Reorganization, fear, and writing, in no particular order, for no particular reason

Room switcheroo: Spent last evening reorganizing books in the newly placed bookcases. The new main floor--whatever it will be called--is coming together. It will be very different than it was before. (And yeah, it hasn't been painted yet, so it will come apart again before it comes together, but I can't stand living with the chaos anymore.) I really do need some sort of furniture with drawers for storage. It's looking more and more like I can justify the cost of the beautiful step tansu I've been wanting. Oooh! Pretty Asian furniture.

Jericho and nuclear nightmares: Whilst I rearranged and reorganized, I watched the "Jericho" marathon on SciFi, so now I can say I've seen, what, four episodes? I totally understand the fan response now and must see the rest of Season One. Only problem? I'm having flashbacks to the '80s and the Reagan era, when I used to wake up in the middle of the night with the cold sweats, genuinely convinced we were all going to die in a nuclear strike. Bad dreams tonight (which is why I'm awake at 5:15 AM). Thanks, President Reagan. (Why don't people ever talk about that, about the kind of fear that man instilled in the populace? It was governance by fear, and W has taken a page from that play book and elevated it to an art form.)

Writing: In Damon Knight's book "Creating Short Fiction," he says that asking a writer to explain her process is like asking a centipede to explain how it decides which feet to move first. If he tries, he'll trip. I know for fact that this isn't necessarily so, having seen it in action on LJ in several journals. I've been thinking about how I made certain decisions about what and what not to include in the story I just sent off to the workshop. Although I know that I need to learn how to more effectively shut up my inner editor (because she'll trip up Centipede Me--a.k.a. Writer Me--every time), I also need to learn how to listen to my instincts. It took me years to learn that as an editor, which is why Editor Me can bludgeon Writer Me every day of the week and twice on Sundays. But if I'd listened to Writer Me more carefully, a certain character wouldn't have stayed in the story, and I would have brought out at least one thematic issue a little better. I understand that this is what revision is for, and I've already made a bunch of notes about what I want to change and how I want to change it. I think I'm getting better at turning down the volume on the Editor--it will ultimately help me improve my first drafts--but I still have a long way to go.

Cats: Merlin has a follow-up appointment with the vet this AM. He's doing okay. He's currently perched upon my knees. Lately I can't sit down or lie down without being perched upon by Merlin. Don't know why he's been so cuddly lately, unless it's just that it's winter. I don't object; it's just that it's a marked change in behavior. Interesting.

The state of the Merlin

So, after our little scare last month with his weird walking, and after appropriate treatment, here's where we're at.

At the time, the vet was convinced that the reason he was walking like a drunken sailor was that his kidney function was off and he was having a neurological issue. I wasn't so sure (and I even think I said as much here). The vet wanted to do a whole raft of expensive tests and send me to a feline neurologist. I told him that I prefered to take things one step at a time.

The first step was to have some basic blood tests done to check his kidney values, change his diet and give him some meds, which we did. A few days later I got word that his kidney levels had actually improved since the last time we checked them a year ago. The vet then said we should look at him in a month.

Today marked a month.

Merlin's just fine. He's got no soreness, no tenderness of any kind. He's no longer walking like a cat after a three-night bender. He's gained a quarter pound (which, for his skinny ole self, is a big deal). And the vet admitted that, rather than being a neurological issue, chances are that Merlin jumped somewhere, landed funny and pulled something out of joint that has since healed just fine.

So the kitty's well and I saved myself a bundle on unnecessary vet bills just by being vigilant, following orders and taking things one step at a time. The vet says that Merlin's pretty darn spry for a 91-year-old. If you could see him jump, high flyer that he is, you'd say the same.

::happy::