I think it’s Thursday. …

I think it's Thursday. Frankly, I'm not sure -- the week has blurred a bit, and Kevin doesn't have a calendar in his apartment. (Yet.) Travelling messes up my time sense, and I've been working such insane hours for the last few days (tech writing crunch deadline) and getting so little sleep that I don't know if I'm coming or going. (What a neat phrase; I always wanted to use that phrase. :-) Mostly I've been not doing either; I've been sitting at Kevin's desk with two computers cheerfully whirring away in front of me (Mac and IBM), feeling like a total geek. Which is pleasant in some ways but boy, I need to get out a little. I can't imagine doing this 60-80 hours a week, as some of my friends do. *And* my arms were definitely hurting after the 14-hour day I pulled on Tuesday.

Now we will invoke the anti-RSI beneficent spirits. All hail!

Okay, I'm feeling slightly goofy this morning. Maybe it's just exhilaration from having time to write journal entries again. Maybe it's the satisfaction of having gotten a lot of work done. Maybe it's knowing that Clean Sheets will be up soon (I think we're aiming for updating every Monday). Maybe it's just the higher altitude.

One nice benefit of not having time to do anything, including cook, is that Kevin took me out for dinner the last two nights. Last night was an Indian place, which was fine, though the Aloo Gobi (potatoes and cauliflowers and stuff) and Saag Paneer (spinach curry with cubes of cheese-like stuff) were neither as hot as we'd requested. Not even very close. And everything was a little too oily. Tuesday night was the prize -- Bangkok Thai, out east in Foothill Village, where we got the level 4 heat (Authentic) (not being foolish enough to go for the top level (5, Challenging)), and very happily ate a lot of rice to counteract the burning. Kevin's dish, a curry with potatoes and carrots and onions, had a more pervasive heat, while mine, a stir-fry with chicken and beans and hot pepper, was more biting. Both excellent, and we'll definitely be going back. They also gave us something like twice as much food as the Indian place -- why *are* Indian restaurants so chintzy with their portions? Kevin theorizes that it has something to do with those oval metal serving dishes they all use -- but then the question becomes *why* do they use them? (Note that we are gracefully skipping over the question of why we like having the roof of our mouths seared off...)

Today I plan to take it mildly easy. We went to Borders last night and I picked up a few classic sf books, and I hope to read at least one of them today. I do want to get started on another tech writing project which involves transcribing an interview tape to start out -- which reminds me that I need to write the web page designer and find out what platform she's on. Right. And I'm going to walk to the grocery store (I don't think I've walked more than two blocks at a time in the last three days, ick) and I'm going to cook dinner later. Not sure what, but something. And I might make hoppers for breakfast. Or maybe I'll do that Saturday morning, since Kev teaches tomorrow morning. Anyway, should be fun -- cooking is therapeutic.

And it's October. I like October -- somehow it has a lot of character as a month. A definite shift from September, a holiday to give it spice -- but not so big a holiday as to overwhelm it -- a bite to the air. In Connecticut, the leaves should be turning now, turning and falling and being raked up in huge red-orange-gold-brown piles, perfect for jumping. Faces are getting a little ruddier from the chill in the air, and warmer clothes are coming out. The air is crisper in October.

Funny how distinct it feels, when I haven't actually lived in a New England autumn in nine years.

October Song

and the ants go stomping, thump thump thump
and the people go scurrying, rush rush rush
and the wind is blowing
the leaves are falling
the sky is clear and sharp and blue

and the windows are closing, thump thump thump
and the birds are flying, rush rush rush
and the blood is flowing
the woods are calling
I'd like to walk in the woods with you.

*****

A bit of silliness to start your month. :-)

I almost typed in August…

I almost typed in August 27th above. Wishful thinking. Too much to do in too little time!

I'll be going to Utah for 8 days tomorrow, which will be a relief. Hopefully I'll get tons of work done. Fingers crossed.

In other news, the Sri Lanka Times carried an interview with me this issue . To be honest, that's a little nerve-wracking. I'm trying not to think about it.

There's probably lots more to tell you guys, but I'm tired and I've got a lot to do before bed, so I'll just say goodnight. G'night!

Yesterday was Karina’s…

Yesterday was Karina's birthday -- happy belated birthday, K!

