The one in which our blogger is a sad, sad panda
While I haven’t been the best blogger on the block (though I will “knife to the eye!” anyone who insinuates that my milkshake doesn’t still bring all the boys to the yard), I had to post when I heard about this.
Seeing this message from Terry Pratchett (ganked from here) made the bottom of my tummy drop:
I have been diagnosed with a very rare form of early onset Alzheimer's, which lay behind this year's phantom “stroke”.
And I’m speechless. I have a reaction but it’s so emotional and visceral, that it just seems silly to relate to you in words. (In fact, the words “epic fail” can only describe my inability to translate and transcribe those feelings into words.*) My hard shell of cynicism has failed me and, even though I only know the man through his books, I have to admit that I teared up (quite a bit as a matter of fact) when I heard the news.
Pratchett, in true form, however, did manage to keep his humour about him (which is, after all, the only thing that one can keep himself armed with at a time like this), saying:
I know it's a very human thing to say “Is there anything I can do”, but in this case I would only entertain offers from very high-end experts in brain chemistry.
In other news: I’m still suffering the after effects of a particularly nasty bout of the stomach flu that has kept me from working at the shop these last couple of days. But internet stalkers rejoice! I shall be in (provided I don’t relapse) for my shift (or shifts) this weekend.
* In fact, one of the reasons I’ve stopped writing is because I got sick of feeling stilted and overwhelmed by overly stuffy posts. I’ve also stopped writing in my offline journal as well. I suspect that this has quite a lot to do with it as well.
Seeing this message from Terry Pratchett (ganked from here) made the bottom of my tummy drop:
I have been diagnosed with a very rare form of early onset Alzheimer's, which lay behind this year's phantom “stroke”.
And I’m speechless. I have a reaction but it’s so emotional and visceral, that it just seems silly to relate to you in words. (In fact, the words “epic fail” can only describe my inability to translate and transcribe those feelings into words.*) My hard shell of cynicism has failed me and, even though I only know the man through his books, I have to admit that I teared up (quite a bit as a matter of fact) when I heard the news.
Pratchett, in true form, however, did manage to keep his humour about him (which is, after all, the only thing that one can keep himself armed with at a time like this), saying:
I know it's a very human thing to say “Is there anything I can do”, but in this case I would only entertain offers from very high-end experts in brain chemistry.
In other news: I’m still suffering the after effects of a particularly nasty bout of the stomach flu that has kept me from working at the shop these last couple of days. But internet stalkers rejoice! I shall be in (provided I don’t relapse) for my shift (or shifts) this weekend.
* In fact, one of the reasons I’ve stopped writing is because I got sick of feeling stilted and overwhelmed by overly stuffy posts. I’ve also stopped writing in my offline journal as well. I suspect that this has quite a lot to do with it as well.