(no subject)
Ach, what to say, what to say.
Well I can start by saying that I love hazelnut coffee. And that I had to stop reading a (long) short story this morning a half a page before the end, because I had to get out of the subway and go to work, which kills me because it is a really good short story and I want to know what happens in the end. Which incidentally has become a big theme of mine lately - see below. Anyway, it’s a Gene Wolfe short story sort of about stuff I love: neuropsych. Too bad I doubt I'll find a way to work my career around neuropsych. Because I don't want to spend my days sending people off to get MRIs or to get meds. I want to figure out all the fucked up borderline supernatural things our bodies do (like the girl who can listen to radio waves traveling through the air, dear god, what would I do without Sachs), and how many disorders we self-impose. Still a cynic in so many ways, right?
A cynic who knows she has choices, though. Which means I am trying to make plans for the future. The part we have control over is the setting. I try not to complain too much (and fail) about where we are right now, because I know it can wear someone down who feels even the slightest bit responsible. But he should know the part he's responsible for is everything I love about the contents of our space. It's just the space itself, inside or out, that disenchants. So plans include more green, more peace, more quiet, more time, all of these to come in 2 or so years. Our lives have been a series of future plans for a while now, well before we met even, and I guess I should know better than to think we'll be happy to sit still once we arrive. I'm pulling into that lane, though, where I just want to step outside and go for a walk in some trees, or stay in and curl up in a cubic fuckton of pillows with one of ten million books I can't wait to read that are sitting on our shelves accumulating dust with each longing gaze. So I have faith. Well, let’s be honest, I don’t have faith in most things. And if, in the end, we’ve done all this for something that’s not going to work after all, well, I’ll be flat out of faith, and will immediately turn to my last available option: professional hermiting. But we, we can do anything, right? Especially with the fuel of two kittens on crack. Oh, and love love love, that especially.
More later, I’m sure.
Well I can start by saying that I love hazelnut coffee. And that I had to stop reading a (long) short story this morning a half a page before the end, because I had to get out of the subway and go to work, which kills me because it is a really good short story and I want to know what happens in the end. Which incidentally has become a big theme of mine lately - see below. Anyway, it’s a Gene Wolfe short story sort of about stuff I love: neuropsych. Too bad I doubt I'll find a way to work my career around neuropsych. Because I don't want to spend my days sending people off to get MRIs or to get meds. I want to figure out all the fucked up borderline supernatural things our bodies do (like the girl who can listen to radio waves traveling through the air, dear god, what would I do without Sachs), and how many disorders we self-impose. Still a cynic in so many ways, right?
A cynic who knows she has choices, though. Which means I am trying to make plans for the future. The part we have control over is the setting. I try not to complain too much (and fail) about where we are right now, because I know it can wear someone down who feels even the slightest bit responsible. But he should know the part he's responsible for is everything I love about the contents of our space. It's just the space itself, inside or out, that disenchants. So plans include more green, more peace, more quiet, more time, all of these to come in 2 or so years. Our lives have been a series of future plans for a while now, well before we met even, and I guess I should know better than to think we'll be happy to sit still once we arrive. I'm pulling into that lane, though, where I just want to step outside and go for a walk in some trees, or stay in and curl up in a cubic fuckton of pillows with one of ten million books I can't wait to read that are sitting on our shelves accumulating dust with each longing gaze. So I have faith. Well, let’s be honest, I don’t have faith in most things. And if, in the end, we’ve done all this for something that’s not going to work after all, well, I’ll be flat out of faith, and will immediately turn to my last available option: professional hermiting. But we, we can do anything, right? Especially with the fuel of two kittens on crack. Oh, and love love love, that especially.
More later, I’m sure.