A fresh hell

All I wanted to do was paint the bedroom. That's it. I've painted other rooms in the house with reasonable ease and speed. Why would the bedroom be any different? I'm still not sure why, but different it certainly is. Some unholy combination of new paint color plus the awful original beige has led to the Hell of Paint. We worked on it yesterday, we worked on it for hours today, and we will be working on it again tomorrow. I had other projects to get done this week before matociquala comes to visit, but those have fallen by the wayside.

If the next coat doesn't make it look nice, I'm saying fuck it and hanging lots of posters.

But! Tonight I'm abandoning home improvement to go see the Psychedelic Furs! I'm been trying to see the Furs for years, but something has always thwarted me. I have five hours to avoid thwartsome things and achieve concert victory.

The unbearable spitefulness of books

I mentioned earlier about Prayers to Broken Stone and its troubles with the division of boyfriend/roller derby, and how I planned to splice two characters together to alleviate this problem. And in many ways it worked. The new character is much stronger than either of the originals, and their backstories have integrated into a better whole great.

One of the characters spliced filled the role of Plucky Love Interest. The book insisted on regrowing this role with a different character. Okay, fine. I like PLIs, in theory, and the character is positioned to do fun and important things plotwise. Only now this new character will not tell me her damn name, or many relevant details.

Unless, of course, she's telling me right now, thanks to the power of LJ-bitching.

If it really is the person who's talking to me now, though, I officially have an overabundance of N-names. Writing is hard.