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I finished Part VII of Sprache and will now let it proof overnight before I proofread and edit or revise it. After it's posted, I'm going to take a day off and then start my next project. Ideally, it would be either the end of "Detail Man" or the Flack/Stanhope post-"Cuckoo's Nest" fic I've been meaning to write since the episode aired, but odds are, it'll be Sprache VIII.
Blake Shelton is coming to Endstage Mayberry on July 16th, and I really want to go. I've been a fan since his first album and have been kicking myself for missing him when he came to the North Florida Fair in 1997. However, if I spring for the tickets, I might not have anything to contribute to my Rammstein fund next month. Granted, Shelton is a sure thing, whereas Rammstein is still a nebulous maybe on the hazy horizon, but the paranoid worrywart in my brain insists that if I forego the monthly offering to the Rammstein fund, the amount I fail to contribute will be the exact amount I would have needed to make the concert. It's irrational, I know, but I am a woman who has nearly drowned, been pursued by marauding bikers, held hostage in the bathroom by her own father, had her house struck by lightning and burned to the ground, been in two car accidents and four bus accidents, had her wheelchair split in half with her in it, and been given a rough life expectancy of forty-eight. I think I'm entitled to my paranoia.
And I know, I know. Rammstein and Blake Shelton? Good music is good music, and country music is the music of heartache and hard drinking.
If Rammstein were a sure bet, this would be a no-brainer, but as they're still faffing about and hemming and hawing, I have a legitimate conundrum. I have a week to decide, and then I've got to either shit or get off the pot.
In non-Rammstein news, The Mentalist season finale is on Thursday, and we'll finally get to meet Red John. I still say it's Lisbon's former boss. Just wanted to get that on record before the episode airs.
Blake Shelton is coming to Endstage Mayberry on July 16th, and I really want to go. I've been a fan since his first album and have been kicking myself for missing him when he came to the North Florida Fair in 1997. However, if I spring for the tickets, I might not have anything to contribute to my Rammstein fund next month. Granted, Shelton is a sure thing, whereas Rammstein is still a nebulous maybe on the hazy horizon, but the paranoid worrywart in my brain insists that if I forego the monthly offering to the Rammstein fund, the amount I fail to contribute will be the exact amount I would have needed to make the concert. It's irrational, I know, but I am a woman who has nearly drowned, been pursued by marauding bikers, held hostage in the bathroom by her own father, had her house struck by lightning and burned to the ground, been in two car accidents and four bus accidents, had her wheelchair split in half with her in it, and been given a rough life expectancy of forty-eight. I think I'm entitled to my paranoia.
And I know, I know. Rammstein and Blake Shelton? Good music is good music, and country music is the music of heartache and hard drinking.
If Rammstein were a sure bet, this would be a no-brainer, but as they're still faffing about and hemming and hawing, I have a legitimate conundrum. I have a week to decide, and then I've got to either shit or get off the pot.
In non-Rammstein news, The Mentalist season finale is on Thursday, and we'll finally get to meet Red John. I still say it's Lisbon's former boss. Just wanted to get that on record before the episode airs.
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