Playing Catch-Up

I am actually caught up listening to Dan Patrick. For a while there I was so far behind that I was listening to them fill out their brackets after North Carolina had already won the championship. Now I can get back to the three weeks of Science Friday I'm behind.

Speaking of catching up, I am now *back* up to 37 stories under my "totag" tag on Delicious. I'd knocked the list down to nearly twenty last week, then I did some story finding and committed my usual shortcut of throwing up the tag that fit with the search with a "totag" slapped on. I think I'll make it my goal this week to finish the tagging, because it's not very useful if all my new links just say "totag."

I've also been reading some of my old fanfic, as I prepare to post it on Dreamwidth. It doesn't suck nearly as much as I thought it would (or perhaps as much as I thought I should think it should). Granted, I have fifteen glorious years of suck-filled fanfic lurking unposted and (thankfully) unseen behind the first stories I post ten years ago, but on the whole, it's not so horrible that I feel the need to purge it from the internet. I itch to do some revising, mind you, and there are a couple of early stories that really do need to sort of be re-done top to bottom, but more in a "let's scrub everything and re-paint the walls and get new furniture" kind of way rather than "my god we're going to have to raze the site and start over."

The experience, though, kind of led me to thinking about certain truths I think about myself as a writer, which I may elaborate on later. Or not, depending on how the re-tagging goes.

My Day in Cats

I suppose you may remember my not-cat. You know, the cat who I took to have neutered, who I've been feeding for two years, who hangs out on my deck and who is emphatically not mine. That cat. (His name is Tom, by the way.)

Today, when I put out food for the cats, Tom was limping and had blood on his paw. Since he's not my cat, I of course took him straight to the vet. (Being the lawless feral stray that he is, it took me about a minute to get him in the carrier one-handed, and that was only because it took thirty seconds to chase him down. At a walk.)

( Fortunately, he's not badly hurt. )

Tom, of course, acted like the aforementioned lawless stray at the vet's office. He protested really, really loudly the whole time he was in the carrier, and on the (two-mile) drive to the vet, and for about the first three minutes in the exam room. By the end of it, he was lying sprawled on the exam table, purring up a storm while the vet poked at the cut on his paw, and not even flinching when he got his shot. He's a big sweetheart. :)