It's a grey morning. It's been raining, I think -- the wooden rail outside my window is wet. It'll probably clear up by lunchtime; that's been the pattern for the last week. Still, I'm glad that I managed to steal a little time for sailing on Tuesday. There are probably only a few more weeks of clear sailing weather left. David and I took out a bigger boat this time, a Hobie Holder. We weren't tripping over each other in the boat, and we didn't take on any water (though it came close a couple of times). Mostly we just calmly sailed back and forth on the lake, close-hauled when we could figure out which direction the wind was coming from (the wind is very tricky on Lake Merritt, because of the tall buildings surrounding the lake). Theoretically, you go faster on a run, but because the wind is at your back, you don't really feel it. Close-hauled, you're sailing just barely not into the wind (you can't actually sail into the wind with a sailboat -- just not possible. Your sails will start shaking back and forth (luffing) and won't catch any wind), and the breeze against your face is sharp. I want to try sailing on the Bay at some point, with a salt breeze.

Do you know the John Masefield poem?

I must down to the sea again,
To the lonely sea and sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
And a star to steer her by.

And the wheel's crack and the wind's song,
And a white sail shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face,
And a grey dawn breaking.

I've always loved that poem, even more so since they established in Star Trek that Kirk also loved it, that he thought of the Enterprise as his 'tall ship'... I often have trouble deciding what I'd do if I had a lot of money, but I think I'd definitely buy a sailboat. Just a little one...

I slept badly last night. I wasn't surprised, actually, since I fell asleep reading in bed with too many clothes on, and I was hot, tossing and turning in tangled blankets. Bad dreams -- or anxiety dreams at least. It was exam time at Mills, and even though I'd graduated, I'd mentioned to someone that people were welcome to stop by my place around teatime for a break, if they wanted. I'd only expected a few people, but tons showed up, and more and more started arriving. I started serving them leftover birthday cake, with juice and milk, 'cause that's all I had in the fridge. They were all very upset, and I was trying to be helpful, but I didn't have the answers to their problems. So I gave them more cake, on Ian's good china. I was just gearing up to set some of them to washing dishes and others to making cookies when I woke up. El thinks their problems are actually my problems, that I can't get away from even while asleep. I distrust explanations of dreams, though.

She couldn't sleep either. I, at least, got four hours of sleep -- she hadn't slept at all. This was nice for me, in that when I got up at 5 and staggered to the kitchen, she was there to set the kettle boiling, but not at all nice for her. I convinced her to take some Benadryl, and hopefully she'll be asleep soon. It was good to get a chance to talk to her, though. We had a couple of hours before the rest of the household awoke (big household right now, since Lydia is staying in the guest room this month while she looks for housing), and we caught up on each other's lives. We've both been too busy to talk much lately. Around 6:45 I started making breakfast, and soon after that, Ian and Lydia had both woken up, and El ate a little and then went to sleep. We hope.

I made hoppers for breakfast. I've never made them before -- they always intimidated me a little because they're one of those extremely traditional Sri Lankan foods that even my mother only made once in a while. The recipe I used requires some forethought too, as to do it right, you need to let the batter sit overnight. You can force it by letting it sit in a warm oven for an hour instead, and that's what I did yesterday, but it doesn't work as well. The batter than I let sit and used this morning was much better.

I'm trying to think how to explain hoppers. First, you need an odd pan to make them - a half hemisphere of iron, much more curved than a wok. You can buy them in Indian grocery stores (or they can tell you where to get one). If you buy one, you have to remember to dry it right away after you wash it, and then rub oil on the inside, or it will rust. (El reminded me of that). Once you have the pan, you rub it with an oily paper towel (or fry nonstick cooking spray on the inside), and heat it a little. Then you pour in a half cup of batter, right into the bottom. Then you pick up the pan and swirl it a bit, so that a thin layer of batter comes halfway up the sides of the pan, and the rest settles back down at the bottom. For a plain hopper, you stop there, and put a lid on the pan (any lid that fits just inside the rim is fine) and cook it for five minutes on low heat. A very slow process, as you see. To feed four people would take an hour (two hoppers a person is more than sufficient; they're substantial). It's good for lazy mornings when you can just relax and chat in between each hopper's cooking, or do dishes, or putter around the kitchen.

There are variations on the plain hopper (which is traditionally eaten plain, or with curry). For something more Americans would recognize as breakfast, you crack an egg into the center right after you swirl. It settles in and in five minutes has soft-cooked; traditionally, you'd eat it with the yolks still somewhat liquid. I'm not a big fan of liquid yolks, but it works with this dish. Kids are often really fond of a sweet hopper, where you add a quarter cup or so of sweetened coconut milk to the center after you swirl, and serve with more coconut cream. Not a low-fat meal, but yummy.

