The snowpocalypse has come to Boston. It was just a light dusting on the air when I went to the post office around one-thirty, but it's been steadily thickening ever since, and sticking, and now it's rattling icily against the windows. It looks especially impressive through the fan of the streetlight. The forecast tells me it will turn to rain later in the night, which is disappointing. ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asakiyume has been talking about microseasons. I guess this one is nano-Fimbulvetr.
Following a hair-raising couple of days of coughing so hard and so constantly that I stopped sleeping and pulled a muscle in my back, I am feeling cautiously optimistic about a future in which I can inhale without invoking metaphors of either gas-drill or plague; I slept something like nine hours last night. I got a review written even before then. We made twice-baked potatoes for dinner to accompany a beef bourguignon courteously donated by my father and I just finished watching A Passage to India (1984) on TCM. Last night was The Criminal Code (1931) and In the Heat of the Night (1967). I am still coughing, but not so epically. It's nice.
Please enjoy some songs that have been stuck in my head lately.
( A world of ghosts without the sun. )
P.S. In just about the last week, Autolycus has really started talking instead of his usual vocabulary of purrs and mrrps and other eloquent but close-mouthed noises. Like his sister, he has the authentic Siamese voice. At the moment he seems to be using it for purposes of guilt-trip, in combination with kneading and headbutts. And then he bounded across my keyboard, leaving the cryptic notation "98O." Oh, little codemaking cat. Excuse me while I leave off talking to the internet and attend to someone's very soft fur.
asakiyume has been talking about microseasons. I guess this one is nano-Fimbulvetr.Following a hair-raising couple of days of coughing so hard and so constantly that I stopped sleeping and pulled a muscle in my back, I am feeling cautiously optimistic about a future in which I can inhale without invoking metaphors of either gas-drill or plague; I slept something like nine hours last night. I got a review written even before then. We made twice-baked potatoes for dinner to accompany a beef bourguignon courteously donated by my father and I just finished watching A Passage to India (1984) on TCM. Last night was The Criminal Code (1931) and In the Heat of the Night (1967). I am still coughing, but not so epically. It's nice.
Please enjoy some songs that have been stuck in my head lately.
( A world of ghosts without the sun. )
P.S. In just about the last week, Autolycus has really started talking instead of his usual vocabulary of purrs and mrrps and other eloquent but close-mouthed noises. Like his sister, he has the authentic Siamese voice. At the moment he seems to be using it for purposes of guilt-trip, in combination with kneading and headbutts. And then he bounded across my keyboard, leaving the cryptic notation "98O." Oh, little codemaking cat. Excuse me while I leave off talking to the internet and attend to someone's very soft fur.
