Perhaps I ought seize more of the moment.

I'm a bit snowed under with research projects and work right now: several stacks of reading material on my desk, my computers constantly buzzing, moving swiftly from one place to another with little time to breathe. It means I enjoy every minute that I get when I return home, even if it's late, even if it's working on more little projects and smoothing things together--I like to watch something more than the sum of its parts arise from the parts themselves. I like reducing everything to all of its little parts even more, but only because there's a kind of equilibrium, the ability to vacillate back and forth.

I am passionately, happily involved in my own little world of books and research, and the frequent moves and changes and new faces just introduce me to even more concepts. Lay archaeoastronomers; computer engineers with a taste for environmental science; amateur linguists who speak twelve languages and yet remain content to stay hidden in a cubicle somewhere, if only because it allows them the headspace to learn more; eager, voracious students of the world ...

Often I'm asked, directly or indirectly, if I don't ever want more than that--and perhaps I ought to, perhaps this constant engagement in the world around me and the world within is just a form of intellectual denial. It never really crosses my mind to take certain risks, though--why, I don't know. I've taken every other risk in the book. For everything I've pursued, there are some things I just don't, and maybe it's time to change that. How, I don't yet know. But it's not like you get a dress rehearsal for life, so I'm going to find out whether or not the outcome is a 'good' one.

Where is my other shoe???

p.s. About ten minutes ago I was running around fretting, "Where is my other foot?" before I realised what I was saying ... which is about the only the reason why I am even posting this.

Scott's become very old--in saying that I suppose I've become very old as well. He turned up in the ragtag reunion concert band that I was rehearsing with (performance on Tuesday--I get the flute solos. Hm) playing the tuba, and it was all, gosh, you taught mathematics me ten years ago and it's been ten years and you still remember my name.

He remembers that I was the one who got 99% on a math test because I insisted that if one (the 'you' in this equation--yes, you were paying) buys a pizza for each of their sixteen friends, they should really get one for themselves as well--so seventeen pizzas, I calculated with, not sixteen. The rest of my mathematical logic was flawless, but the numbers were wrong. We were dealing with an altruistic pizza buyer, a generous 'you', apparently.

I still tried to argue for the extra pizza because if you were really going to spend that much on pizza, what else were you going to do? Sit around and be hungry while everyone ate their pizza? Scott doesn't remember this now, but at the time he'd pointed out that since you were buying you could probably take a slice from each of your friend's pizzas and they wouldn't mind because you paid for them, but aside from that, it was all beside the mathematical point. It was an interesting way to lose 1%--a flaw in logic based on hunger. I think I may have skipped lunch the day I took that test. I think after finally accepting that I couldn't get 100% on such a technicality I might have grumbled about how I deserved a pizza instead.

I didn't know he played the tuba, and I've been reminded of that young mathematician in my old French class in uni--they're much alike, and I can imagine that Nicolas will grow old much in the same fashion that Scott has. Reunion bands are the source of more nostalgia than just generic reunions, I think--because you're all working to play together as opposed to competing to stand out, it probably makes you closer even if you never had instant rapport to begin with.

When moving house a few years ago I put both the old mathematics exams and flute music in the recycling. I didn't really think I'd pick up the instrument again, and though there were the standard maths courses in later years, I didn't study it so intensely due to the rest of those other life science sequences getting in the way. Years on from that I find I'm slightly better at the music and somewhat worse at the mathematics; it's not really necessary for me, but I might look for some refresher or more advanced courses, some technical exercises, and perhaps some pizza as well.

I was in the Exhibition Buildings earlier today, and had a moment where I thought I was thrown back in the past--back in the days when Stamp Collectors Exhibitions were a big deal, and could fill that entire space. My mother worked in a post office when I was very young so in the beginning we were always surrounded by stamps, and postmarks. First day covers were just as likely to be birthday gifts as books and clothes.

Since those days, I believe they've renovated these buildings--the colours on the walls and ceilings were so much brighter.

Because we couldn't afford to have a 'real' collection my sister and I would each get a dollar to spend on the big rummage bins. My sister would try and find 'real' stamps, and there was a year when I managed to get stamps from Colonial Australian times--New South Wales and Victoria stamps, I think. Battered and heavily postmarked and worth absolutely zip, but they had a crown watermark, and were more than a hundred years old, so they were completely worth it.