The batter is somewhat complicated, though not actually hard. Add a packet of yeast to a half cup of warm water and a quarter t. sugar. Wait ten minutes and see if it bubbles. If it doesn't, your yeast isn't active. Start over. When you have active yeast, mix together 1.5 c. flour, 1.5 c. ground rice (you can grind it in a coffee grinder if you don't have a spice grinder), and 1-2 t. salt (err on the lower side to start). Take a can of coconut milk (two cups). Pour 1.5 c. into the flour mixture. Dilute the other half cup with a half cut water and set the cup of thin coconut milk aside. Stir in yeast, blend very well, and set aside, covered, ideally overnight (or for an hour in a warm oven with the heat turned off).

When it's done rising (theoeretically it should double in bulk, but I wouldn't count on it), stir it again, stirring in half of the thin coconut milk. It should be a medium thick batter -- thin enough that when you pour it and swirl, you leave a thin layer on the sides of the pan. It's pretty easy to get the hang of after the first couple (much like crepes).

I don't know how to describe the taste of hoppers. More like injera than anything else I suppose, but not as sourdough-ish. For a seriously Sri Lankan feast, serve them with a good hot curry (fish is best), make some egg, some sweet, serve some idli and masala dosai and sambar, put out some sharp sambols and sour pickles and sweet hot chutneys, with lassi and king coconut milk to drink and fresh fruit (mango, papaya, pineapple) on the side. That breakfast will carry you through to dinner. I'm not even going to start describing dinner, or I'll get hungry again, and I just ate two hoppers, so I'm really quite full.

I’m sick. It’s kind of…

I'm sick. It's kind of hard to think about anything else, 'cause mostly I just want to curl up in bed and be miserable. But that would be pretty boring, so I'm trying to do a full day of work. If it gets too bad, I'll go back to bed. Maybe I can get David and Heather to swing by with some juice...

There's so much I need to do that I'm feeling utterly overwhelmed. I know part of that is just tiredness from sickness, so I'm trying not to take it too seriously, but I've been very weepy lately. And unfortunately, most of my comfort things involve curling up and reading or doing other things that necessitate not working; which means that I get farther behind, which means I get more panicky. I'll feel better once I have more things accomplished. Done. I'm very task-oriented.

Okay, I need to make some phone calls. I'll do that now.

6:00. Well, I got offline but couldn't cope with actually talking to people on the phone. I buried myself in tech writing work instead, and managed to actually work a full 8 hours (with an hour or so of napping in middle) for the first time in this project. It's such a relief to have clearly defined tasks and some idea of how to do them -- this part of the project is editing, and I know how to edit. I felt surprisingly better, emotionally, once I'd finished the day's work. (Though I still don't know how to send attachments in pine, which is frustrating. Help most welcome.)

I still feel physically pretty cruddy, although I took a shower just now, and that seemed to help. I don't know why. It's just nice to be clean, I suppose. On my second mug of tea, which is also comforting. I'm glad tea takes a few steps. It's soothing to go through the ritual, to put the loose tea in the teaball, to wait for the water to boil, to pour it, to wait for it to steep, to add the sugar and milk and stir. There isn't much you can do to hurry up the process, not if you want your tea to taste right, and I get such strange pleasure from the small ritual. Perhaps I need more rituals in my life. David has many rituals in his. Kevin has none, as far as I can tell. I think I fall somewhere in between.

It's amazing to think that I only started drinking tea regularly a few years ago. I'm not sure I did when I first started this journal...and it's become such an integral part of my life. I get cranky when I don't have tea available...

The notes I've made recently on religion and faith in here have been generating ongoing e-mail. It's interesting seeing what sort of things in the journal prompt people to respond. Pathetic pleas for help, or sympathy, of course. And corrections when I get something wrong. But also certain topics; I suppose the controversial ones. When I was talking about rape, I got quite a lot of feedback. Unsurprising in retrospect. One of these days, I *will* learn the CGI scripts I need to in order to set it up so people can respond publically if they want, and talk to each other instead of just to me. I think that could be very interesting.

