Perfecta

Oh, and I have a cold. Possibly. Something, anyway. I feel ungood, and I spent last night in that lovely state where I could only breathe lying on my back and I can't sleep lying on my back. Which leads to happy cats, of course (they only really like sitting on my chest; the hip compromise is manageable but unsatisfactory, and the back won't do at all), but washed-out and headachey Chaz.

This journal will now stop whining. Even I am bored with it, and you know how much I love to fuss and pity me. I'm off to the Lit & Phil, where I shall read about tannic acid and discover that I am not after all stuck in mid-novel, but poised to make progress at last. *nods*

Woe is me

Yes, yes, I know: I said, no more whining.

Hostages to fortune, m'dears. Hostages to fortune.

I came to the Lit & Phil and - calamity! - I forgot my flask of coffee. Which leaves me with nothing to drink but their own thin and unsatisfactory brew. When, as mentioned, I am sans sleep and need the kick of a hefty jolt of caffeine.

I am not sure how long I am going to last. We call this Chaz'z Uncertainty Principle: there's probably an equation. It would need a symbol for fuzzy logic in the brain, a symbol for tremble in the fingers, a symbol for the tendency towards prevarication... (Which reminds me: why do US copy editors hate "towards"? They're always smiting off that final "s", which seems to me - well. Untoward.)

Yup

Definitely sick: I just watched an entire disk of Buffy, which is a sure guide.

As it happens, that was the final disk of the final series. Finally, I know what happened!

Hot whisky toddies saw me through. But I have now had enough of the sweet stuff, and am moving on to straight whisky. (I hate how virii meddle with my taste buds; I ate a chocolate biscuit earlier, and my mouth was all cloyed up for an hour after.)

As has been observ'd, I have soup. Also, courtesy of a friend you haven't met, I have unexpected new teas: including one picked by monkeys. The boys enquire "so what?", as all their food and drink experiences are supplied by monkeys in the long run, even the stuff they steal. I insist that there are qualities and grades of monkey, but I'm not sure they see the distinction.

What with one thing and the other, I'll be fine.

(See? No whining. None. A farewell to whine. Now I only need to choose what more DVD to watch tonight. Suggestions will probably come too late to be useful, so never mind.)

Review: "'Tis Pity He's Ashore"

So I published a story under my own name, and a few people noticed it, and it got picked up for Best Gay Stories 2010, and now it's been noticed again.

Which makes me happy, but still not quite as happy as the title. Which I was still a teenager when I thought of that, and I didn't get to use it till I was fifty. Things await their moment. Sometimes they do.

In other news, I have watched The Bourne Identity - again - and am now bound for bath and bed. Am not quite sure when I became a Matt Damon fan; I wouldn't have expected that. But I am very fond of the Bourne movies, and (I was startled to discover) of the remake of The Italian Job also. Which I guess makes me a fan. Golly.