Getting perspective. And getting nothing else done as a consequence

I was greeted this morning by the wise advice of a boon companion:

So you fucked up. Welcome to being human.

Hee. So the new phone’s working, at least. And instead of hiding and feeling like a pillock, I sprang into action and spent all morning battling the Sums. Since the weather outside was frightful and there is no chance of me ever finishing that damn window frame, ooh, do not think about what is happening to the poor thing with its one thin layer of new woodstain, and holy hell, is that hail I hear battering against the windows?

However, the twin demons of fear and terror were clearly taking a day off from orbiting Mars and came to orbit my head instead. So I spent the afternoon reading, to get some perspective. Specifically, reading Steven Erikson’s Deadhouse Gates – probably the book with the highest number of tragic, drawn-out deaths and cruelly ironic fates that I possess. Yes, it’s fiction, yes it’s fantasy fiction; yes, I got ‘perspective’ from a completely made-up book set in a completely made-up world. What do you want – real harrowing tales from real wars? When feeling Abashed? I’d probably hang myself; much to the delight of many people, to be sure.

I still maintain that I am allowed a chortle at my own bad fortune and cruelly ironic fate – should I be able to summon such a chortle – however. And I am also quite impressed that I had ploughed through nearly a thousand pages by bedtime. See, I’m great with stories – it’s sodding maths that I need to take a break from, over and over. So once again, shame about the Sums… and tomorrow, the Cycle of Work begins anew!

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About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
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