Had an interesting conversation at work on Friday. Which means had I been posting these on time, I couldn’t have posted it for Day 90 because that was on Thursday. But I’m indulging in creative license if it helps me not fall any farther behind on these, so there you go.
Anyway. Interesting conversation.
Egads, even farther behind… Oh, well. The last couple of days, for some reason, I felt really sleepy really early. I may not have gone to bed before 10PM, physically, but I think my brain did. ***rolls eyes***
Currently sitting in a Satanbucks (as one of my friends called it ages ago) but not on their wi-fi. It’s been a long time since I’ve used my phone as a tethered internet connection, but it’s why I bought the phone and the plan I did…on the day I drove away from my house for the last time. Last time in the sense it suddenly wasn’t mine anymore, anyway. But I’m sure I’ve mentioned all that before so I don’t want to repeat it. So. Sitting in Satanbucks, looking out the window at a construction site.
Oh, look! It’s a meme that became a blog post! I’ll be no one’s ever done that before!
(Except maybe me the last time I saw in interesting meme…)
I’ve mentioned before that I like fan fiction, a.k.a. fanfic. I haven’t read it all, of course, but between the recommendations that got me started and the various “bookmarks” — works enjoyed by the writers of the things I’ve enjoyed — I’ve followed down the literary rabbit hole, I’ve read a lot of really wonderful things.
I watched another video from the TEDxUNR event in January. Not because one of my friends linked to it, this time; it showed up in my feed because I’m following TEDxUniversityofNevada on the Book of Face. But the title caught me:
Psychological flexibility: How love turns pain into purpose. The presenter is Steven Hayes, a professor of psychology at the University of Nevada, and it is…well, both difficult and profound. Definitely worth the watch, though, so I’ll see you back here in 20, give or take a little.
A few days ago, someone on the Book of Face linked to this poem by Dorianne Laux, of whom I’d never heard. But I’m going to have to check into her work at the next disposition of disposable income (so to speak), because this…it speaks to me. Which strikes me as odd, since it’s about silence.
Going-away party last night. It was a lovely shindig at a very cool bar on the west side, not in the sense of trendy-cool but more because it had a welcoming atmosphere and offered very much not your average beverages. Even their well drinks were made with quality ingredients. None of which I can recall at the moment, except Evan Williams whiskey figured prominently in a few of them and that was the brand we had the most of at Fort Whiskey at Burning Man last year (and I wouldn’t doubt there will be a repeat this year, assuming we can all score tickets). And no, the lack of memory has nothing to do with how much I drank, as I had one bottle of Not Your Father’s Root Beer and then called it quits because a long bus ride while intoxicated sounded like not a whole lot of fun.
The person going away is one of the good friends I met while working at the physical therapy clinic in 2011. The one where I went to work one Sunday and when I tried to unlock the door, my key wouldn’t work. At which point I planned to call the owner and discovered Owner had called me, probably about the time I was pulling out of the driveway, to say “Don’t come in, plumbing problems.” And we had been told earlier in the week that homeless guy who camped out in the alley behind the building told the owner someone had been trying to get into the building the weekend before, so I didn’t really find the changed locks all that hard to believe.
By the time I got home, though, the merde had hit the fan.