(no subject)

I taught Microsoft Word to swear this morning. Aww, they grow up so fast.

I don't use Word very often, in terms of writing -- I use it for typesetting and for various work functions but when I write I prefer to use Notepad, because it's quick to open, small to stash, doesn't fuck up the formatting when transferring to another program, and doesn't lose a fifth of its window size to a menu ribbon. Thus I very rarely spellcheck -- my spelling is usually pretty good and my betas tend to catch what I miss.

Anyway, I wanted to purge the Brit spelling out of this particular project, so I ran it through Word spellcheck, and realised that Word is as an innocent babe, untouched by worldly things. This is a partial list of the words I added to its dictionary this morning:

Bagelwich
Clusterfuck
Sockpuppet
Wank
Skeevy
Outed
Pornstache
Borked
Nookie
Blinged-out
Foie gras en croute
Hoshit
Eyerolled
Pervs
Furries
Poo
Sunchokes
Hildegarde
Newsblogs
Omakase
Nigiri
Facepalmed

Oddly enough, words it did know included Boudicca and rigmarole, which I always thought was spelled rigamarole.

Truly, when we teach, we are also taught.

(no subject)

So, the year is coming to a close.

I spent the evening cleaning my flat -- mostly my kitchen, because I have a new microwave cart (for the microwave I'm picking up from storage on Saturday) and because the kitchen closet is being redesignated for long-term storage once I get actual storage cleared out.

As I was cleaning I thought about the things I kept this year: my home, and my job. And I think those two things have gone miles towards the fact that I didn't have any major depressive episodes this year, which I give many thanks for. I know that many of you don't have jobs right now, and believe me, I sympathise; I am grateful every day when I sit down at my desk and clock into the incredibly stupid timecard program, and I hope in the coming year all of you will be doing the same. I love my job, and I can't believe sometimes that it's mine. I love my flat, too, hardwood floors and silver radiators and lack of counter space and iffy plumbing. I love my bed, I love my gas stove, I love my big windows and the curtains Mum made for them.

I love my hideous, hideous orange chair. I'm sitting in it right now, and it is like doing mild drugs. I love this chair.



IT MATCHES NOTHING I OWN.

This year I did a lot. I broke my leg, I learned to steampunk, I pickled eggs, I got a cast-iron dutch oven and I made bread in it every Saturday. Okay, almost every Saturday. I found a good sushi place. I got a sunburn. I bought an air-conditioner. I won $250 in a photo-book contest.

I published Nameless, finished The Dead Isle, and started Valet of Anize. I raised $1200 for orphans in Uganda and LGBTQ rights around the world.

I don't normally do New Year's resolutions, but this year I have a few: I want to keep from breaking any limbs. I want to order less take-away. I want to be even more awesome at my job. I want to set up my workbench and make masks again.

I want to publish a second book. I set this aside because this isn't really a goal; the ball is already in motion. By June it will be up on Lulu; probably by the end of April. More news on this in a week or two.

For you my cafe, I wish only the best: jobs, love, warm sanctuary, good books, and comfortable chairs.

Oh shit also, I need to get a haircut. :D