I'm in much less pain from the guiche than I was this time yesterday. The healing is going well so far. No sign of infection. No regrets.
Spooky and I visited Fernbank yesterday (I did limp a bit) to see the new frog exhibit. That was nice, a brief respite from the Very Bad Day, even though much of the exhibit deals with the soaring extinction rate among frogs. But I already knew all that, about the recent mysterious disappearance of entire species and the role of UV light from the damaged ozone layer and so forth, so I was prepared for the downside.
I need to be writing, but, after yesterday, I need a little more time yet. It's a shame, because Sunday went so well, and I thought I was clear of the wall.
There were a couple of things I was going to write about today: Algernon Blackwood and the unfortunate way that contemporary fiction has been forced away from displays of earnestness; how annoyed and sick-unto-yacking I get over people who whine and whimper about how VNV Nation and hair extensions have "ruined goth," because, you know, Heaven forbid a scene should actually evolve, that it might be a very different, but equally valid thing in 2005 than it was in 1985. Stuff like that. But I'm not up to it now. Maybe later. It's actually warm outside, and I think I'd rather be out there than in here, snarking on LJ.