Friday Obsessions: Sleep, "Sinner's Sonnet," and Crushed Ice.

Welcome to the lowest-energy Friday Obsessions to date. You all know who you can blame. Thanks for being here anyway.

This week's summary - Physical discomfort even worse. Query trenches even more of a bummer. I think there may be lice now.  (In the query trenches. Not for real. Ew.)

Anyway.

Everything I was obsessed with this week.
Because I know you want to know.


1. Sleep. I'm fantasizing about sleep. Whenever I try to sleep, I can't. Not well, anyway.  But I can't exactly take naps during the day. So, it's a vicious cycle. By 8 every night, I'm completely exhausted, and even if I stay in bed till 5, I haven't had nearly enough sleep.

I'm actually wondering if there are resorts or spas or something where I can just spend the whole weekend in a sensory deprivation chamber. Or maybe drugged. Or perpetually drunk. Or....Well, anyway. A girl can [day]dream.


For the trouble of listening to me whine, here is a sleeping puppy. 
Who said reading this blog was fruitless, huh?

2. "Sinner's Sonnet" by Andrew Whitman

This song came up on Spotify and, God help me, it just SOUNDED like Elias (the boyfriend from my querying MS) to me. A little sad and a little epic but mostly pretty chill and sweet. And then I decided that if I ever do write TWO, it'll be in his viewpoint. And then I actually started thinking about what the plot of Two would be and ignoring Chrome. And then...

Urgh. Yeah. Just blame this song. Which I'm still playing over and over and over and over...



3. Crushed Ice.
My obsession with fountain soda, I've decided, actually just boils down to my obsession with the ICE INSIDE the fountain soda.

I bought an ice crusher yesterday. I didn't bother to do the math about how many times I'd have to buy a fountain drink for it to pay for itself. I just...yeah. Obsessed.


Aaaaand the WiP.

Here's a snip I wrote LAST week about when Havah gets knocked out while visiting the Iver. Oops.

“She’s no princess.” The girl repeated. "You know they only care about Laila.” She spat the name out like a curse. An abomination.

It was true. They did only care about Laila.

Would anyone care about her? Would anyone even come for her?

“Fine. Who will take her?”

This could not be happening. They could not be taking her outside the dome. She would die, surely, in an instant. She would suffocate within mintues in that thick, black air.

Her arm trembled, loosely, like one of the bions’ bands that let the cold metal of their joints move. She pushed it up, moving her body from the ground. Her head fought the upward motion, begged to pull her body down with every throb of her heart.

She clutched at her own arm, right above the compact metal box that had just taken the bions down in an instant.

“She wakes,” The girl whispered, drawing close to her.

“Yes, and reaches for her EMP.” The man, his eyes black, crossed to her. The undercurrent of the child’s cries still moved through the air, surrounding Havah, pillowing her head and covering the coating of liquid that flooded it.

“Will you kill us, too, Citier? Would you have our bodies scattered on the ground like those bions?”

The man leaned in and snarled in her ear. “The difference is that our bodies bleed. We’d dirty your shiny clothing.”

Havah moaned, and hot liquid metal tears streamed from her eyes.

“Mar,” the girl murmured, “What if she is someone? Someone from the palace? Besides, look at her. She fears.”

“Not as much as we do,” he whispered, looking back over his shoulder. “She cannot. It’s impossible. She doesn’t know life in this Currentblasted undgerground.”

With that, he raised his elbow, and brought it crashing back against the side of Havah’s head.

Then there was no shine, no vision, no concrete. Nothing heavy, nothing light. Nothing but black.