Monday, April 22, 2013


The stench of last week's SPAM is still clinging to my three-ply.
Sister Monica Joan, Call the Midwife

I like that show, although I don't exactly know why. Nostalgia? Although I did not live in 1950s England. Strong(ish) female characters? That could be a reason.

Gosh, I am so far out the writing habit! I really do need to reprioritize this. 

Then again, life has been both troubling 
and challenging. A lot of it is too personal for web distribution, even if it is not actually about me. Other aspects of my own turmoil (they might be mere challenges) are still in process and under scrutiny.

I haven't taken Cooder to the vet yet as she may well have gained back the weight I thought she lost. I don't think she liked the food I was giving her, which might be why she was so insistent on the Greenies. She still wants them several times a day, but she is much calmer. I have also seen her eating from the regular food bowl more often. I think she is glad Spring is here as I have seen her do the crazy-assed kitten run through the house more than once. She still chases a laser-light. And she is hanging around downstairs more.

On the Spring front, on Saturday morning there were suddenly green buds in the backyard trees. This is still a startling sight to me. I now have ten shoots from my bulbs, although I did plant many more. I have more gardening to do. Perhaps I will be able to attend to that tomorrow. The bean shoots are growing along, too. 

I feel unsettled, my mind unsettled and a bit unfocussed. Perhaps that is due to overexposure to watching preschool programming for my research project. I am not particularly capable of concentrating on the other things I need to read, such as Summer Will Show, which is the next book group book, or even to finish Night and Day! Or perhaps this is a backlash from the rigorous reading schedule from the Fantasy/Sci Lit class.

As it is 11:00 pm, I do believe I should finish straightening up the kitchen and take myself to bed. 

Forsythia abounds.

Another quote from The Left Hand of Darkness. (Settle in folks, there are more where this came from.)

"For it seemed to me, and I think to him, that it was from the sexual tension between us, admitted now and understood, but not assuaged, that the great and sudden assurance of frienship between us rose: a friendship so needed by us both in our exile, and already so well proved in the days and nights of our bitter journey, that it might as well be called, now as later, love. But it was from the difference between us, not from the affinities and likenesses, but from the difference, that love came: and it was itself the bridge, the only bridge, across what divided us. For us to meet sexually would be for us to meet once more as aliens. We had touched, in the only way we could touch. We left it at that. I do not know if we were right."

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