#IWriteAboutItBecause

btw, loving John Rhys-Davies in The Shannara Chronicles

Last night was pretty exciting. I was having a buncha big thoughts in the shower and wound up thinking about how not even the Doctor could get the Sliders back home, like you do, and emerged to @bonenado feeling upset about not being able to find his giant stomper hunting boots that he'd been rummaging around in the basement for and suddenly switching gears wanting to know if I'd want to watch The Blacklist, and I gave up, all my cool thoughts went down another drain again, held frustration at bay hoping I'd be able to pick them back up later, because I had a neat idea I was going someplace with. And now #IWriteAboutItBecause I'm hoping I can trigger back to where I laid down those thoughts.

First order of business was to squelch the ADHD and redirect, so I led the way back down into the basement and patiently refocused gerbil brain back into more logical questioning over and over, do you remember the last time you actually had the boots, did they disappear before Thanksgiving because remember Twink was moving and there's all this 'new' stuff down here now, the mini trampoline kept coming up so obviously there was a reason the boots had to move off the trampoline (I conceded his logic for them being on it in the first place was actually sound to his way of thinking), and over a little time putting a picture back together from probably about 8 weeks ago, he suddenly went straight to them buried out of sight between and under a bunch of furniture and sacks and boxes covering a kids' plastic picnic table, where they were sitting on the seat off the floor. (He's watched every version of Sherlock ever made, I don't get how this process of rebuilding a crime scene hasn't sunk in yet.) (Maybe that's why I was always bored with all the other Sherlock versions and he's still glued to Elementary.) (I really hate Elementary, I have to leave the room.)

See, you can't get basement floor odor on the soles of hunting boots by setting them on the floor. It's ok if they sit on everything else... We've had lengthy discussions through the years about the mysteries of odors and hunting superstitions, so yay, we found the boots and went back upstairs to watch The Blacklist. I really don't think Elizabeth Keene should have been able to recover that quickly from a nitrogen-heavy suffocation that blacked her out, but I digress and the show must go on.

And then Scott dreamed about drugs and the FBI swarming his work last night while I dreamed about alt worlds where I made other really cool stuff on the webs that felt so real that I had a hard time waking back up to this world and going, 'oh'. Not as cool here as the last me I visited.

So here I am, coffee in the brain, and still trying to remember that really cool thing I was thinking last night in the shower that I couldn't wait to get out and write down before I forgot it and then got brain bombed. The danger of getting back into the shower and trying to recreate the scene is having all new cool thoughts crowding out the old ones that slipped away, so best just stay out of the shower for awhile and see if some utter peace and quiet will bring it back, now that @bonenado has left for work.

Mondays are like this. Every Monday. Every. Monday. My brain and I getting reacquainted, chatting about this and that over coffee. Starting all over again with making a Plan. Scott is still driving my car, but I hope to be getting my keycodes to the new lappy guy by Wednesday and picking new lappy up by the end of the week. Might be coming out of the depression dip soon, kinda seeing shafts of light getting into the darker corners again. Arms hurt like heck all night because I held my phone watching the live tweet feed while the Vikings teetered on the edge of ridiculous fail, so I've gotta stay away from my phone today and let my arms rest again. My hands finally stopped hurting somewhere in the night. You know, I don't say much (I really don't), but when a person can't even hold a spoon to stir something, yeah. You should see me putting jeans on. Ok, maybe you shouldn't. I have this trick where I hook my thumbs in the belt loops to pull them up. I've already been through a couple of years where I couldn't tie shoes or even put on my own socks, so I've got all these little tricks I'm going back to.

I do know that idea had something to do with 'all of time and space' being just a tiny blip in the reality of our own universe amid a consortium of multiverses (a bunch of a bunch, I just wrote), and how one would go about conveying that idea in a story. So I started crossing Doctor Who and Sliders and had this brilliant epiphany of phraseology (that's a real word, guys), and *boop* it's gone.

Really wish someone would do a fanvid of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to Lady GaGa's Edge of Glory. If I had the time to sit and do stuff like that I'd have whole novels on the market by now. I need staff to do frivolous things for me.



Nope, still haven't recovered that thought. Maybe later today. In the meantime, making my way through another Monday to some kind of breakfast.