A Day of Rest

Or inactivity... I think that's a more accurate description.

My father couldn't be roused before about 3pm today, so it was hardly worth going over to the flat. It's no great shakes, because we have till next Wednesday to get the bedroom floor finished. In some ways, it's probably a good thing that we've had a break today. For example, my uncle is popping over this evening to go over some legal stuff, and it wouldn't do for my father to be falling asleep when he gets here.

So, instead, my folks went to Harrow to do a bit of shopping - not least new bags for my vacuum cleaner, already choked with brick dust, plaster, and odd little bits of wood.

I, meanwhile, intended to do a bit of reading. I probably made it through half a dozen lines before deciding I wasn't really in the mood. It's odd that I'm able to read for hours at a stretch while at the flat, but can't focus on a book at home. The most I can manage on average is a couple or three pages before I fall asleep.

With my folks' vacuum basically out of action (broken in many ways, and barely able to pick up loose hair), I took a dustpan and brush to my floor and the area under my matress. This, after accidentally spilling some rather dirty white spirit (which I'd been using to clean my brushes while painting some of my new aquisitions) on the corner of the bed. Since the mattress and its coverings were hastily thrown in the wash, I had the opportunity to see the insides of my wallbed and, let me tell you, did not like what I saw.

So the dustpan and brush got a real work-out, picking up great piles of terribly organic-looking dust. How (I asked, eyes raised to Heaven) would such dust get under the mattress, and cover the base of the bed frame so thoroughly? It boggles the mind.

Once I got onto the floor, the dust was fluffier, and far easier to get rid of. Not as good a job as a vacuum cleaner would do, but it'll do for now. It aggravated my allergies for a while, but it seems to have settled down.

Yet another thing I forgot to mention yesterday was that I came to the beginnings of a revelation about my writing, or the lack thereof. Possibly.

I'd been struggling to come up with a compelling and believable reason for one of my characters to leave her old life behind to go travelling and adventuring, and I'd completely drawn a blank...

Well, that's not true. I came up with a reason, I just didn't like it. It didn't necessarily fit with the character, though it did go some way to explaining the way she presents herself.

Anyway, it occurred to me that part of the problem I'm having in getting any actual writing done is my habit of distancing myself from my characters. I've never wanted any of them to appear as (barely disguised?) fantasy versions of myself, and so have eschewed any similarities or connections... but, in this one instance at least, a possible connection popped into my head that immediately made some sense to me.

Earlier in the year, I made mention of my 'globetrotting granny' and all her travels. I've never been one for travel - I like being in new places, I just don't like the 'getting there' part - but I always envied her wanderlust, and wished that some of it had been passed down to me in the family genes.

So now, tentatively, this character of mine may be following in the footsteps of a recently-deceased relative, rather than running away from a bereavement. There was always going to be a death involved, but this one felt like a better death than the one I'd originally planned. It seemed better to have the character running toward something rather than away from something. That may offer a better explanation for a couple of other things, but we shall see.

In other news, I had one of my bizarre turns today, and looked up a name on Facebook and Google. I should really stop doing that, as nothing good ever comes of it. My blood is no longer boiling, but my nerves are still frazzled...

Thing is, I despise Facebook and all it's 'online community' pretensions. Far too many of its users follow suit with most of my colleagues, and use it purely as a means of collecting and viewing photos of themselves and friends acting like twats while drunk. Anyone with an account can ask any other member to list them as a friend, so the system becomes meaningless... particularly since so many users (probably sad and without any real-life friends) try to sign up anybody and everybody connected with anyone foolish enough to accept.

And it's not even as if members have to use their own names. At work, I heard that someone had found themselves on Facebook without having set up that particular account/username... and there were photos and a profile. It's just a new kind of identity theft.

Hell... There's a thought... Perhaps I should put in my own name and see what floats to the surface.