Yesterday, I didn't get much done in the way of work. I was still trying to deal with shit from Tuesday, from the thoughtless actions of acquaintances and the consequences thereof. I'll be deal with that shit for a while. Echoes and ripples. But I did leave the house yesterday for the first time since January 11th, the day I learned David Bowie had died. But I was careful and kept my head down. I didn't look at the sky even once.
The mail brought two copies of The Weird Fiction Review #6, the one with the Sgt. Pepper's-inspired cover. There's contents of this issue includes "Science and Mystery in the Works of Caitlín R. Kiernan," by James Goho. It's disquieting, I will admit, the way that I'm beginning to see literary analyses of my work being published.
Last night, we watched the first six episodes of a truly bizarre reality show, The Quest, because we were bored and they were free to stream from Netflix. Wikipedia describes it this way: Twelve people compete in a reality competition that takes place against the backdrop of a high fantasy setting, the kingdom of Everealm. While the ongoing storyline is scripted and the contestants are interacting with actors throughout the competition, the actual challenges and eliminations are genuine and determined by the contestants' abilities and decisions. It could have been much better than it is, but it's oddly amusing, regardless. I gather there was no second season, though TV critics seemed to have liked it (remember your ultimate irrelevance, oh ye Mighty Reviewers). Night before last, we saw the end of Season 7 of That 70's Show. Which felt to me like the end of the series. Yes, we're watching a lot of crap. These days, that's about all I'm up for.
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