And then I was reminded of a childhood friend's grandfather. Now, he had a collection--little leather-bound books of sets of Elvis stamps, and un-post-marked stamps from around the world. (I'm sure there was more than Elvis--that's all I can recall at the moment, though.) His shelf had little punch-labels all over it marking sections of countries of origin. Pulling out the albums one at a time and perusing through them was like a geography lesson in miniature, complete with faces and mysterious and intriguing written scripts.

We wanted a cut of the collection, of course, but it was impossible. Trading stamps with him was like trying to trade Jurassic Park swap cards for jewellery. In the end we had to just gawk in amazement and hope he would throw some generosity our way--thankfully for his collection, he had none.


Nowadays I don't even know where they hold philately exhibitions, or when--I think in a small conference room. One day I'm going to have to go back and look in storage to try and locate our albums and stamps--it's a good time to go back to collecting, I think. Or even just sorting out the mass of stamps still not yet in albums--at the time I only had ten pages for an album display so I always ended up sorting and resorting what I had to fit into those pages according to my mood.

I'm pretty sure my sister had a banana-shaped stamp from Tonga. Or some unusual non-standard shape, for sure. It's a good hobby to return to--to search the world in pursuit of stamps.

I believe I owe alexaustin a written guide on how to deflate occupied jumping castles because she sent me stamps, actually. I must do that :)

I really need to update more often, I think--there's so much reading to catch up on, though, and you all have such interesting lives :) I'll make more of an effort to be involved, at least comment- and community- wise, from here on in. There hasn't been much to tell from this end of the world--the usual dramas, but it all moves on as ever.

I've just come from a very early morning meeting with someone I hope to work with next year as my supervisor--he's recovering from a mysterious illness which turned out to be whooping cough, which I think everyone finds astonishing, given that it's, you know, 2004 and when you're young (or when I was young, anyway ... did I just write that?? hm.) you get vaccinated for these things and assured that you're contributing to the eradication of the virus, etc. Actually--I know less about this than I should. Is vaccination compulsory, or optional, or just something that everyone does in primary school/at a young age because ... that's what happens?

While he is rather aged, was ill throughout the past few months and therefore was possibly more susceptible--it's still cause for concern, I think. There could be a possibility that the virus has become more resistant to our vaccinations, for one. So far I haven't heard of anyone that he was in contact with having whooping cough, but there's a bit of a complacent attitude to it: 'I'm relatively young, I've been vaccinated, I shouldn't have a problem'.

Building natural resistance to these sorts of things is really important--but, hm. Isn't that the role of these specific vaccines as well, to assist that? Now that I'm typing all of this out I'm realising I know far less than I'd like about the things we were vaccinated against as children--simply that modern medicine should have, on the whole, protected us from ever getting such things.

More research needed on my part, I think.


I'm suddenly recalling an old family doctor I had in childhood when I was always very sickly, who always told my sister and I that if we cried because of injections he would pinch off our noses.

Now that I'm older, I'm pretty sure he meant that in a humorous way--it just didn't seem like it when we were four or five years old. The office was pretty scary, as well--it always seemed rather alien, because it was in a building on a corner and thus the rooms weren't rectanglar or square (I know that's a silly reason to dislike a room--but when you grow up around rectangular rooms, triangular rooms with curved walls seem really foreign/strange ...?).

The foyer was actually this abandoned, carpeted room that you'd have to cross in order to get to a smaller corridor, and then there'd be this tiny doctor's office in the back rooms. In the years we went there before we switched to a family doctor closer to us, they never had anything in that front room, even though it was bigger--I always wondered why. Actually, I'm wondering now myself. I should really go back there some day just to find out.

I must thank jillers and kleiner_stern for their postcard ... postcards, even (and Leyla, as well!) I've been rather spoiled in the mail department recently--I also have postcards from Switzerland and Holland and if I still had my wall of these things I would have quite a nice collage by now. It's also reminded me that I should probably send more mail (or any mail, really) when I'm away ... I will, I will :) I especially need to write back to ladykuroda and ... well, everyone, really ;)

Bizarrely, most of my mail that is not postcards that is sent to my 'home' address and not to my post office box has been opened and resealed by the post office. It's not much--three letters, really, but interestingly enough the mail for everyone else remains untouched. I'm ... intrigued? Paranoid? It's all highly mysterious.

I am very tired and have an age of catching up to do so I shall.

I've been locked out of the house since this morning.

