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The review is a lie
Oct. 19th, 2014 12:39 pmHope is a standard, in every sense. This means it can be raised, it can be lowered, it can be ripped to shreds and soaked with petrol and set aflame...
Well, what? I speak metaphorically. My metaphor is drawn from flags. Get used to it.
I have spent the last week in a ridiculous state of hope-in-suspension, waiting for today. A major newspaper - oh, let's call it the New Amsterdam Horologe, not to be invidious - told us categorically that they were running a review of Being Small. A factchecker contacted the publisher to confirm pricings. They were closing the issue out on Wednesday, which does rather suggest it would be released today at the latest.
It is apparently impossible to buy a physical copy of the NAH - or any other paper except the locals - in Sunnyvale, so I haven't confirmed it by touch, but as near as anyone can tell the online edition bears no trace of the promised review.
After thirty-seven years of this - of having hopes raised and dashed and trampled, over and over - you would think I would build less upon each individual occasion, and you'd still be wrong. But the opposite of hope is not despair, it's actuality; and in actuality, I am ferociously depressed.
Well, what? I speak metaphorically. My metaphor is drawn from flags. Get used to it.
I have spent the last week in a ridiculous state of hope-in-suspension, waiting for today. A major newspaper - oh, let's call it the New Amsterdam Horologe, not to be invidious - told us categorically that they were running a review of Being Small. A factchecker contacted the publisher to confirm pricings. They were closing the issue out on Wednesday, which does rather suggest it would be released today at the latest.
It is apparently impossible to buy a physical copy of the NAH - or any other paper except the locals - in Sunnyvale, so I haven't confirmed it by touch, but as near as anyone can tell the online edition bears no trace of the promised review.
After thirty-seven years of this - of having hopes raised and dashed and trampled, over and over - you would think I would build less upon each individual occasion, and you'd still be wrong. But the opposite of hope is not despair, it's actuality; and in actuality, I am ferociously depressed.