I love it when my library requests come in on a Friday, especially this Friday with the threat of power outages looming. No power necessary for these babies!
So far, I only got stuck in a little bit of storm, walking home from my bus stop. I was surprised by how much some of the streets in my neighborhood have already flooded. But I have enough food and supplies to last me through the weekend so don’t worry about me!
Writing from: my study in stormy Portland, Oregon. Listening to: rain, rain, rain.
I worked the late shift tonight, so I drove FunkyPlaid’s swank car to and fro, which cut my commute time by two-thirds plus I got to belt out ’80s tunes. Not bad at all.
I’m savoring a bedtime cuppa while perusing a few different ebooks that I had requested that are all available at once. I downloaded but never got into Erin Morgenstern’s “The Night Circus” so I’ll switch to M.L. Stedman’s “The Light Between Oceans” for now. And then I wanted to re-read Octavia Butler’s “Kindred” and there’s the new essay collection by Mary Oliver, “Upstream” … ah, books.
Writing from: my study in Portland, Oregon. Listening to: “Mirror Lake” by Angus MacRae.
I suppose it was due to happen: I had a low-health day today, and spent part of it resting and reading Manuel Gonzales’ “The Regional Office Is Under Attack!” I picked it up at the library because Kelly Link blurbed it, and her stories are some of my favorites.
I was not misled. This book is so much fun, and also heartbreaking, and also weird. Pretty much exactly the type of story I want to write.
Writing from: my study in Portland. Listening to: the last of “Prison Break”. That final season was a slog. I am now officially skeptical about the reboot.
Books on management and productivity tend to leave me cold, but so far I am enjoying Victor Lipman’s “The Type B Manager: Leading Successfully in a Type A World”, especially the following sentence:
The core qualities of the Type B manager — including calmness, thoughtfulness, and patience — are qualities that people find easy to work with.
What about the absurd sense of humor and off-kilter fashion sense? I hope the author doesn’t forget those.
Tell me about your favorite manager.
Writing from: my study. Listening to: “Looped” by Kiasmos.
Every few months I do that thing where I attempt to restrict myself to reading only one book at a time and that lasts exactly four seconds because I work in a library.
I’m pretty jazzed about my currently-reading pile right now, which has plenty of interesting non-fiction plus two novels I am very excited about: “Forest of Memory” by Mary Robinette Kowal and “The Giant Smugglers” by Matt Solomon and Chris Pauls.
Writing from: my study. Listening to: FunkyPlaid puttering about. Yes, FunkyPlaid came home today!
Howdy, strangers! I forgot (again) how quickly these pile up when I run out of energy before I can post them each day. I will have to figure out another schedule. But here are some glimpses of the past week or so, plus a throwback photo my mom sent because last Wednesday I fell asleep before remembering to take a picture.
Day 176 of Project 365: Revamping the to-do list.
Day 177 of Project 365: To read.
Day 178 of Project 365: At the nursery.
Day 179 of Project 365: Tofu curry.
Day 180 of Project 365: Free ride.
Day 181 of Project 365: Back in time.
Day 182 of Project 365: Ripped.
Day 183 of Project 365: Works best.
Pretty much every workday starts out great and ends up with me being the tiredest person to ever tire. Weekends are spent catching up, and by “catching up” I mean “sitting quietly and not talking for hours at a time.” Ah, introversion.
Getting into better physical shape will help with the exhaustion, at least, so I will have to start psyching myself up to work out in the evenings because I don’t see myself waking up at 5am to do it. I mean, I can see myself waking up at 5am. Then I can see myself gleefully flinging the alarm clock across the room and sleeping another 12 hours.
Now I’m off to read “Broken Monsters” by Lauren Beukes which is super-creepy and not at all appropriate bedtime reading. Walking on the wild side over here. Try and keep up.
Writing from: my messy study. Listening to: “Slip” by Elliot Moss.
We visited my new workplace today and I took a shelfie featuring one of my favorite authors.
Writing from: the living room. Listening to: the first season of “The I.T. Crowd”. Richmond! ❤️
Books, books, books. Sometimes I get so excited about my currently-reading shelf that I have to share it!
Not pictured are two ebooks in progress, Ron Chernow’s Alexander Hamilton and Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin. (Psst, this is your friendly reminder that your local public library also lends ebooks!)
Tell me about what you’re reading right now.
Writing from: my study. Listening to “Mood Indigo” by Ella Fitzgerald.
After running errands downtown, FunkyPlaid and I went to Powell’s City of Books simply because we could. Now that we live only a short drive away, it will be difficult not to end up there.
Jorge Luis Borges’ quotation comes to mind:
“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.”
O, of course I bought a book: a used copy of Samuel R. Delany’s “Dhalgren”, a groovy mass-market paperback edition from 1978.
I’ve received a few other books as gifts over the past couple of weeks, but I am saving them for their own posts. (Cheating? Maybe.)
Writing from: my makeshift study in the dining-room. Listening to: “Happy Idiot” by TV on the Radio.
“Snow!” screamed the child in the street. I glanced out at our garden and saw the wet flakes glopping down. They wouldn’t stick. They didn’t last. Magical all the same.
I’ve fancied myself a minimalist before, although you wouldn’t know it for all the things I have accumulated, spread out across continents. Objects loom larger in memory, just like the they do in the mirror’s warning, pulsing with intention: a small leather notebook in a basement, a grandfather clock in a storage unit, a doll-house in an attic.
Some books reached escape velocity today, trajectories burning off into used bookstores. My face was wet before the snow began; I had sold off my children to the perennially unimpressed. So they’re no longer mine, and not yet someone else’s. Frozen above, puddles below, and something magical and misunderstood in between.
Writing from: a drowsy lounge in Edinburgh. Listening to: “The Glass Shelter and the View” by Seas of Years.