Life Update

Life with Georgia has been an exercise in accomidation the past week. Raising Thomas has proven helpful preperation in some ways, but not so much in others. On the plus side, having experience with a (until relatively recently) a largely non-verbal child has prepared us for interpeting Georgia's needs. Right now she only speaks baby-talk Mandrian and sometimes "Mama!" Though Tracy has managed teach her how to sign "Want more!" for when we're feeding her. Otherwise it's all guess work and pointing, but having gone through the same thing with Thomas has been good preperation.

On the other hand, this is our first experience in raising a normal active two-year old. Two year old Thomas tended to... well, bluntly, sit a lot, lost in his own little world. Georgia by comparison is almost constantly in motion, unless she's getting fed in her high chair or sleeping. She's also becoming quite fearless, going from being frightened by the cats to actually chasing them down. She hasn't quite gotten the hang of petting them properly, but hopefully that skill will come before one of them starts nipping at her.

On a personal front, I seem to have become drained creatively. I've hit a wall with The Ship that I can't seem to push myself past. Just the idea of starting on it again seems like trying to shovel molassas. I know it's all head games I'm playing with myself, but I just can't work up the enthusiasm to start again, and I'm afraid if I switch over to writing fanfic again the motivation to finally finish something original will dissapear.

Bah.

The Ship: Chapter Five in its entirety

This is all that I've written in the past five days. I haven't the faintest idea what the next sentence will be, much less where the chapter will lead.

* * *

The three week transit passed slowly for Paul. Most of it he spent on the Rocky Mountains’ bridge, keeping his daily watch at the controls. Outside of that time he tried to familiarize himself with the executive transport’s system quirks. Despite Rocky’s protestations that it was in perfect functioning order, like every ship it had its minor system issues that were less expensive to ignore and work around, rather that go to the trouble of stripping the starship down completely to find the source of the problem.

The search would have gone quite a bit more easily if he’d had a chance to pick S.C.’s brain. Unfortunately the engineer had kept herself secluded in the ship’s drive section, minding the delicate stardrive as it pushed itself back against the wildly variable gravitational fields of hyperspace. He could hardly blame her for the attention to duty, though it hurt to watch her limp into the galley twice daily to shovel a meal into her mouth, before returning to her post. The bags under her eyes seemed to grow larger every day, and he was forced to wonder how much sleep she could possibly be getting while they were under way.