Now that I am finally back in, several things of note:

a) it's warm in here.
b) the neighbours likely think I'm mad for wandering up and down the street in my pyjamas. Some of them are really nice, though.
c) I now have a fine mental map of how to pick those kinds of locks, even if I didn't quite work it out at the time.
d) I probably shouldn't have said that.
e) Mm. I'm supposed to have been moving today, except ... last six hours, locked out.
f) All right, I admit, I didn't spend all of those hours trying to work it out. I kept giving up and going to sleep in the car because other people would 'just be back in a little while'.
g) It's warm in here!

Did I mention the opera was lovely yesterday? I've burned my tongue on my coffee and I have reports to finish.

I'm fine with memes in general appearing in my friends view, but for aesthetic reasons (ha)--could everyone who's taken the 'in which time should you have been born' quiz either place your results behind a cut-tag or place a < /hr > tag (without spaces, of course) between the closing td and table tags in that copy-and-paste code?

This does not appear to affect all friends views of LJ styles, but it does affect those with the Opal LJ style. I've left a message with the quiz creator about it, but eh.

Thank you for reading :) Now I drop dead go to bed.

Title: A Melting Descent.
Author: Mischa
Fandom: Harry Potter (PoA Movie)
Rating: G
Summary: An interpretation of the closing of the Quidditch scene. Spoilers for the new movie Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

( A Melting Descent. )

My meals today so far have consisted of things completely out of boxes--I don't think I should really be giving into the demands of three-year-olds. I'm such a walkover ;) So far for myself I've had cereal and one of those 'just add water! instant soup!' miracles that remind me of ACME products from the Looney Tunes cartoons, and instead of coffee I've been having those so-called 'energy drinks' that make me feel awake for about ... half an hour, before I just flop over again.

I was trying to play a cartoon trivia game with someone the other day (I still say she has unfair advantage--she's ten and has the Cartoon Network on cable!) and failed miserably, which is a timely reminder to get back to childhood sometime--not being able to quote Bugs Bunny episodes off the top of my head is a pointless skill I used to have that I rather miss now. (That said, the other day I found myself quoting Terminator 2 back and forth with a new acquaintance ... which isn't something I would ordinarily do with people I just meet, but now that I think about it, it really might be).

I lost this link when I wanted to give it to someone else, so I shall post it here for anyone else who is interested: The Wellcome Laboratory of Neurobiology Papers has some fascinating--and accessible--papers available about the brain and its responses to, say, art and love. The two pertaining to romantic and maternal love especially are rather interesting, although I think they're experiments that should be repeated/developed a bit more. I'm finding quite a lot of the papers very enjoyable reading--which is saying a lot for neuroscience papers, in my opinion.

Wow, this post is rambly. I blame the caffeine drink.

There is no substitute for a hammer.

This story has been a while to come--things have been incredibly busy. Still, I've now experienced first-hand the exact reason why most accidents occur within the home.

Lesson #1: Try not to run in the house.

There are many reasons for why you would need to run in the house, of course. A phone could be ringing, the water could be boiling, you could have forgotten to put water in the pot entirely before you put it on the stove to rack off and go play online. But if the reason is simply because you can, a little self-control is handy.

Lesson #2: If you must run in the house, try not to stay too close to the walls.

Fairly self-explanatory--the less control you have over your flailing limbs is proportional to the chance you will run into them. Erm, the walls, not your limbs.

Lesson #3: If you must stay close to the walls (say, to avoid a cabinet of glass items that takes up most of the corridor) then at the very least, stay away from doorways. And if you must wear that, do not wear clothes with loose sleeves.

Doorways? Sleeves? Those little metal things that aid the slide of the lock, which must have a name that I cannot remember, get caught in open sleeves, resulting in the following:

Result: Sleeve gets caught on metal.
Result: Speed of runner is dramatically slowed by sleeve snag.
Result: Weight of body is thrown forward, bending metal out of shape.
Result: Not only can you not close the door, you've been thrown into the wall by your own inertia.

Hm. Right, options as to how to fix this.

Lesson #4: There is no substitute for a hammer.

Really. Even when there is absolutely no hammer in the house, and nothing wooden that you don't want to break, it's wise not to attempt other things, although the spine of the multi-purpose Massive Hardcover Math Book Nobody Uses (good for coffee tables, foot rests, seat raisers and spider smushing) made a good effort.

Lesson #5: If a friend claims they are a 'handy around the house', don't believe them. They're probably not referring to the actual house, anyway.

Lesson #6: Especially when they think they find a substitute for a hammer.

Lesson #7: Especially when that substitute is a can of mousse.


The moral of the story is, there is no substitute for a hammer.

