My poem "Amitruq Nekyia" has been accepted by Strange Horizons. It was written earlier this month after a friend had a disappointing experience with polar exploration fiction. I am beginning to think that I do my best cold-weather work during heat waves.
Even without an intercalary week of July, I slept as much as ten hours after our return from Plymouth, unquestionably more than the rest of the week combined. I have been discharged from PT for my knee on the grounds that not only has it stopped causing me constant pain, I had spent the previous day behind the wheel of what turned out to be a five-hour-round road trip, climbing around a loft-style beach house with so many stairs that it was ADA-compliant only by definitions of William Sleator, descending and scaling a slope of slithering gravel on either side of a beach whose high tide was full of cobbles tattered with seaweed, and my knee was completely cool with these various forms of exertion, although the rest of me was so tired that I had begun physically tremoring by the time I actually made it to bed. I did very little else yesterday.
Today I am still tired in a way that makes my neck hurt and my concentration vague. I dropped my camera while photographing the latest round of flowers. The glass of the viewfinder has a punctured crack in the lower right-hand corner, but the lens itself appears undamaged. The day lilies are beginning to dry up and the hibiscus are flourishing. Have some minimal evidence, plus a bee.
( Rock and roll me over, boys. )
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choco_frosh came by in the morning and dropped off some presents from Canada, including a tin of mackerel which I will very likely share with Hestia. I love this photo from the set of The Seventh Seal (1957) because it looks, of course, like Bergman engaged in his own game of meetings with Death. I don't know if this not-safe-for-work perfume would actually smell like its description, but it would be amazing if it did. I can't wait until this construction is over.
Even without an intercalary week of July, I slept as much as ten hours after our return from Plymouth, unquestionably more than the rest of the week combined. I have been discharged from PT for my knee on the grounds that not only has it stopped causing me constant pain, I had spent the previous day behind the wheel of what turned out to be a five-hour-round road trip, climbing around a loft-style beach house with so many stairs that it was ADA-compliant only by definitions of William Sleator, descending and scaling a slope of slithering gravel on either side of a beach whose high tide was full of cobbles tattered with seaweed, and my knee was completely cool with these various forms of exertion, although the rest of me was so tired that I had begun physically tremoring by the time I actually made it to bed. I did very little else yesterday.
Today I am still tired in a way that makes my neck hurt and my concentration vague. I dropped my camera while photographing the latest round of flowers. The glass of the viewfinder has a punctured crack in the lower right-hand corner, but the lens itself appears undamaged. The day lilies are beginning to dry up and the hibiscus are flourishing. Have some minimal evidence, plus a bee.
( Rock and roll me over, boys. )
choco_frosh came by in the morning and dropped off some presents from Canada, including a tin of mackerel which I will very likely share with Hestia. I love this photo from the set of The Seventh Seal (1957) because it looks, of course, like Bergman engaged in his own game of meetings with Death. I don't know if this not-safe-for-work perfume would actually smell like its description, but it would be amazing if it did. I can't wait until this construction is over.
