At the moment I'm reading The Wayfinders Why Ancient Wisdom Matters in the Modern World by Wade Davis. Very long-winded title, but appropriate since it's a lecture series, really, rather than a book. Very interesting. I just finished The Stars My Destination (yes, okay also known as Tiger! Tiger!) by Alfred Bester ("...for tin crumbles to dust in the absolute zero of space."), one of my favourite novels for the moment.
At the back of my copy is a little blurb from Neil Gaiman (is it just me or does he turn up everywhere?); apparently Alfie Bester bequeathed his estate to his favourite bartender. Who knew? Well, apparently lots of people, but Wikipedia was strangely reticent about the fact. Because I like conspiracy theories, even small ones, I'm going with no-one wanting to mention that he drank. A Lot. Towards the End.
In the way of wiki, that led me on to Babylon 5's Alfred Bester. For some reason, although he's played by Walter Koenig, still recognisably Chekov, the character keeps morphing in my brain into Bilis from Torchwood season 1 (Captain Jack Harkness/End of Days).
The mind is strange. Mine, anyway.
As predicted, I've done less than I hoped to do in the house-clean-keeping stakes, but then, I also made Yorkshire puddings with dinner tonight, so I'm not too bummed. The boys are keeping well. And I predict, since I've come in to work and there were puddings left over, over-fed.
Anything else to report? No not really. I've taken to braiding my hair again. Isn't that a bottom-of-the-barrel mention?
My head is all over (the braid isn't long enough to hold it in place), partly due to my reading habits lately, because nothing messes around with my inner life than compelling science fiction - slideshows of the Spanish Stairs, a space-yacht and the commercial dynasties of the world persisting into the future ad infinitum as a ridiculous upper class - the exhilaration is marvellous, though the spontaneous giggles are off-putting for passersby.
The rest of the slideshows currently running (come visit my head, bring your own popcorn and please be tidy) are intercuts between two short stories that are not written yet. Probably if I did the work instead of thinking about it, things would proceed swimmingly, but again I'm caught in the conundrums of far too much to do half the time, and little motivation for things other than sleep the rest. And the boys have been home. And I'm sure I can think of more excuses if I try only a little. If I try really, really hard, my head might pop.
I normally drink about a litre of water on my shifts these days. The tea room is right next door! There is nice water! There are no comfortable chairs! Count them, zero. Really. No comfortable chairs in a tea room. I'd bring in my own, but it's a bit big to be carting around. It probably doesn't comply with OH&S requirements either. Frankly the thought of doing a risk assessment on a comfy chair doesn't float my boat. It does boggle my mind, however. The Spanish Stairs must be wearing off.
I have no idea where I was going with that. I had to stop and do some work (that is, after all, what they pay me for); marvellous for breaking the concentration.
Anyhoo, as I wasn't saying, I was thinking of doing something postgraduate. I found a couple of master's programs (not the "he knocks four times" Master, but the- oh, you know), that looked pretty interesting. I think it was either Charles Sturt or UNE that had an MA with a non-MA component. I was thinking of doing the "Arts" requirements and then picking up either maths, IT or pathology subjects to fill it out. That would be interesting. Then I looked at the cost. Which didn't bother me, per subject; I could always do the units I wanted without an award at the end. I'm a grownup, I can do whatever I want. Then I saw a disclaimer on one of the websites saying "you must balance the expected career benefits against the cost of this course". Consider me paused. I think I'll just muddle along without, thanks.
Speaking of he knocks four times, back to the science fiction, what the hell was up with those episodes? Flying death's head. Green light things. Ay? Tim Dalton as evil Time Lord, kinda nifty.
No idea where I was going with that either, except the boys are having the Doctor Who Bonanza (all seasons and specials now available in my iTunes library! Go nuts, boys!). Me, not so much, although I did make them sit through "Midnight", my favourite creepy Doctor Who after "Blink".
Much, much later than the above, that will teach me to think it was going to be a really quiet night. You know it's bad when you start growling every time the phone rings. Although people who know me are remembering the number of times I've been caught swearing whenever the phone rings at work. The only thing that mortifies me is that I'm not all that creative in my swearing, generally it's {expletive} off and then I answer the phone. Pick an expletive, I don't always go on about fornication.
Not everything is about sex. Including sex. Apparently.
