Barry and I, we are as one in this
Nov. 11th, 2010 09:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceSo I went out back this morning to gather some Vietnamese coriander for today's adventures in oyster omelette lunching, and Barry came with me. For about three steps. Then he pointed out that it was cold, windy and wet, and went back into the house.
I may have sneered at him for being a wimp.
It is now an hour later, and if I am to go to the Lit & Phil today, I do actually need to leave the house.
It is cold, windy and wet.
Um...
If I go, I'll be productive, because once I get there I'll be content to stay. I'll settle into the nice warm basement, gather the silence about me and write a thousand words.
If I stay, I'll noodle about on the internet, and play with new software, and snuggle cats, and read William Gibson*, and watch Barefoot in the Park at lunchtime, and never quite be warm enough because I cannot find my jumpers, and write little bits here and there but still end the day with a thousand words fewer than I should.
Um...
*like a mad jeweller elongating sturdy Victorian tableware into something insectile, post-functionally fragile, and neurologically dangerous. Just sayin'. That's why I read William Gibson.
I may have sneered at him for being a wimp.
It is now an hour later, and if I am to go to the Lit & Phil today, I do actually need to leave the house.
It is cold, windy and wet.
Um...
If I go, I'll be productive, because once I get there I'll be content to stay. I'll settle into the nice warm basement, gather the silence about me and write a thousand words.
If I stay, I'll noodle about on the internet, and play with new software, and snuggle cats, and read William Gibson*, and watch Barefoot in the Park at lunchtime, and never quite be warm enough because I cannot find my jumpers, and write little bits here and there but still end the day with a thousand words fewer than I should.
Um...
*like a mad jeweller elongating sturdy Victorian tableware into something insectile, post-functionally fragile, and neurologically dangerous. Just sayin'. That's why I read William Gibson.