Daily Journal

Did not go downstairs to work on inventory today. Mom and I were both not in a good headspace to exist in the same living area and not bounce this morning. Hopefully we're one or both in a better headspace by the time I feed the cattens in the evening, because we have Desolation of Smaug up for watching (we watched An Unexpected Journey last night).

I have gotten a good chunk of the day's needed stickers, and I have also gotten my stuffed animals rearranged so most of the small ones that are at most risk of being pounced and carried off by curious cattens are in my hammock thingie out of easy reach. The bench now has a quartet of bears to guard my feet at night, and the other largish bears are in the rocking chair. I still think I want to get the batch on the one shelf into the pile on the hammock thingie, but not right now, my back says nope and ow.

Also sorted the not-clothes stuff out of the one hamper so it can hold dirty clothes again, and prepped a basket of clothes to go down to be put in the washer while watching movie, and tossed in the dryer before I come upstairs. I'll fetch them tomorrow at some point.

I still have two laundry baskets to sort and empty, and other cleaning/organizing stuff to do, and it will get done, slowly. And this, as much as the stickers, helps with the getting done of stuff because accountability or something.

... And I got distracted in the middle of writing this, whee!

Anyway. Got words yesterday, so I will have a snippet shortly. :)

Daily (ish) Snippet

Yet more In Familia Imperatoris, continuing on from yesterday, Geralt does as Pavetta has asked him to do, and delivers a thing. And a truth Calanthe isn't ready to hear.

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"My daughter died in a shipwreck five years ago. So did you." Calanthe holds up a hand when the guards start getting too close for Geralt's comfort. Keeping them there, just where he's on edge. "How could she have given anything to you?"

Geralt gives her a long look, refusing to give that an answer when Calanthe knows well enough. She wouldn't be nearly as angry as she is ‒ angry enough he can all but feel it, heat against his skin ‒ if she weren't certain that his being alive means Pavetta is alive.

"Why would you bring me this, and not bring my daughter and my granddaughter home?" The words are sharp as a knife, and Geralt lets out a long, slow breath.

"They are home."

That is enough to break everything apart.