I've been thinking more about the religion question. I think where I really get stuck these days on the question of whether there is a god at all (whether sie's a good god is another issue entirely and goes back to that problem of suffering I mentioned before) is at the leap of faith. I can't make that leap of faith -- and I don't particularly want to. I'd rather be convinced...I empathized tremendously with Doubting Thomas. Gruesome it may be, but if Christ had returned from the dead in front of me, I'd be tempted to put my fingers in the bleeding wounds as well, just to be certain of the solidity of them. And I did find it encouraging that Thomas wasn't cast out for doubting, or even chastised too severely -- unlike poor Job. Oh, I could rant about Job if I got started...

But I'm not just a rationalist. I might want to be, but I'm not. That's clear in some of my arguments with David -- I have faith in things that he doesn't. And it's almost inconceivable to me that he doesn't have that same faith -- it seems obvious, self-evident to me. But faith generally does, no? That appears to be part of the definition. You believe it because you believe it, because it would be impossible not to believe it. So even if the kind of things I believe in aren't what one would normally call religious, in the end, I'm just as much of a believer as the most devout. Not a very good skeptic after all, it turns out...

Today's Manifesto

I believe...
  • that we can make the world a better place.
  • that we are progressing, and not just in technological ways.
  • that despite the setbacks and the hatred, it is possible for sense and love to triumph.
  • that grassroots organizing makes a difference.
  • that there is worth to every human soul, and that very few, if any, are truly evil.
  • that good people sometimes do bad things, but that condemnation is not the answer.
  • that books, music, and art have the power to create change.
  • that joy shared is joy increased, and sorrow shared is sorrow decreased. Mostly.
  • that every little bit helps.
  • that even entropy is insufficient cause for despair.
  • that even though beauty is evanescent, it is still worth creating.
  • that people are good at heart, and that is what will save us in the end.
A total mushball, that's me. Just overflowing with sticky sentiment. But you gotta go with your strengths, right?

And I know, don't tell me -- I sound very young. I'm sure I do. But I hope I still sound like this when I'm 80.

Rosh Hashanah I just…

Rosh Hashanah

I just finished Mary Doria Russell's _The Sparrow_. This book shook me more than anything I've read in months. I no longer resent it for winning the Campbell over _An Exchange of Hostages_ (though I wish that one could have gotten an award too). I didn't want it to end. I didn't want to put it down, but I made myself do it, so that it would last longer. I cry easily at movies, while reading books, but I sobbed until my chest hurt reading this one. I was reading through the tears at points. I don't want to tell you too many details of the story; I don't want to spoil it. But I strongly recommend that you stop in a bookstore sometime soon, and read the first page of prologue. It's less than a page. That's not so much to ask, is it? And it's certainly not all sad. Not even close.

Remember that entry a little while ago about religion, and the question of faith? I didn't expect that I'd be weeping over that question. Not because of a book, at any rate.

Some Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door yesterday morning. I tried, I really did, but I *cannot* take that religion seriously. Pseudo-science drives me crazy. Some of the trappings of Catholicism seem equally implausible, but I grew up with it, so it doesn't grate quite so much.

Perhaps, with my visiting Salt Lake regularly, you'll be seeing me discussion of religion here for a while. Or maybe not...

And Happy New Year, to my Jewish readers.

El’s birthday! El’s…

El's birthday!

El's 108 years old today (or so she insists) and entering her second childhood, so she's having an 8th birthday party. We gots toys, we gots sweets, we gots macaroni and cheese and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We may even get some Chef Boyardee. It's going to be very goofy and lots of fun; it's just a shame Lydia's kids are out of town and can't attend. I'd best run; I've got some stuff to take care of before the party (not to mention some work). Will talk to y'all later, hopefully. It's a very busy weekend.

I’ve been reading…

I've been reading compulsively all day. I read Patricia Wrede's _The Magician's Ward_ this morning. I read Alan Garner's _The Weirdstone of Brisingamen_ this afternoon. I read Catherine Asaro's _Catch the Lightning_ this evening. (All very good, btw, but if I pause to give synopses of these very different books, I'm going to get distracted from my main point.) I'm considering skipping taking the time to make a real dinner and just having a microwaved hot dog so I can read another book. I don't have a particular one in mind; I have about thirty waiting. This is more than I usually have waiting, and it's tempting to think that this spate of urgent book-reading is triggered by my subconscious deciding that I just have too many unread books around, acting to decrease the piles before they topple over. I don't think that's it, though.

