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chickentimeschickenwaysThinking about the woman on Twitter who told me I'd ruin my liver by drinking diet Coke and taking Advil. Joke's on you, random concern troll lady! My liver's already ruined! (Surely it must be!)
I spent this morning finishing Nurk, Ursula Vernon's first novel, a children's book about a (somewhat) brave shrew. I would describe it as a gently creepy modern interpretation of The Wind in the Willows.
Yesterday I went through all of the Hamster Princess books that were available in the children's section of the Cambridge Public Library (which is its own floor and has a foreboding little sign on the door to the staircase leading up to it, FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF CHILDREN AND THEIR CARETAKERS. I rushed in and out as quickly as possible), and I expect that I'll shortly be blowing through the Dragonbreath books as well.
Everything is a bit overwhelming right now, and I don't much feel like I've got the emotional energy to cope with books where people are thoughtlessly cruel or complex or difficult. I can hear the screaming now -- that's not real life! -- but that's the point, isn't it? I can barely deal with my real real life.
In light of that, I've also been watching Lords and Ladles, a show during which all things, with the singular exception of calf's foot jelly, can be made tasty, with enough spices and butter and cream. It's probably that which got me started thinking about planning my Ireland trip again -- not, which would be more sensible, the fact that we're supposed to submit our requests for vacation in January.
It suddenly came to me yesterday that -- if the idea of figuring out how to get to Worldcon is stressing me out -- I could just not go. I have a dreadful habit of making a plan and then -- because I've told people about the plan and I feel embarrassed about backing out of it when there are witnesses to my optimism -- forcing myself to go through with things, even if I'm too tired or short on time to make it really work. And while it is, of course, possible that I won't feel as brittle as I do right now come next August -- currently I have far more nightmares than daydreams available to me about how said convention might go. Spending a lot of time looking at the authors and panels that might occur makes me feel sick and inadequate; spending a lot of time looking at hiking trails that I can easily get to with Bus Eireann is pleasant. So there we are.
So perhaps I will try to make Wellington 2020. That would be terribly exciting, wouldn't it?
I spent this morning finishing Nurk, Ursula Vernon's first novel, a children's book about a (somewhat) brave shrew. I would describe it as a gently creepy modern interpretation of The Wind in the Willows.
Yesterday I went through all of the Hamster Princess books that were available in the children's section of the Cambridge Public Library (which is its own floor and has a foreboding little sign on the door to the staircase leading up to it, FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF CHILDREN AND THEIR CARETAKERS. I rushed in and out as quickly as possible), and I expect that I'll shortly be blowing through the Dragonbreath books as well.
Everything is a bit overwhelming right now, and I don't much feel like I've got the emotional energy to cope with books where people are thoughtlessly cruel or complex or difficult. I can hear the screaming now -- that's not real life! -- but that's the point, isn't it? I can barely deal with my real real life.
In light of that, I've also been watching Lords and Ladles, a show during which all things, with the singular exception of calf's foot jelly, can be made tasty, with enough spices and butter and cream. It's probably that which got me started thinking about planning my Ireland trip again -- not, which would be more sensible, the fact that we're supposed to submit our requests for vacation in January.
It suddenly came to me yesterday that -- if the idea of figuring out how to get to Worldcon is stressing me out -- I could just not go. I have a dreadful habit of making a plan and then -- because I've told people about the plan and I feel embarrassed about backing out of it when there are witnesses to my optimism -- forcing myself to go through with things, even if I'm too tired or short on time to make it really work. And while it is, of course, possible that I won't feel as brittle as I do right now come next August -- currently I have far more nightmares than daydreams available to me about how said convention might go. Spending a lot of time looking at the authors and panels that might occur makes me feel sick and inadequate; spending a lot of time looking at hiking trails that I can easily get to with Bus Eireann is pleasant. So there we are.
So perhaps I will try to make Wellington 2020. That would be terribly exciting, wouldn't it?
