Feeling a bit groggy this morning. Here at OSKA,
bright and early. Saw a couple of wicked cool bands
last night: Vagabond Opera and Circus Contraption.
Loads of fun, they were, in spite of the sour mood.
Oh and let’s not forget the cat.
The poopy poopy cat.
She’s newly gotten from the shelter and I’m inclined
to ascribe it to a case of the nerves. The
alternatives are far less attractive. (Parasites? I
don’t even know what sorts of digestive difficulties
afflict cats these days. Peruvian lament?) To the vet
with us! Otherwise, she’s the very sweetest of cats
and reminds me a little of Ned, now that she’s been
all cleaned up and groomed. Otherwise known as The
Hairy Beast until a proper name is found.
I’ve been in the depths of recreational reading
these days. I picked up a copy of A GAME OF THRONES
(based on the maybe recommendation of C. maybe,
because I may have misremembered what book he was
recommending, it was so long ago), then borrowed the
sequel, A CLASH OF KINGS–I sense a theme–from a
friend of mine. In the meantime, I read another
jaunt into fantasticality with THE DARKNESS THAT
COMES BEFORE–this time recommended by H’s husband
upon their visit. That was a good one. Centers
around a character who can plot out probabilities on
the fly and has an uncanny ability to read people,
playing them like an orchestra. It reminds me quite
a bit of the Paul Muad’dib character from DUNE.
Although, in that case, his powers were drug-induced.
Also, read THE PIRATES: IN AN ADVENTURE WITH
SCIENTISTS! Complete with Evil Bishop Action! Fun.
Entirely fun. How can you not love a book with Mr.
Bobo the Man-panzee?
[metanote: not so much linky action here, because
I’m writing this up in notepad. The internet is
verboten, apparently. Also, it’s a little too early
in the morning to type up a bunch of html, methinks.]
It’s amazing how much a mindless reception job can
get the old writerly juices flowing. When in the
rush of school, I just can’t seem to make the time
for writing. Which is really a cop-out, because I
do actually have the time. Sheer laziness I suppose.
Maybe the trick to get me writing is to become so
bored that I gravitate towards it simply to relieve
the sheer mental numbness of the day.