pain in the butt right now. And I've got to turn the "no lifting" note from my doctor to my brand-new job. They'll love that.

Today I had to have blood drawn. I pass out every time. Well, except this time. But it was a close call.

Meh. I shouldn't complain about having time off, but this weekend made me feel even more exhausted than I was before. (I know I've only worked two days so far, but they were tiring. I haven't worked in a while. I'm easily worn out.) And I am totally shirking on my promise (to myself) to write more fiction. Just don't have the brain power.

Even thinking about work wears me out. When did I get so lazy?

Tyrus Rewrite, Pt 2!

Once again, it's very rough (done in true NaNoWriMo style), but I finished it up!

Let me know what you think!

Following some kind of animal instinct, she did the only thing that made sense at that moment: she bit down. Hard.

The unmistakably metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and he released her with a yell and a curse. She did not waste a moment. Spitting as much of the bitter liquid as she could in his face, she launched herself toward the cabin door. Perhaps if she could get as far as the deck, she could make it over the side. She would rather take her chances with the impetuous sea than with the mutinous mongrels her once-beautiful ship had become home to.

Her hand had just closed over the door latch when she felt his fingers close around her shoulder. “You'll pay for that, you little bitch.” His foot hooked her leg, and she was on the floor – flat on her back – in one painful instant. The breath had fled her lungs, but still she managed to roll away before he could land a solid kick to her ribs.

Once she was certain she had put enough distance between his foot and her ribcage, she scrambled to her feet, searching, searching. He was between her and the door - there was no longer hope for escape that way without having to fight past him. She needed a weapon. There was none in sight. The dagger sheath at her belt hung empty, useless. Even her hidden boot sheath had been emptied when the crew had turned to mutiny. Her cabin had been stripped of everything but the bare essentials. The only things she had to work with were the chair (too heavy to make a feasible weapon), the desk and rack (bolted down or built into the bulkheads themselves), and a length of old rope that hung on a peg just a few paces to her left. A length of rope? It would have to do; she had nothing else. She seized it and wrapped a length around her knuckles, unsure of what good it would do her. Just having something in her hands - useless or not - made her feel fractionally less helpless. 

 

Now to fight.

Tyrus watched her frantic search, eyes hard and teeth bared in a feral grin. When he saw her feeble attempt at arming herself, the grin widened. His hand was covered in blood. It had run down his wrist and stained his shirtsleeve. Now, as his arm tensed low at his side, it dripped quietly on the floor. Ryenne hoped she had rendered the hand mostly useless, but she could not be sure. She prayed it was. She needed all the help she could get now.

"Feeling feisty today, are we, Caelar?" His voice was playful, but his expression was anything but. He took a few paces forward, growling when she skittered backward, away from him. "You're making this harder than it needs to be, you know."

"Good." She twisted the rope in her hands, trying to formulate a plan. Nothing came to mind.

He lunged, and any other plans Ryenne might have made fled her mind in that instant. She was too slow to duck the first blow. His fist connected with her gut, knocking the wind from her and making black spots dance before her eyes. There was no time to shake it off, however. She was already attempting to dance clear of the second blow. It glanced off her shoulder, smearing blood on her already-filthy shirt, and swung past. Tyrus was thrown momentarily off-balance. Panting with exhilaration and fear, she took the opening and slipped behind him. The rope was over his head in a blink. Ryenne grimaced with satisfaction as she tightened it across his windpipe. She could hear his throat rattle, struggling for the air it could no longer take in. He swung blindly at her, blood from his injured hand spattering her face, but she threw all her weight into the task of strangling him. In a moment, he would lose consciousness. She hoped.

That was when she spotted it - the dagger at his hip. If she could just reach it, she could slit his throat and be done with it. His movements were already starting to slow. If she was quick...

She knew her mistake the moment she reached toward his belt: she was not strong enough to strangle him one-handed. But it was too late. 

 

Tyrus sucked in a deep breath and seized the hand that still feebly attempted to kill him. The dagger brushed past Ryenne's fingers - so close, and yet too far - as he slammed her into the bulkhead.

“That's enough play for now, Captain.” He strangled her with his blood-streaked forearm, trapping her between it and the wood of the bulkhead behind her. His other hand was busy with the rope still knotted around her hands, knotting it further still, trussing her up like a pig for the slaughter. “It's time you took what was coming to you.” The leering grin returned. “And, no, I won't be asking for your permission.”

