All things that are, are posty
Dec. 18th, 2014 11:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceKaren's gone off to Oakland today, to spend time with a museum on errantry*. I drew up a list of things to do in the house while she was gone, but eventually that list expanded to include the whole damn house, so I thought I'd start by evacuating it (to leave room for the list).
So I came down to the library to work on Mars. And there is a man at the table beside mine who has apparently come down to the library with all his paperwork, which he is slowly and methodically tearing into scrupulously small pieces. Sheet by bloody sheet. I lack the words to express how insanely annoying this is.
(Also, I'm fairly sure he's the same man who was down here a month back, working through the exact kind of document box that I want and cannot find not nohow not nowhere online or in reality. And of course I was too damn English to ask him where he got it from, and now that opportunity is forever lost and his very existence is a thorn in my flesh. Which he is driving deeper, with every ponderous rip.)
I am getting no work done whatsoever, and honestly I might as well go home.
*No, it is not a museum of errantry. Awesome as that would be, this is not that. It is in fact a museum of bookbinders, but it is currently in motion. I like to think of it as wandering in search of more subjects. In California, the museum comes to you...
So I came down to the library to work on Mars. And there is a man at the table beside mine who has apparently come down to the library with all his paperwork, which he is slowly and methodically tearing into scrupulously small pieces. Sheet by bloody sheet. I lack the words to express how insanely annoying this is.
(Also, I'm fairly sure he's the same man who was down here a month back, working through the exact kind of document box that I want and cannot find not nohow not nowhere online or in reality. And of course I was too damn English to ask him where he got it from, and now that opportunity is forever lost and his very existence is a thorn in my flesh. Which he is driving deeper, with every ponderous rip.)
I am getting no work done whatsoever, and honestly I might as well go home.
*No, it is not a museum of errantry. Awesome as that would be, this is not that. It is in fact a museum of bookbinders, but it is currently in motion. I like to think of it as wandering in search of more subjects. In California, the museum comes to you...