23 October 2005

Mark is only home until tomorrow morning, and then he's gone again. Two weeks in a row of business trip is for the birds. I mean, we'll deal with what we need to deal with, but this is not my idea of a good time.

Ista, on the other hand, is having a blast driving the birds nuts in the backyard, and has no idea that Mark is leaving again tomorrow or that she's going in to get spayed. Ignorance, bliss, you know the drill. She is also deeply offended by the presence of a U-Haul two houses down. She can see it from her favorite spot in Mark's office, perched on the guest bed; if I close that door, she can see it from the library windows if she wiggles in behind the futon. Because she knows it's there, and she can't resist looking.

I'm in the middle of Dorothy Dunnett's The Unicorn Hunt, which has just taken a small turn into woowoo. That is, I hope it's small. The series is eight books long, so there's plenty of room for it to go entirely woowoo on me. I hope it doesn't. I was doing fine with all historical-ish stuff, and I don't have a lot of faith in her handling of extra speculative or quasi-speculative elements. This may be misplaced, as she's pulled off a heck of a lot for me before.

I am in that weird stage of tired where I'm restless, trying to do too many things at once. I get into this mood when the choice turns out to be running around or falling over, and I'm not convinced that falling over isn't the wiser of the two when it starts to come down to that. My shoulder still aches from where I fell down half the flight of stairs last night, so my big piece of wisdom for you for the day is: do not fall down stairs. Do not count on it only being half of them to save you. It will probably be better than if you fell down all of them, but still, it stinks.

Aren't you glad you came by to read that particular gem? Yah, me, too.