Week 7. 7?! It's only 7 weeks into this year?

This is turning into, "Movies. I has them." But when it's cold and damp and you can't speak, there's nothing much else to do but write next to the flicker of the televsion. I cracked 60,000 words in my epic novel that I began during NaNoWriMo. Yeah, that's right, I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days, and it has taken me another 80-odd (emphasis on odd) nights to add another measly 10,000. I wish I could say they're really good words, but I just don't know.

As you already know, on the weekends we watch movies, and last weekend we watched Michael Clayton. Being I'm a fan of corruption-outing movies, I loved it.

When the movie was over, we checked out cable and found The Odd Couple: Together Again, where Oscar had the same throat surgery Jack Klugman had, and...and I sound like Oscar. WTH?! I mean, I knew I always loved Oscar (strange, isn't it, that although I'm like Felix in every way, Oscar was my man), but that's going too far. Once I was done laughing at that (if I didn't laugh I'd go mad), I sat there waiting for that classic Odd Couple fabulousness, but the movie was very much like fanfic, and not my fanfic, I can tell you.

During the week, I work on my comic while Nan also works on her writing and Mum watches the reality shows. American Idol finally got to the final 24 contestants, and I haven't bonded with any of them yet, so I'm not sure how I feel about this season. I can't understand why everyone had to sing '60s songs, just to be told they didn't sound "current." It reminded me of my piano lessons, where I was supposed to play a song and make it sound original, but by god just try changing the key of Mary Had A Little Lamb and everyone's head caught fire.

Mum had her Unna Boot changed again. Now all I hear is the cash register sound from the beginning of that Pink Floyd song and I want to slap random strangers. I take this as a sign that Mum's leg is feeling better. I wouldn't slap nurses and doctors around, you know. No. They have scalpels and orderlies that pile up on people who try that.

There was that eclipse, which I totally got to enjoy because the weather was great, and then there was the snowstorm that dropped seven more inches of snow than we were told to expect. Do you know how much more baking I had to do for all that extra snow? No? Snowflakes eat cake like a hundred rabid Tazmanian Devils. For real.

I spent a lot of this week lamenting that I couldn't talk, like when my niece turned one and I couldn't get on a phone and be all, "Hey, happy birthday!" because I'd give the kid long-lasting nightmares.

When X-Files isn't on all night, we have to find other things to watch. Meteorites! was a movie we actually turned off because we couldn't take the toxic levels of stereotypical teen angst vs. harried parents. Plus a meteorite hit a house and the cop who went to investigate it asked if they maybe were running a meth lab in their basement to show that he was a transplant from the rough and tumble city and knew little of life in perfectfamilyville.

My aunt's birthday and my mum's birthday followed my niece's birthday one day after the other, and that's a whole lot of happy birthday I only got to wheeze pathetically. I made a bunch of cards that read like a drunken LOLCat for my Mum, and because my aunt is away, I get to plot her extravaganza of dozens of flaming Ioan Gruffudd candles sticking out of a Ioan Gruffudd cake. Not for real, though, I could get arrested for a thing like that.

Later today, I am going to attempt to restore my voice by doing the same daft thing I did that caused it to go away in the first place: celebrate stuff. Last time it was that my dog wasn't going to poop herself to death, this time it's that my mum turns 33. Yay mum! She's going to be younger than me soon.

Week 7. 7?! It's only 7 weeks into this year?