I Done Wrote Stuff!

I'm not sure whether or not I actually mentioned the writing project I've been working on lately on this blog, but I actually made progress on it yesterday. The project itself is silly, and pointless, but I felt like doing it. It came about like this:

I was rereading Two Captains the other day (last week, actually), and came upon the scene where Tyrus is first introduced. Here it the original text.

Reading it was painful. (I can say that without fear of insulting anyone's writing talent but my own, seeing as I wrote that scene.) The run-on sentences and the ridiculous descriptions... And the fact that Ryenne is stupid enough to attempt to use a piece of ordinary rope as a whip? Bah. I cringed.

And then I decided that I was going to rewrite the scene. Not re-publish it or anything, just rewrite it for my own benefit. So I started that yesterday. It's not done yet, and it's very, very rough, but I wanted to post it anyway. Here it is:

"Well, well, well...if it isn't the Great Captain Caelar."

Ryenne jumped, startled, as Tyrus shut the cabin door behind him with a sharp snap. She had been so lost in her own miserable musings that she had not even heard the door to what had once been her cabin – now only her prison - open. She wished, for pride's sake, that he had not caught her by surprise. She could not wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks quickly enough. He chuckled at the sight of them.

"Things are finally starting to sink into that thick skull of yours, eh, Caelar?"

"Why are you here, Tyrus?" She forced her voice to remain steady, despite the fear and fatigue she had been slowly succumbing to in the past three days of captivity. "The lot of you have tormented me enough. Just kill me and be done with it."

The sound of his heavy boot steps behind her made her want to cringe. His pace was measured, slow. Taunting her. "No, Captain. I don't think we've done enough. Not after what you've done to us."

“And what, exactly, is that?” She resisted the urge to turn around and face him. She did not trust him at her back, but she did not want to admit that fact to him. Instead, she straightened in her chair, forcing her hands to remain still on the desk before her. "What have I done to you that merits this?"

He paused in his pacing and the warmth of his breath whispered across the nape of her neck. She could not hold back a shudder. She had not realized he had gotten so close. "You treat us as though we are heathens and you are a god, too high and mighty to notice the petty concerns of ants like us."

"Mutinous heathens," she corrected him tartly. "And I am your Captain, not your god. I never asked for your worship. Only your respect." 

"A woman is not fit to be captain." He was too close. She could practically smell the danger in the air, the tang of it mingling with the heavy smell of liquor on his breath.

"Better the captain be a woman than a man like you."

She should have known better than to bait him. She had seen him tangle with men twice her size and come out the better. She would never stand a chance against the brute. But the words were out now, and there was no calling them back. They would cost her dearly.

Before she could so much as flinch, he seized a hank of her hair and hauled her upright, twisting her to face him as he did so. The pain of it brought fresh tears to her eyes. She howled in fury, clawing at him, but he did not let go. Instead, he brought his face closer and whispered, almost tenderly, "Perhaps you ought to be taught some manners."

She wanted to bite him. She tried, snapping her teeth in vain. “Let me go, you stinking bilge-rat!”

He laughed. "What a spitting little cat you are!" His free hand clamped around her jaw. She seized his wrist, scrabbling at it with her poor, chewed-off fingernails. He did not even seem to notice. This close, his eyes had a glazed look to them she had not noticed before. The smell of rum that radiated from him seemed suddenly stronger. She could not breathe.

“A woman is not fit to be captain,” he repeated, squeezing her jaw with near-crushing force. “Women are only good for one thing.”

“You're not getting that from me, Tyrus!” It was difficult to get the words out with his fingers digging into her cheeks like they were, but she managed it. She would have spit on him if she could have managed that, too. She could not, however. 

 

It was as though he could read her thoughts. Chuckling at her helpless frustration, he continued to squeeze until her lips were forced into a puckered pout. Like a whore begging for a kiss. “Who says I was asking permission?”

She did not realize he had been forcing her backward until her shoulders slammed into the rough wood of the bulkhead. It awakened in her a renewed sense of panic. With a sudden burst of frenzied energy, she managed to twist her head just far enough to loosen Tyrus's bruising grip on her jaw. By chance, the motion had caused his left thumb to somehow slip into her mouth. Following some kind of animal instinct, she did the only thing that made sense at that moment: she bit down. Hard.

So...yup. That's what I've got so far. And I think that's what I'll be working on later on today. For now, I have to clean the bedroom closet. And shower. And stuff.