Space Heater: The Warmination!

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This is how you know winter is here: I’ve brought out the space heater. Thanks to the vagaries of poor air circulation and its placement on the side of the house that faces into the general direction of the wind, my office is typically the coldest room in the house (in cold weather, anyway) sometimes by a double digit temperature differential. Rather than crank up the thermostat and cause the rest of the house to have the same climate as Borneo, I just switch on the space heater and apply its warming currents directly to my shivering ass (sorry to burden you with that image). Mmmmm… let the warmination commence!

Winter also means that my office begins its annual game of electricity musical chairs. As you may be aware, space heaters draw quite a bit of electricity, and so when I add mine to an office already overburdened with electric power suckers, including up to three computers, well, let’s just say I take frequent trips to the basement to flip the circuit breaker. Last winter I solved this issue by plugging the space heater into an extension cord plugged into the master bathroom, which is on a different circuit entirely. But you may imagine how popular this solution was with Krissy, whose sense of home esthetic is, shall we say, offended by a fat orange extension cord snaking halfway across the house. This winter I’ll try simply unplugging some of the crap I’m not actually using all that much. It’s a nutty idea but it just might work.

La Guerre Du Vieil Homme

Just sold Old Man’s War to French publisher Editions L’ Atalante, who also publishes Steven Brust, Terry Pratchett, Vernor Vinge and David Weber. Groovy. Christmas is paid for. Also, that qualifies as ending the week on a high note. 

Pointless Early Friday Rant

I’ve been having one of those weeks where the best thing that can be said about it is that it is coming to a close, and the fact that I say this in a week in which I sold a book, received great-looking ARCs of a second, and was delighted by the illustrations accompanying a third book (well, chapbook) should give an indication of just how rankly craptastic other aspects of my life have been over the last several days. Suffice to say that sometimes we suffer for things over which we had no control, and leave it at that. But on the bright side, I’ve learned that I actually can stay civil when I have to, even when some folks (and not at all unjustifiably, from their point of view) are doing their level best to goad me into apoplectic rage. Didn’t happen. At 36, I finally feel mature.

However, the flip side of this is that I now have an irrational and not entirely useful urge to pick a fight with someone — anyone, really — and just whale the shit out of them with logic and/or derision. And that’s really no good for anyone, least of all me, since no one is actually clever when they’re generally pissy, and I regret to say I am not the exception that proves the rule. What I’m saying is that if over the next few days my asshole-o-meter has its needle pegged to the red, please be aware it’s not you, it’s me. Also, please don’t try to pick any fights with me. I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought. But it just won’t end happily for anyone, least of all me. The problem with getting into a flame war when you’re already wound up is that it’s never the cathartic experience you really want; you just end up feeling fatigued and dirty. I think I’ll just play Dance Dance Revolution all weekend long instead.

Don’t worry, I’ll be fine by Monday. Or I’ll have had a stroke. Either way, it’ll be resolved.