Part of it's that I'm a bit sick. Just a cold or something, I think. Been coughing. Fell asleep partway through the Garner for a little while (and I practically never nap). I keep trying to work, even to just answer some of the mound of e-mail, and my mind turns to fuzz and I find myself logging out, wandering away from the computer, making tea, lighting candles, playing Bach and reading another book.

Is my subconscious trying to tell me something else? I'm clearly heavily into comfort mode; if I had curry already made, I'd gladly eat it -- it's just the effort of cooking it that seems a bit much. Or is it the fact that I can't read while I cook? (I've tried. Things burn. And it's impossible to chop.) If I can't read, or answer e-mail, then I might have to think. Am I trying to avoid thinking? That's part of why I'm writing this entry. Not much else to do but think when you're writing a journal entry.

I feel vaguely distressed when I stop reading. I don't know why. There's nothing wrong in my life -- at least nothing new. In fact, things that have been very unsettled and somewhat distressing (work, writing, etc.) have startled to settle down lately. I should be happier -- and I am, when I'm doing stuff. When I stop, I'm vaguely distressed, and I have no idea why.

You know, I never did all this self-analysis stuff before I met Kevin. Now I can't seem to stop. Nuisance. He's the introvert, I'm the extrovert, right? Where's Myers-Briggs when I need them?

I actually feel fine while I'm writing too. Like right now. Makes it very tempting to just write a very long journal entry. The letters I have been writing when I stay at the computer have been longer than usual. Karina is happy that I'm finally answering her mail regularly (and I wish I could continue to be so good about it) and at length, but I don't know why I am.

Okay, this entry has degenerated into vague admissions of ignorance and confusion. I don't think I've figured anything out. Maybe I'm just imagining all this because I'm slightly feverish and don't feel well. I'm going to go make some curry, and then I'm going to eat it. And I'll probably start a book over dinner, and stay up late finishing it. I haven't read four books in a day in a *long* time. I used to do it a lot when I was a kid; I'd read for practically weeks on end over the summer. (Which is probably why I'm not particularly athletic now. I didn't get out much. My uncle used to call me a plum pudding. I think he thought he was being funny.) It was a coping mechanism then, and it is one now. But the books are still wonderful, so in the absence of a better idea, I think I'll go surrender to my coping mechanisms.

I need to study more psych.

11:50 p.m. Well, I cooked a really good dinner. My only regret was that I was eating alone -- not because I wanted company, but because the curry came out perfectly, the way it only comes out about one time in a hundred. For me, at any rate. My mother, on the other hand... (this is not just bias. Everyone says my mother is a stupendous cook.)

Then I read some. Started _The Sparrow_, which has been highly recommended to me, and won the Campbell over a book which I really liked, _An Exchange of Hostages_. Religion is returning more and more to sf lately; it's interesting. But I didn't come back online to talk about that, but rather to add a poem I just wrote, and then to bed. G'night, all.


Standing in line at the grocery store,
I page through Cosmo and remember

when did you fall
when did you fall
when did you fall, in love with him?

    her eyes were closed.

across a crowded room?

    she bit her lip.
    she was drunk,
      we were all drunk, at least a little

    and nervous.

did his eyes catch yours?

    and her fingers clenched;
    she whispered a moan, high-pitched,
    his hand between her thighs,
    my fingers on her breast,
    our motions unsynchronized,
    but still. she whispers

did you look at him, and know?

    and arches, and I am guessing
    but moving, greatly daring,
    bending down to kiss her once,
    twice. her eyes still closed. her lips
    wet, reaching. he does something
    I miss, and she -- convulses.
    and stills. her eyes closed

did he smile?

    and the room is suddenly crowded.
    we watch her; we wait.

    she opens her eyes, and smiles. we
    relax. look up at each other,
    eyes slipping past, barely touching,
    and I am shaking, because I know
    something.
    something.

Well, technically it’s…

Well, technically it's Friday, but since I haven't gone to sleep yet, it doesn't count. And how'd it get to be this late in the week anyway? Where does the time go, huh?

A fair bit of it has gone to Clean Sheets this week. Finally sorting out the legal stuff. Met with the contracts lawyer today, who was a sweetheart and very clear. Thanks the gods. Need to talk to the Small Business Counsel people soon (tomorrow?) about incorporating. All very interesting, I must say. A little scary too, but I think I can probably handle it.

There are also lots of within-magazine issues that have to be dealt with more and more expeditiously as we approach kick-off date of October 1st. I *think* we'll be starting on schedule. Fingers crossed for us, okay? Less than two weeks to go! Meep! It's a good thing I'm such a last-minute-meet the damned deadline-no matter what it takes! kind of person.

