Nov. 14th, 2019

I always forget to talk about reading on Wednesday, which apparently is the appropriate day. I finished "All Systems Red," and now I need to read the rest of the Murderbot diaries. I read The Forbidden Stars by Tim Pratt, who was Principal Speaker at Philcon, on the plane. It's adventurous, competent, fast-moving, but I just wasn't feelin' it. However, I decided to forgive it for not being more than it was, because it gave me something to do while sandwiched in next to a stranger on an uncomfortable flight home. That's the nature of pulp fiction and its heirs, after all.

This morning, my sleep streak ended with a thump when I woke up at 5, had a thought, and then that thought led to a whole cascade of thoughts that weren't very pleasant. I gave up and went downstairs. I tried to start Red Moon by Kim Stanley Robinson, but I couldn't really get into that, either. His characters in this one bothered me. The one I liked best and was most intrigued by wasn't a protagonist. I ended up reading big chunks of it in sort of a delirious random fashion. I assume it will be a trilogy or something because of the way it ended. I think it's interesting that I cared much more about Murderbot as a character than either Xi or Fred in Red Moon, or any of the people in The Forbidden Stars. Then I ripped through a stack of mail and other papers that needed to be sorted and recycled. Then the Sparrowhawk got up and gave me some tea, and then I took a nap that lasted till noon. Hence, my day was all bollixed up and not as planned.

Later, I went for a walk--cold, dark--played the violin, meditated, and did a few dishes. I also did a little bit of writing. Even if it's only a few paragraphs, it makes me feel better. The waterproofers were supposed to come back today to check on a leak and reconnect our washer and dryer. We have now been two weeks without a washing machine. I found out I have more clothes than I thought I did. The Sparrowhawk is running out of things, though. I probably would be too, but it's winter, so I don't sweat much. The Sparrowhawk actually went so far as to call them up, and I heard him say rather severely "This is not acceptable." That's a level of harsh that he doesn't usually go to. They said they'd come tomorrow . . . probably. I hope they do. I'd like to put my basement back together and wash my clothes.

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