I posted something last night, then noticed this morning it wasn’t there, because I got a confirmation screen asking if I were sure I wanted to post. I have never seen that before, and I hope not to see it again. What idiot programmed that in?
Bought from (gosh, I never know how to refer to lj users) here, also etsy. I have to frame them and then actually put up all the framed art I have sitting on the floor. But I know exactly where I will put them. (Though I occasionally consider putting them in the office instead of the bedroom.)
Eat your heart out, PZ.
I suggested a book at the library, assuming they’d never bother with it — I suggest a few dozen books a year, and mostly I get the ones that everyone suggests, the Alice Munro, the Margaret Atwood, the Ruth Rendell. (I suggest these because then I am automagically put on the hold list when they do get the books.) This one is a fantasy book, so I was sure they wouldn’t buy it. But they did (and shelved it — weirdly — in fiction, probably because people read books that are fiction but not fantasy — everything that’s not explicitly about future worlds or space travel (and a lot that is) seems to be put in fiction).
The book is Kit Whitfield’s Benighted, a mystery, I think, in a world where most people are werewolves. I know, it sounds horrible, but it’s incredibly engaging — I am riveted, more than usual by a book, I can barely put it down. (I am about halfway through it; I started it late this afternoon.) It’s sad, so far; the world is sad and horrible, the social issues are divisive, the people are unintentionally cruel. (In this, it reminds me a bit of China Mieville’s work.) And yet, it’s mesmerising.
I don’t know if I’ll blog this book once I’m done (I’ve more or less stopped blogging books, which I called blooking at first: good word!). But I will absolutely remember — and recommend — it.
So, I go out, or interact with people in any way, and I am fine. Well, fine on the outside, but that is a kind of fine. Sometimes, depending who I’m with, I think in advance it would be nice to say something — but I don’t. And that’s fine, because there’s something healthy about faking happy, in that for a bit I really am happy during these fakes. But it’s not fine, in another way, because it’s fake, sort of.
The real problem is how exhausted I am after. Or maybe that’s the best part, I’m not sure. I sleep a lot, but I don’t end up thinking. I hate thinking. Sleeping has been deep, heavy — I don’t wake up rested. It feels like falling into something dark and deep and soft and cold.
I want to post more substantively, but all I get stuck with in my brain is hearing me tell myself how terrible a person I am and I’m thinking, maybe not a good idea to record for all posterity.
But I cannot decide, is it worse saying it, again and again, or keeping it in, and trying (and failing) to act like it’s not a problem, like everything’s fine, great, just fucking ducky.
It is of course not fine or great or even the slightest bit ducky.
But I’m not sure what the it is, that is (or in this case isn’t) okay. Or maybe I am sure and don’t want to accept it, or acknowledge it, or something it.
I’m sick, sure, and it’s real, I have a temperature which is a real, verifiable symptom. But it’s not, I think, really caused by a virus or bacterium (or a lot of them). It’s caused by the huge fucking morass of self-hatred that I am mired in again, again and always and I can’t do anything, and I hate myself for not doing things, and because I hate myself I am even less able to do anything, and what is the point of writing or caring or anything at all?
No point. None.
Last night I made black bean soup, because I had bought the stuff and I figured, hey, a good time to make food is when you’re sick. Yes, I’m generally sane like that. I don’t like soup, generally, but this one is thick enough that it’s acceptable. (I also eat: potato and leek soup. Keep your cream of whatevers and broths away from me, though.)
1 med onion chopped
4 cloves garlic minced
1 T cumin
2 T oil
3 16 oz cans black beans, undrained
1 1/2 c chicken broth
3 c salsa
2 T lime juice
heat onion, garlic, cumin in oil till tender ~3 min
puree black beans and salsa (or just the beans, or just 2 cans of beans, depending on how smooth you like the soup)
mix with broth
stir everything with onions - 30 min
The heat is very low, but my place is too warm. Too warm! It’s -17 out. My heat is on at 15 or so. I am not complaining, however, just puzzled.
Update: yet again, I enter into a tropical paradise. The heat is currently off.
As I won’t be getting any valentines. Be nice.
I didn’t know how far apart NY and Seattle were. I estimated it based on my memory of the astronaut drive.
