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A routine entry, so long as Griff is taking it upon himself to impose this discipline upon me...
Snip still dry since last mention of same; is dropcloth-and-cleanliness regimen beginning to have an effect? Keeping fingers crossed. Haven't consulted vet yet, but online research suggests that peeing in beds specifically is generally a stress reaction and has several avenues of therapy open to it. Liver-flavored Prozac, anyone...?
Went to the beach yesterday. Our tiny studio runs us about $2/sq.ft., which would be scandalous even if the management were keeping more on top of things than they do, but it does have the irresistable attraction of having 1/5 of the world's largest freshwater reserve as its backyard, which almost makes up for the price and the dubious and dull neighborhood around it. Almost.
It's tall-ships time, and a clipper was sailing down towards the pier, way out on the horizon; this is what the lakes must have looked like, back in the days when they were a major shipping route. Magnificent sight with the sails all lit up in the afternoon sunlight, I must use this image somewhere... We may venture down to see the ships this weekend, since we'll be run out by the JazzFest anyway and we need to think of things to do. (We keep saying, this year we'll move before the JazzFest, but so far we haven't got round to it. It's a horrible thing to have camped out in your front yard, can't hear each other, can't hear TV, can't hear yourself think, and worst sin of all in this neighborhood it eats up precious parking even as it brings in an influx of visitors. Even if I didn't find jazz more physically painful than fingernails on a blackboard I'd still be put out...)
Also this weekend is a Lammas observation on the beach. I suppose there's no reason not to go, since I don't even need to put on real shoes to get there... must remember to tell them they'll need to bring a rake, whatever the Park District's been up to out there has left the sand very pebbly this year. For myself I'm more of an agnostic than anything (I think that if there is anything beyond us "out there" we'd be inherently incapable of understanding it anyway so there's not much point in us sitting around guessing about it and fighting over who's "right") but I do find that I enjoy hanging about with pagans/nontraditional-religious types socially, because by and large they seem more open to the life of the imagination and they don't look at you like you go around eating babies if you admit to having questions about The Way Things Are Done Around Here. Or that you read. Especially that you read. Or worse, that you write. I have relatives that I'm not sure I can ever show my work to even when I get Published, for fear they'll try to burn me at the stake. (Of course, they already want to burn me for being a Democrat, so it's not as if we're close to begin with.)
Actual work done this week: nil. Mum is on sheet 94 of 122 single-spaced/2up'ed pages of printout, though, so perhaps by this weekend or so I will have the hardcopy back to start scribbling on. I want to have this thing out making the rounds before another winter sets in... I began work October 24 2001, though (at least this is what Griff believes about it, and he's probably at least close), so I suppose I'm doing quite well to have this complete of a draft already despite the delays.
Also I got the entry for the CTA project completed and mailed off, so that's something accomplished anyway.
Snip still dry since last mention of same; is dropcloth-and-cleanliness regimen beginning to have an effect? Keeping fingers crossed. Haven't consulted vet yet, but online research suggests that peeing in beds specifically is generally a stress reaction and has several avenues of therapy open to it. Liver-flavored Prozac, anyone...?
Went to the beach yesterday. Our tiny studio runs us about $2/sq.ft., which would be scandalous even if the management were keeping more on top of things than they do, but it does have the irresistable attraction of having 1/5 of the world's largest freshwater reserve as its backyard, which almost makes up for the price and the dubious and dull neighborhood around it. Almost.
It's tall-ships time, and a clipper was sailing down towards the pier, way out on the horizon; this is what the lakes must have looked like, back in the days when they were a major shipping route. Magnificent sight with the sails all lit up in the afternoon sunlight, I must use this image somewhere... We may venture down to see the ships this weekend, since we'll be run out by the JazzFest anyway and we need to think of things to do. (We keep saying, this year we'll move before the JazzFest, but so far we haven't got round to it. It's a horrible thing to have camped out in your front yard, can't hear each other, can't hear TV, can't hear yourself think, and worst sin of all in this neighborhood it eats up precious parking even as it brings in an influx of visitors. Even if I didn't find jazz more physically painful than fingernails on a blackboard I'd still be put out...)
Also this weekend is a Lammas observation on the beach. I suppose there's no reason not to go, since I don't even need to put on real shoes to get there... must remember to tell them they'll need to bring a rake, whatever the Park District's been up to out there has left the sand very pebbly this year. For myself I'm more of an agnostic than anything (I think that if there is anything beyond us "out there" we'd be inherently incapable of understanding it anyway so there's not much point in us sitting around guessing about it and fighting over who's "right") but I do find that I enjoy hanging about with pagans/nontraditional-religious types socially, because by and large they seem more open to the life of the imagination and they don't look at you like you go around eating babies if you admit to having questions about The Way Things Are Done Around Here. Or that you read. Especially that you read. Or worse, that you write. I have relatives that I'm not sure I can ever show my work to even when I get Published, for fear they'll try to burn me at the stake. (Of course, they already want to burn me for being a Democrat, so it's not as if we're close to begin with.)
Actual work done this week: nil. Mum is on sheet 94 of 122 single-spaced/2up'ed pages of printout, though, so perhaps by this weekend or so I will have the hardcopy back to start scribbling on. I want to have this thing out making the rounds before another winter sets in... I began work October 24 2001, though (at least this is what Griff believes about it, and he's probably at least close), so I suppose I'm doing quite well to have this complete of a draft already despite the delays.
Also I got the entry for the CTA project completed and mailed off, so that's something accomplished anyway.