The Next to the Last Day of the Year (152)
A weird fucking day.
It began sunny, but then clouds moved in. Because of the clouds, we only reached 65˚F.
So back in November, concerned about all the psychoactive meds that I'm on, concerned about the possibility of early onset dementia/Alzheimer's, I met with a psychiatrist and took a battery of tests that included the Stanford-Binet and CogAT IQ tests. I last took the Standfort-Binet in college, and I'd never taken the CogAT. My old score on the former was 149, of which I was very proud. However, my score from November? It was 174, with a 9 on the CogAT. At these scores, people no longer quibble over the use of the G word. Anyway, this led to a series of odd reactions on my part. Sure, cool. An, at least for the moment, no signs of dementia, though the increased risk remains. But...it's kind of horribly depressing learning this stuff at 58 going on 59. But there's not much point belaboring this. Anyway, out of curiosity, with these results in hand, on a lark, I applied for membership in both Mensa and Intertel. Today I learned I was approved for both. However, I seriously doubt I will actually join either. At best, they're ego boosts, and I have dues to be paid to actual professional organizations, the Society of Vertebrate Paleontology and the American Society of Herpetologists and Ichthyologists. It would be frivolous, and, too, I learned many years ago that a lot of smart people actually look askance at people who bother joining Mensa. Something about it just screams doofus.
So, yeah. My weird day.
And, honestly, I'd just like the opportunity to retire from fiction writing soonish and devote how many years I have left to paleontology (for which no one will ever pay me). My mom retired from editing when she was 55 years old. I will retire when I drop dead, and I will likely be sitting at this keyboard when it happens.
Tomorrow, on New Year's Eve (I note), I desperately need to begin a new story. I sat here today making notes for a story dealing, at least in part, with the horror I feel at the thought of the Christian afterlife and the mind-numbing boredom that would surely set in after only a few years of it. An afterlife rebellion against all that perpetual worship and the singing of praises and whatever. What if you wanted mortality back, to restore meaning to existence? So, notes.
And I spoke briefly with Mike P. about mosasaur stuff.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
4:26 p.m.
It began sunny, but then clouds moved in. Because of the clouds, we only reached 65˚F.
So back in November, concerned about all the psychoactive meds that I'm on, concerned about the possibility of early onset dementia/Alzheimer's, I met with a psychiatrist and took a battery of tests that included the Stanford-Binet and CogAT IQ tests. I last took the Standfort-Binet in college, and I'd never taken the CogAT. My old score on the former was 149, of which I was very proud. However, my score from November? It was 174, with a 9 on the CogAT. At these scores, people no longer quibble over the use of the G word. Anyway, this led to a series of odd reactions on my part. Sure, cool. An, at least for the moment, no signs of dementia, though the increased risk remains. But...it's kind of horribly depressing learning this stuff at 58 going on 59. But there's not much point belaboring this. Anyway, out of curiosity, with these results in hand, on a lark, I applied for membership in both Mensa and Intertel. Today I learned I was approved for both. However, I seriously doubt I will actually join either. At best, they're ego boosts, and I have dues to be paid to actual professional organizations, the Society of Vertebrate Paleontology and the American Society of Herpetologists and Ichthyologists. It would be frivolous, and, too, I learned many years ago that a lot of smart people actually look askance at people who bother joining Mensa. Something about it just screams doofus.
So, yeah. My weird day.
And, honestly, I'd just like the opportunity to retire from fiction writing soonish and devote how many years I have left to paleontology (for which no one will ever pay me). My mom retired from editing when she was 55 years old. I will retire when I drop dead, and I will likely be sitting at this keyboard when it happens.
Tomorrow, on New Year's Eve (I note), I desperately need to begin a new story. I sat here today making notes for a story dealing, at least in part, with the horror I feel at the thought of the Christian afterlife and the mind-numbing boredom that would surely set in after only a few years of it. An afterlife rebellion against all that perpetual worship and the singing of praises and whatever. What if you wanted mortality back, to restore meaning to existence? So, notes.
And I spoke briefly with Mike P. about mosasaur stuff.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
4:26 p.m.