|01:00 pm - a day late|
Friday is not that far from Thursday, right? ::shrug::
I put my journal style back to the old way, and find myself much happier about it. The compose page still looks funky to me, but I suppose I will adjust. Or some afternoon when I have reached the upper threshold of frustration I will make an effort to figure out how to change it. The constant battle of entropy vs. lack of energy.
Gallbladders are treacherous things. I had mine out when I had the gastric bypass surgery; Iain (M) Banks announced last week that his has given him terminal cancer. He is one of my two favorite authors and the news has been a blow to me. I've never met him; likely never will now (though chances were nano-sized prior, so nothing has changed) but through his work he strikes me as one of those few sort of soul-mates. Enough so that I would almost be afraid to meet him, in case I was wrong - but would do it anyway, in case I was right. It's that conundrum that always floors me with art, that someone who is an utter stranger could touch my life so deeply, seem to see inside my head. And ultimately not know me from whoever.
Still and all, I'm here to record, since it's what I can do, what I do do. I'd be happier if I was better at getting more of it down, but there it is. I do what I can with what I've got.