"I still recall the taste of your tears..."
Sunny today. Our high was 73F. Nearing dusk, my office window is open.
My stomach kept me awake most of the night (my bad teeth share the double-bill with my wretched stomach; my bad feet are old news), and I didn't get everything I'd planned to do today done. But it was not truly a wasted day. I let myself spend a little time getting back into the paleo' saddle. I wrote to all the other ivestigators on the new plioplatecarpine project and assurred them I was not dead, nor I had not run away to live with the meerkats or any such thing. I looked over some papers on squamate ontogeny and indivdual variation that I need to read ASAP. It is amazing how much better I feel. Honestly, I knew I was not well, but I failed to appreciate just how sick I was. I can write coherent prose again. I can make sense of higher mathematics. When I am awake, I am awake, even during spells of insomnia. I feared my recovery might be slower, given my age and the fact that I have let my body get into truly abyssmal shape. But...it's going well. Tomorrow morning I'm going to get back to work on Sirenia Digest, and on Monday I will send the ms. for Bright Dead Star away to SubPress.
I have so missed having a clear head. You would not believe.
Sanuel Beckett said, "“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” I think "fail better" has been one of my go-to mottos my whole writing career, since at least 1993.
Last night we started watching Lucky Hank, the Bob Odenkirk series from last year. I adore Odenkirk, and, no surprise, he's hilarious in this series. But the rest of the show is at times wobbly and afflicted the hallmarks of failed comedy, such as uncomfortable silences and inexplicable timing. But I am impressed at Lucky Hank's willingness to be at least halfway critical of the repressive culture that has grown up around American college campuses.
I listened to a lot more of the Big Bang book today. For a rabid fan such as myself it is a genuine delight, and I think Spooky is enjoying it as much as am I. I also went back to Yascha Mounk's The Identity Trap: A Story of Ideas and Power in Our Time, which I set aside a month or so back. What with the health and money problems, I needed a break from the insanity of "consequence culture" and "standpoint theory" and all the rest.
Lord, I wish I could believe that President Biden had a snowball's chance in Hell come November.
Okay, enough of that. Instead, visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop, a joyful tumble of my books and Spooky's tie dye. And remember, buy ANY BOOK and you'll get a FREE MONSTER DOODLE.
You can't beat that with a stick.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
3:56 p.m.
My stomach kept me awake most of the night (my bad teeth share the double-bill with my wretched stomach; my bad feet are old news), and I didn't get everything I'd planned to do today done. But it was not truly a wasted day. I let myself spend a little time getting back into the paleo' saddle. I wrote to all the other ivestigators on the new plioplatecarpine project and assurred them I was not dead, nor I had not run away to live with the meerkats or any such thing. I looked over some papers on squamate ontogeny and indivdual variation that I need to read ASAP. It is amazing how much better I feel. Honestly, I knew I was not well, but I failed to appreciate just how sick I was. I can write coherent prose again. I can make sense of higher mathematics. When I am awake, I am awake, even during spells of insomnia. I feared my recovery might be slower, given my age and the fact that I have let my body get into truly abyssmal shape. But...it's going well. Tomorrow morning I'm going to get back to work on Sirenia Digest, and on Monday I will send the ms. for Bright Dead Star away to SubPress.
I have so missed having a clear head. You would not believe.
Sanuel Beckett said, "“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” I think "fail better" has been one of my go-to mottos my whole writing career, since at least 1993.
Last night we started watching Lucky Hank, the Bob Odenkirk series from last year. I adore Odenkirk, and, no surprise, he's hilarious in this series. But the rest of the show is at times wobbly and afflicted the hallmarks of failed comedy, such as uncomfortable silences and inexplicable timing. But I am impressed at Lucky Hank's willingness to be at least halfway critical of the repressive culture that has grown up around American college campuses.
I listened to a lot more of the Big Bang book today. For a rabid fan such as myself it is a genuine delight, and I think Spooky is enjoying it as much as am I. I also went back to Yascha Mounk's The Identity Trap: A Story of Ideas and Power in Our Time, which I set aside a month or so back. What with the health and money problems, I needed a break from the insanity of "consequence culture" and "standpoint theory" and all the rest.
Lord, I wish I could believe that President Biden had a snowball's chance in Hell come November.
Okay, enough of that. Instead, visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop, a joyful tumble of my books and Spooky's tie dye. And remember, buy ANY BOOK and you'll get a FREE MONSTER DOODLE.
You can't beat that with a stick.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
3:56 p.m.