|photo by green ant|
I really want to go to bed. I somehow I got my blogger set for the Australian clock, so I don’t know what time the system claims I’m writing this. Here however, it’s late night.
Writers must write though.
I sent out my heavy story. I think it’s good. Maybe in two months I won't. In any case, now other people have to judge it. The most unfun part of hopeful publication. However without gatekeepers, no ones going to want to spend time reading anything and literature becomes a vast unlooked at twitter, so as a gray day’s rain keeps us from dying in a desert, editors have their place too.
I ate baked penne at an Italian restaurant for lunch and salad for dinner to try to balance it out. I know it won’t and my health will suffer, but just for a day or so.
Nothing really great has happened. I just have bits and chit chat to inform you. Maybe I should review a book or something, before everyone runs away.
It’s cold, but the sun’s coming back, days getting longer, slowly but surely. I haven’t gotten the winter blues this year. Well, maybe light blues, not falling into despair, but a kind of permanent annoyance. No one wants to comfort me. They kind of want to give me the third finger. I can’t really blame them. The consequences of being obnoxious, but not truly depressed.
Roe puts up with me, so I’m happy enough and I can reign things in to the extent various baristas enjoy my company, while I wait for my iced tea: which is good, but makes me colder.
I have food and shelter, so now I should be busy seeking the top of Maslow’s self-actualization pyramid instead of sitting around. Maslow would be very disappointed if he knew or maybe being self-actualized, he wouldn’t care.