I spent too much money on books today. Nothing new there. My stack of unread books is growing to unreasonable proportions, but I did manage to read through one new book today, and boy it was a good one. Vonda McIntyre's _The Moon and the Sun_, a fantasy novel set in the court of Louis XIV, and absolutely gorgeous. Beautifully done, with interesting characterization, difficult situations, beauty, sex, danger, death, power, politics, and an impressive attention to historical detail. I think I even learned a fair bit about the period (one I've been abysmally ignorant about for quite a long time) in the process of reading this novel. My only negative with it is that at 11 o'clock I was getting really tired and hadn't finished it yet so I drank some tea which explains why I'm up at 1:15 a.m. and typing furiously. Sigh. Well, maybe one of you will read the novel as a result of this entry, and that will make it worthwhile.

Part of the reason I don't like being up this late is that everyone else is asleep. Somehow that doesn't bother me at 5 a.m. when I've just woken up -- I suppose because I tend to be happy when I wake up, and a little sad before I go to sleep; I don't know why. Normally when I'm feeling sad, I either read (but I've read for many hours today, and my eyes are a bit tired) or call a friend. But it's rather late for that; most people are asleep, and while I could call Kevin -- he might even be up -- his mother is visiting right now, I think, and I wouldn't want to wake her. I think the phone is in the guest room. And I'm nowhere near sad/upset enough to justify risking it. Perhaps I'll just write him a long letter instead....or maybe I'll answer a few more e-mails and go to sleep. In any case, good night, munchkins. Talk to you soon.

Ah, my faith in Faulkner…

Ah, my faith in Faulkner is vindicated! I've been reading _Absalom, Absalom!_, as I mentioned a few days ago, I think, and I also mentioned that I thought the beginning was rather problematic. Well, I still have issues with how he implemented the flashbacks in the beginning, but from about halfway through the novel to the end, I think the damn thing is flawless. Utterly incredible, impossible to put down, etc. and so on, makes me want to go back and reread _The Sound and the Fury_ (and only my stack of unread books is preventing me from doing so immediately); just incredibly masterful. I surrender. I will read anything this man has written. In fact, I plan to read it all. Including the screenplays.

Got up early this morning, went down to the cafe, spent the morning tech writing. Feeling a little better as a result. I've been very frustrated with myself for the last couple of days, feeling like I'm not getting as much done as I should be. Bills piling up on my desk haven't helped. I *hate* being in debt, but I'd best get used to it, since it'll take at least a few years to pay off the grad school debt. You'll undoubtedly hear me grumbling more about this.

Going to head off to campus now; meet with Ginu and hopefully find some material of hers that we can use for Clean Sheets. Should be fun. Hope y'all are having good Mondays (or as good as Mondays can be, at any rate. :-) The tea party went absolutely wonderfully, btw. Great fun on Saturday. I think I'll try to have one every month that there isn't another party. I think I probably socialize a little too much. :-) Kevin undoubtedly thinks so. Ah well...

Hey, munchkins. Gosh,…

Hey, munchkins. Gosh, I'm tired -- I think I've been at this computer basically since 7 a.m...and it's 11:30 p.m. now. This is what happens when you go out of town for a few days...even when you have e-mail there. Funny, in a strange and perverted way. :-)

What news? Well, David drove me around some today to help me pick up things for the tea party Saturday (don't ask me why I decided I needed to have a tea party. I just did). We managed to find some lovely teapots, reasonably priced, at Peet's (and after visiting only five stores! :-), and even found some Devonshire cream. Interestingly enough, I debated buying two, only bought one, regretted it, planned to go back, and then El showed up this evening with another bottle of Devonshire cream! (Okay, maybe that was only interesting to me, but that's just your tough luck, innit?)

Should be good fun. Finally started tech writing today, and tomorrow is to be devoted to it. Joy, rapture, delight. :-) I am amazed by the way this industry works; don't even let me get started on lack of product functionality on this beta, or how they expect us to document it, or how little it corresponds to the technical specs, etc. and so on.

I'd write you guys a poem, but I think my brain is too smooshed. I did send out another short story, "You Have Your Reasons", which may be either a) too unpleasant or b) too oblique. I'm not sure. Feedback welcome, as always...and now I think I'm going to go read a little and then pour myself into bed. G'night, all. Sleep well.