I've spent the last ten minutes or so cutting my fringe. I'm thinking I might get a completely different haircut, actually. When I was very young my parents insisted on having my hair cut very short to distinguish me from my sister (oh, yes, because we looked so much alike! Identical, I'm certain...) and somehow that became warped into something 'everyone' apparently knew -- my father wanted a son, not another daughter, and there was some weird significance to that which I never really understood, but incorporated into my personality because that's what you do when you're young and impressionable, you take on the world around you and you make it a part of yourself.

I still don't understand it, I think. There's always been some sort of strange awareness of... something. That I was always supposed to be something that I am not, and because I am not I somehow don't have the right to be what I really am.

So much of my life has been spent with my hair in various measures of 'long' that it's generally something that people associate with me. Truthfully, long hair is cool. While my fringe is at various degrees of short I still have a fairly long ponytail, and I find them immensely useful for flicking about when annoying people try to step on the backs of my shoes.

I might keep the ponytail -- or I might just cut the entire thing off. I've not decided yet.


I still have to catch up on all the journal entries I missed -- I'm stuck in a time warp, dated a few days ago and haven't moved beyond that page. Being away was... an interesting experience, and after yesterday I don't think I want to be in another airport for a very long time.

Thank you to swas for the card -- I've never seen those cards before, but they are absolutely fantastic :) and Escher just makes it twice as good.

Today felt much like a perfect rainy summer's day.

It wasn't too hot, nor the rain too strong. There was a wedding that had recently taken place, and they posed on the tram lines and the photographer kept moving them about as the tram went about attempting to continue on its journey.

Someone thought I was a tourist on the City Circle and gave me a guide; I shouldn't have told him I was a local, because I still like playing tourist in my own city. Two people stopped and asked me for directions, and I gave the guide to one of them.

There was a restaurant I had to look for, and frankly I had no idea where to find it. But once I had managed to find my way I found myself stopped by someone I hadn't seen in years -- who was writing a book, I recall, based on experiences in their own life. They had promised to make me a peripheral character, and then I'd disappeared and never saw them until the point where I hung up my mobile phone and looked around for the people I was supposed to meet.

Reunions should never last too long, though, or else you make the mistake of learning more than you needed to know. I had my lunch thing at the someplace or other fancy, drifted about being tugged about by three very usually hyper children that actually listen to me for a little while after that, and then cut loose to walk over bridges and footpaths to go and see a movie.


Another journal-writer I used to follow, before she stopped writing, mentioned last year about her fear of attending a cinema alone. That the solitary life wasn't for her, that she feared the glances and the comments, the thoughts that other people must have had (if they thought anything at all) when looking at her. She ended up seeing the movie and driving aimlessly about, in a personal crisis of sorts.

Today I attended the same movie wondering if it would strike my heart just in the same way it had hers, or if as a reader and not a participant in her life that journal-writer had become a movie on its own. A movie that invited interactivity until my browser refused to accept her comments script. I had seen it before, though; I still felt absorbed by the moving pictures on the screen, still enjoyed it. There were maybe less than twenty people in the cinema on a rainy summer Melbourne day. More than half of them attending alone, like myself.

I think there's a secret code that passes through the atmosphere when you're in the midst of other people on their own. When attending a fairly intimately staged performance of The Ishmael Club (which will be rerunning at the Playbox this year -- the far more open staging will make it a distinctly different experience) last year I ended up talking with people that I know I'll never see again, but I know details of their lives nonetheless. Their families, their experiences overseas, little things you share with strangers without feeling the need to ever share your real name. Even if you don't get that far, not being so absorbed in being who you're with at the time does, I think, make you feel more aware of what, and who, is around you.

In a way, that's kind of what this does. I touched upon this briefly in another journal and someone I'd never known before responded that journal writing is a solitary exercise in itself -- true enough. And in a community such as this, they all just happen to meet, even if chances are they'll never meet again.

My scheduling in Microsoft Outlook places events that I'm likely to never go to in completely different timezones next to things that I am likely to go to -- hence I seem to have opening times of exhibition galleries in Japan lined up against a Melbourne timezone and the dates of several universities' semester timetables.

Yesterday was blocked off in a mighty chunk of work -- but there is, bizarrely, mention of a Hegel and Ethical Politics seminar that I can't even remember scheduling there, and shows up as free time. I think I just wanted to put it there because... it was in the university calendar and I was testing functions of Outlook? I know it involved clicking and dragging...


