"And it's too late. The damage is done."

[greygirlbeast]

Sunny today, and my mood isn't quite so black. There's no logic to these things. Currently, it's 76˚F.

Yesterday, I began compiling the ms. for the Centipede Press ediion of Silk. I only made it through the first two chapters, because I was still getting the feel for the whole cut, paste, change margins, new indent, blah, blah, whatever. Today, I

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[sovay]

Four nights in a row now I've fallen asleep watching Robert Aldrich's The Flight of the Phoenix (1965), which is always been a favorite film of mine. I seem to be obsessed with it, all of a sudden.

I love that movie. I can't even count how many times I've seen it. It is almost certainly the first movie in which I saw James Stewart (though possibly not Richard Attenborough, since The Great Escape (1963) was always playing somewhere in my childhood), definitely Hardy Krüger, Ian Bannen, Ernest Borgnine, Dan Duryea, the rest of them. I find it a comfort movie. Everyone in it is flawed and everyone in it is fucked up and nevertheless they manage to pull together and rescue themselves against all obstacles including themselves; the script insists on its two central figures both being sympathetic, being wrong at different points, and both being right. I'm more used to seeing that kind of complexity in stories where the equal and opposing forces explode. It's really nice not to have that happen. It's not presented as easy. But nothing else would have saved ther lives.