Frost in May
May. 6th, 2010 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceWell, not really frost: it's just grey and drear, damp and bleak and chill out there. Also, pretty much the same in here. The nation is poised to betray us all, by picking the worst of a bad set of choices; and there's nothing I can do about it.
Just at the moment, I can't even go to vote. I missed the UPS man yesterday with an unexpected delivery, so I have to wait in until he comes. (Is okay, I have till 10pm; voting will happen. The annoying thing is that my vote will make no difference, either locally or nationally; but I shall vote anyway. I love voting. Even when the outcome is going to be so grim, I still love the process: it's that unique moment where I get to feel like a citizen rather than a subject...)
I have said before, I am no good at Waiting In. I get all restless and perfunctory, infinitely distractable. There is lots of useful stuff I could do in the house, over and above actual writing-work, but I'm just sort of poking at this and that and the other. I have lifted lino, eg, and poked at the bathroom floor where it is rotting. Not exactly useful, but, y'know. It's like a bad tooth. Can't keep away. (One of these days, that floor is going to give way entirely, and the bath will fall clean through into the kitchen. Most likely when it is at its heaviest, viz full of water and me. I prob'ly ought to do something to forestall that, but I get kinda paralyzed, just trying to think through all the implications...)
On a regular day, I'd be heading for the Lit & Phil about now, to write a thousand words before lunch. *pines* Instead, I'm making pork scratchings.
Still'n'all. Tonight I shall sit up and watch this country do it to itself, again; tomorrow I shall run away to Oxford. Saturday is the Write Fantastic's one-day event at St Hilda's College; come! Just turn up, pay at the door! It'll be fab. It'll be a refuge from awful reality. There'll be some bloody good writers there, seriously. Your presence will only make it better.
And meanwhile, I leave the house in the hands of teenagers. Snigger. I was thinking t'other day, I should secrete webcams here and there. Then I could sell the URL. Real reality TV...
Just at the moment, I can't even go to vote. I missed the UPS man yesterday with an unexpected delivery, so I have to wait in until he comes. (Is okay, I have till 10pm; voting will happen. The annoying thing is that my vote will make no difference, either locally or nationally; but I shall vote anyway. I love voting. Even when the outcome is going to be so grim, I still love the process: it's that unique moment where I get to feel like a citizen rather than a subject...)
I have said before, I am no good at Waiting In. I get all restless and perfunctory, infinitely distractable. There is lots of useful stuff I could do in the house, over and above actual writing-work, but I'm just sort of poking at this and that and the other. I have lifted lino, eg, and poked at the bathroom floor where it is rotting. Not exactly useful, but, y'know. It's like a bad tooth. Can't keep away. (One of these days, that floor is going to give way entirely, and the bath will fall clean through into the kitchen. Most likely when it is at its heaviest, viz full of water and me. I prob'ly ought to do something to forestall that, but I get kinda paralyzed, just trying to think through all the implications...)
On a regular day, I'd be heading for the Lit & Phil about now, to write a thousand words before lunch. *pines* Instead, I'm making pork scratchings.
Still'n'all. Tonight I shall sit up and watch this country do it to itself, again; tomorrow I shall run away to Oxford. Saturday is the Write Fantastic's one-day event at St Hilda's College; come! Just turn up, pay at the door! It'll be fab. It'll be a refuge from awful reality. There'll be some bloody good writers there, seriously. Your presence will only make it better.
And meanwhile, I leave the house in the hands of teenagers. Snigger. I was thinking t'other day, I should secrete webcams here and there. Then I could sell the URL. Real reality TV...