When I was in Year 12 I scheduled my life down to fifteen minute blocks, and when I was terribly organised and obsessive about it this continued off and on throughout my first years of university. Eventually, though, fatigue would catch up and I'd schedule in fifteen minute 'breaks' which was essentially catch-up time, and I'd try to do everything an hour ahead so I could feel accomplished in being an hour ahead of schedule, and it would all get very, very messy.

As a work thing I'm required to use Outlook a lot -- I usually just rock up and do what I like (no really, I do) but every now and again someone runs up and says 'I need an hour with you' or some such. I never get the hours I schedule for them because they run their lives in six minute increments when assessment centres come by, but the time I block off for everyone is usually explained by vague things like 'see S. about the thing' and 'hassle M. about... something' and my work favourite, 'go climb the stationery cupboard', which actually had nothing to do with climbing any sort of cupboard and more to do with finding a certain folder.

Due to university orientation next week I'm supposed to be three places at once on Thursday -- on a day when I'd ordinarily be working, or due to dramas at the moment at home, potentially away.

At some point I must have gotten very bored, because today I have scheduled 'Lunch thing at... the some place or other fancy' (the Conservatory, apparently -- where's that again? Near a fountain, according to the people giving the directions) and then at four o'clock there's a reminder in regards to Spirit Week over at VH. The notes attached to said appointment include the line: "You know you're addicted to VH if you schedule it into your Outlook calendar."

My current favourite in terms of 'I've been so bored while attempting to organise my life' is a tentatively scheduled block on Tuesday morning, though: "Some sort of orientation thing that requires searching for orange balloons."

I can't even remember why I'm looking for orange balloons anymore -- I think they're attached to hosts, but as long as I find an orange balloon I'll be all right?

My sense of 'organisation' is such a façade...

I'm not completely packed yet -- I know I have everything, but I'm missing something nonetheless.


Laughs are very odd things.

I think they tell a lot more about a person than they intend to, mainly because when people do laugh genuinely it's because it's something that's caught them by surprise, inspires them to just open their mouth and... what is it that makes people laugh, anyway? A release of tension of sorts?

There's the horse laugh. There's the hysterical yatter. There's the derisive snort. There's the nose giggle. There's the mysterious, barely suppressed smile. There's the eye roll and the chortle and the snicker and the giggle and the sarcastic, deep low 'ha ha ha'.

There's the laugh laugh, and the 'oh, I'm so seductive' laugh, and the 'oh my gosh, did I just snort!' laugh... and the list goes on. The embarrassed self-deprecating chuckle when one stumbles over their own feet, the obligatory vacuous chuckle at a lightweight movie, and just finding things hysterically funny with no particular reason at all.

There's the Santa laugh, which is supposed to be jolly, but is really just people in costume forming an 'o' shape with their mouths and moving their bellies. Someone who got dressed up as a Santa once (for a completely dodgy reason -- it wasn't children he was interested in having on his lap) said that the more you move your belly the jollier the laugh -- fair enough.

While somewhat bored one day earlier this week I was listening to the sounds of people's voices and the sounds of their laughs.

One of them has a sort of stumbling, cut-off laugh -- like she really would because the joke's that funny, but she's trying to be too sophisticated to open her mouth for any other reason but eating or speaking.

Another has a sort of loud, hyena laugh that travels immensely far -- you immediately know it because it manages to thwart what was supposed to be rather good sound-proofing.

People show their humour in different ways, and stopping for a moment to pay close attention to it reveals much about their character, I think. How well they've trained themselves to rein themselves in, whether or not they have a free sense of humour, if they like to try and seem as humourless as possible (or maybe if they even are...)

To sum it up like that sounds rather... hmm. Nasty. Maybe in a way it is, once you reduce the sounds of joy to just that -- sounds. But the point is, other people laugh as well because it's... infectious? Or because it sounds that happy that you don't notice the very odd way that laughs are made up of restricted sounds?

Unless, of course, the joke isn't all that funny.

Children have much freer laughs, I've noticed.

Well, until they get braces, really.

It's been a good few hours exploring. Apart from looking up and looking down all the time, there's another way of finding hidden little gems -- wandering into places and going upstairs or downstairs. I'm very pleased that I did find the puzzle game that I was looking for after getting lost in a games store. I have been in there before, but didn't look closely enough earlier, I think.

There was a point where I was running with someone in order to try and catch up with an acquaintance at the train station -- nobody ever runs in the city, I've noticed. They jog around a lot in the gardens, or walk as quickly as possible to try and make it look as though they have somewhere important to be, but nobody ever runs. We were late, anyway.


