“Would it kill them to put out a pound cake?”

man shoveling snow

We got a little snow recently, along with temperatures dipping below freezing at night.  It snowed, then rained, and snowed again making it crusty and cold outside presently.  I’ll admit, I do enjoy stepping out onto my balcony to create the delightful crunching sound by stepping on it.  It reminds me of when I was a child bundled up to play in the snow.  Moon boots crunching, ski pants swishing, ice skates clunking together as I made my way to the rink a few blocks away.

I love winter when I can control my exposure to the cold.  As a kid, I’d remain outside until chilblains forced me indoors.  Then I’d bawl while warming up in front of a heat register.  It was merely part of the deal and never led to shortening my fun to prevent it.  As a soldier in Germany, I despised the cold.  I never got the gas heater in my bivouac tent to work correctly.  The one time I managed to start it, I nearly burned up the tent.  🤭

I’ve been watching Netflix often lately.  The new Ellen special, Relatable, was fun.  I’m still hooked on Black Mirror.  I haven’t watched the new special episode yet, though.  I’m watching from the beginning, in order.  I’m weird like that.  I finished my third viewing of Game of Thrones, seasons 1-7 on Blu-ray recently.  I find bits I missed each time.  I read Fire & Blood by George R. R. Martin not long ago.  The history of the Targaryans is fascinating.

viewfinder

I’ve been working my way through Haruki Murakami’s catalog of novels since then.  The last I read was Killing Commendatore.  He’s officially one of my favorite authors.  I also read Skyward by Brandon Sanderson, and Salvation by Peter F. Hamilton.  They too are favorite authors, and I read everything they publish.  Both novels were fabulous, of course.  I love how Peter F. Hamilton created people with more than one gender, and always includes multiple races in his futuristic books, (an essential factor in what I choose to read.)  I love space operas.

drum kit

My band covered a few Sheryl Crow songs in a recent performance.  Maybe Angels, and Sweet Rosalyn, both from her self titled album.  Even thinking about it now has me grinning.  It was an incredible experience.  We still don’t have an official band name.  We’ve been making one up before each show, (not that there have been many.)  I hope this practice continues since it’s wicked fun.  I secretly don’t care if we call the band Unicorn Poop, or whatever.  It’s the best reason to leave my apartment I can imagine.

Aside from the upcoming Fleetwood Mac concert, that is.  The closer the date, the more excited I become.  I lay in bed last night thinking about it while consciously tempering my expectations.  Shit happens, so I don’t want to set myself up by anticipating too profoundly.  No matter what happens, the band exists, and their songs are part of the soundtrack of my life.  I can celebrate this anytime.  The concert is icing on a delicious cake.  Yay.  ✌🏾💜

“Sleep is separate from that.”

Sleepy kitty

I need to focus on my sleep issues.  I haven’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours in a row this week.  While it’s enough to function, it’s not enough to interact with other people.  I lost count of how many times I’ve completely misunderstood what others were saying in the last two days alone.

I feel like I’ve been speaking English and everyone else is speaking Mandarin.  Only it’s worse because I don’t realize they’re not using English (in real time.)  My balance is wonky, too.  I slipped on some ice during my run this morning, and now I’m sporting road rash on my chin.  I didn’t even get to do the precarious dance first; just face planted.

Fortunately, I have clear band-aids.  Fabulous invention.  Now people who aren’t the shade so rudely referred to as flesh tone don’t have to announce their injuries from across the room.  Yay.  I reread Animal Farm by George Orwell last night.  Now I’m reading The Descendents, by Kaui Hart Hemmings.  It’s fascinating so far.  Next, I’m going to look for my copy of Watership Down by Richard Adams.

I thought I was going to stick with women authors this year, but it didn’t work out.  Plus, John Scalzi has a book release soon.  I did read lots of novels by Octavia Spencer and Ursula LeGuin, but then I decided gender is irrelevant in authors.  Women authors don’t write more gently, as I anticipated.

I built a soundproof chamber for Amelia Bedelia.  She loves it.  I can get in up to my shoulders, and it’s fabulous.  I’m fascinated by my cat’s personality.  When she’s in her chamber, she wants to be alone.  If I acknowledge her in any way while she’s chilling in there, she bites me.  That’s a stern, “no.”  Heh.

I ordered DirecTV Now (because M. had a cow.)  I didn’t realize I was an asshole for canceling cable without discussing it with him first.  It seems to be superior to Playstation Vue, and I discovered I get free HBO for life (not sure whose) for being an AT&T wireless customer.  Yay.  Sony rearranged which channels go with which tier, and the options suck.  It’s tailored to Fox News watching sports lovers.  Hard pass.

We’re watching Gattaca tonight.  It’s one of my favorite films.  M. hasn’t seen it yet.  I think he’ll enjoy it, too.  I’m off to make the popcorn.

movie night popcorn