In which I am not writing...
Dec. 13th, 2007 10:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperance...at least, not immediately now. Felt odd, browsing through LJ before breakfast this morning without any "should be working!" pressure in the back of my head.
I have the Phantoms story to revise; as soon as that's done, I have The Big Fat Novel to revise, which as we know I am afraid of. Today I have to wait in for a delivery (this is the only downside, I find, of internet shopping: those companies that promise next-day delivery, I do feel obliged to be here), so rather than trying to do critical reading (which I would normally take to the Lit & Phil or the pub, and feel entirely disabled when I try to confront it here) I am doing House Stuff, at least until the shopping arrives. I hate being pent up, but it is useful sometimes.
I thought I was going to clear out the cupboard under the stairs, on the grounds that making a void at the heart of things enables everything else to fall into it, thereby generating minimalism all around. I understand that this is how black holes work, so I will set up the Black Hole of Studley Tce, and a Clean Event Horizon will sweep through my whole house and you will all be amazed.
Only then I got distracted, drinking coffee and listening to the dead wet end of the cricket; and now I am shifting stuff around in the living room, preparatory to building One Last Bookshelf in there. Which will allow me to take all the videos off the floor, which would be a good idea. (I should point out that it was the cats and not I who put the videos all over the floor, but apparently it is my task to pick them up and find somewhere else for them to go.)
On, then. Cricket seems to have fizzled out entirely under a Sri Lankan rainstorm, so write that up as a draw and I shall play loud music instead, by Men Called Tom. Uh, for the sake of clarity, this is not a new band of which you have not heard: I am thinking Tom Waits, Tom Robinson, Tom Petty...
I have the Phantoms story to revise; as soon as that's done, I have The Big Fat Novel to revise, which as we know I am afraid of. Today I have to wait in for a delivery (this is the only downside, I find, of internet shopping: those companies that promise next-day delivery, I do feel obliged to be here), so rather than trying to do critical reading (which I would normally take to the Lit & Phil or the pub, and feel entirely disabled when I try to confront it here) I am doing House Stuff, at least until the shopping arrives. I hate being pent up, but it is useful sometimes.
I thought I was going to clear out the cupboard under the stairs, on the grounds that making a void at the heart of things enables everything else to fall into it, thereby generating minimalism all around. I understand that this is how black holes work, so I will set up the Black Hole of Studley Tce, and a Clean Event Horizon will sweep through my whole house and you will all be amazed.
Only then I got distracted, drinking coffee and listening to the dead wet end of the cricket; and now I am shifting stuff around in the living room, preparatory to building One Last Bookshelf in there. Which will allow me to take all the videos off the floor, which would be a good idea. (I should point out that it was the cats and not I who put the videos all over the floor, but apparently it is my task to pick them up and find somewhere else for them to go.)
On, then. Cricket seems to have fizzled out entirely under a Sri Lankan rainstorm, so write that up as a draw and I shall play loud music instead, by Men Called Tom. Uh, for the sake of clarity, this is not a new band of which you have not heard: I am thinking Tom Waits, Tom Robinson, Tom Petty...
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Date: 2007-12-13 11:45 am (UTC)