March 30th, 2013

Shaw

"C'mon, baby. C'mon, darling. Let me steal this moment from you now."

It's almost impossible to believe that Nirvana is "old music." But a child born on the day that Kurt Cobain died would now be almost twenty. That is some fucked up shit.

And I am no longer young, and never more shall be.

On Wednesday, I wrote 1,132 words on Chapter Six of Red Delicious.

On Thursday, I did another 1,243 words.

And on Friday, 1,984.

Today, I have to try and avoid a deus ex machina, which seem to annoy some people (but not me). A small concession to my readers. The device was good enough for Eupripides, William Golding, and Vladimir Nabokov, it's good enough for me. Standing on the shoulders of giants.

Anyway, yesterday was a very productive day, indeed. Tautology: Productive days are productive. True fact. Oh, I could go on like that all day. I won't. So, breathe a sigh of relief, future Caitlín. Remember this day, beyond these words triggering this small recollection? No? It's for the best. Regardless, yesterday was warm enough, even if you do not recollect, that I as able to open the window – which meant also opening the storm window – in my office – a couple of inches for the first time since October and Sandy. The mercury climbed to a balmy 59˚F. Today, most high fifties. This keeps up, on Monday I'm giving the deadlines the middle finger and heading to these sea (where it will, of course, be a good 10˚ cooler). It was so good to smell clean air. The atmosphere of this house has grown so stagnant and foul, I do not know how Kathryn and I and the cats have not perished by suffocation. I took a photo of the opened (just barely, mind you) window, which led to my taking a whole series of odd office photos (behind the cut, below). Remember this office, future Caitlín? No? Well, don't feel bad. Mostly gaming, the past few nights. Oh, and this is going to be a paragraph that gives not one wit about the proper construction of paragraphs. But last night, after Kid Night pizza, we watched the first three episodes of Season Two of The Walking Dead. Very good. We were both impressed at how rattled it left us. We are, after all, a rather jaded pair. Night before night before last, I finally finished Jenny Woolf's astoundingly dry The Mystery of Lewis Carroll (biography), and on Thursday night began Richard Ellis' Singing Whales and Flying Squid: The Discovery of Marine Life.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Future Catlín, do you remember eBay?

And now, snapshot of my office (some too dark, some grainy, at least one out of focus; you get what you pay for):

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From the Past,
Aunt Beast