Someone said to me earlier today, "Oh, and good luck with the art project!" in a very cheerful, meaningful, 'you so know what I'm talking about so smile and say thank you' voice.

I don't know what art project it is that I'm supposedly doing or have done in the past but given that the last time I saw them would have been months now, I assume that it's just one of those miscommunication things that I say nothing about because the assumption I am doing an art project of some description is far more fascinating than the truth.


In other news, I've just finished a download of a program that reconstructs phylogenetic trees from molecular sequence data... now, if I had molecular sequence data there would probably be a point to it.

In the meantime, I just have a very cool program on my silly computer.

Hmm...? Oh, right, updates.

And -- happy birthday ladykuroda :) I missed a whole slew of birthdays last week due to being distracted -- so a very belated happy birthday to jamunoteno and dagrak and carlythemeek and gosh everyone seems to be born in January at the moment :)


Last week I ended up getting into the University of Melbourne again -- which caught me entirely by surprise because although I knew I applied for it at some point last year, I sort of forgot. Good one.

That, among other things, has been very distracting over the past week, what with a whole bunch of people I know coming back from overseas, another bunch of people leaving for overseas, and the occasional someone not turning up at all.


There was a busker in Bourke St. Mall playing classical guitar a few days back, which caught my interest and attention because only lately I seem to be very motivated to actually learn the guitar in the little spare time I have. I think I must have looked very odd staring fairly intently at the guitar, but I wanted to follow aspects of the performance, the dexterity of the player's fingers, their exact technique. I really have to get a classical guitar at some point, before I rip off my nails with the strings.

The city culture fascinates me. Every now and again I think that the architecture reflects the mishmash of ideas and backgrounds that fills the area -- not all of them entirely tolerant (and lately I seem to have been hearing a lot of stuff that really riles me. hmm.), but aware that there is a mass of people of different backgrounds, etc. Why I use the architecture as an example -- I suppose you have to wander up and down the streets and look at the proximity of odd-shaped twentieth-century buildings all squashed up and scattered around a city which apparently has the most remaining good examples of Victorian architecture. (This was due to a concentration of public building outside of the CBD until the 1950's apparently -- although I think I may have mentioned that before.)

It can't really be summed up in a street, but the mall makes a good attempt; on one side you could have Spanish-style classical guitar when just a little while ago someone played a didgeridoo simultaneously with drumming in order to raise enough money to propose to his girlfriend, a mass of tourists hanging around the information centre, teenyboppers shopping around, people with boards on their back advertising ideals or diamonds or mobile phones; all in the space of, say, a hundred or so metres.

It doesn't seem like very much space when you think about it for people to be standing around watching buskers. At least, that's what I was thinking while trying to analyse the movements of the player's right hand.

And then I turned around and practically walked over a man standing right behind me attempting to use the surrounding crowd to hand out some propaganda or such regarding... something, I don't know.

That was a week ago, I think, but it's suddenly occurred to me to wonder exactly what the flyer was all about.

It looks as though I'll be stuck communicating from my mobile until I get home, day after tomorrow. Horribly inconvenient unless you're Jillers, I think. I haven't been able to check my mail, just post naff messages.

A documentary last night reminded me that last year I was supposed to attend some workshop thing about decomposition and mummification -- which sounds terribly macabre, but I'd been reassured it would be exactly what I was looking for.

I can't remember for the life of me what happened -- things got fairly heavy -- it only just crossed my mind now that I never went. In any case this is sort of a reminder to self to find another one of those.

If it weren't for this character limit WAP constrains me with I'd say more of substance, but anyhow: happy Blink for Justice Day to Amalie and Jillers and VH. :)

Dealing with house things aside, I sort of came here to take a break from scheduling in fifteen minute increments and the tedium of activity.

Apparently my present preoccupation -- translating room measurements into a program so I can manipulate them into renovation plans -- is boring. I wouldn't know, I'm dreadfully uninteresting in general.

I still am in the habit of schedules. I did agree to be pulled away from the fascinations of pseudoarchitecture on the pretext of breakfast and it's been delayed until lunch. Argh.

One of the silly resolutions I'd made was to make an effort to be more timely with less important stuff -- I'd forgotten, of course, that others would break that for me.

This silly house is a good investment to stuff around with, but I couldn't live here -- the seabreeze makes me blink too much.

Happy New Year to all on LJ, from Melbourne, Australia. :)