Disjointed
All week, I've been thinking, "Oh, right, that's the thing I was going to post about." But I keep thinking that while I'm getting breakfast or driving or otherwise nowhere near a computer. And when I sit down at the computer, nothing really seems worth posting. (And I can't seem to remember the one particular thing I keep meaning to post.)
Also, I've been short on Net access since Tuesday—Comcast problems, followed by router problems. I'm finally back online, more or less.
Oh, yes, and I've started my taxes but haven't gotten nearly as far as I ought to have.
And I'm still not sleeping enough. Probably averaging about 5 or 6 hours a night; no worse than it's been at times in the past, but without my usual buffer of emotional resources to make up for lost sleep.
This morning I heard that an old friend, Samantha Downing, died yesterday after a long fight with cancer. I never knew Sam all that well, and I haven't seen her or Todd in years (I always meant to drop in and say hi on some Seattle trip, but it never quite happened). But I'm very sad to hear about her death. (Link is to a memorial page on the site of the gaming company that she and Todd ran for the past six years.)
I dunno. A lot of the things I would normally be writing about seem kind of trivial at the moment.
. . . Okay, here, I'll link to Jay's posting of Peter's autobiographical note that he wrote for his 40th high school reunion, sometime around 1997. Peter lived in a lot of places, and held a lot of different kinds of jobs. I don't think I know anyone else who's worked as both a shipfitter-welder and a computer programmer, much less ditch digger, carpenter, editor, and drug-abuse counselor. . . . Hmm: the BA '82 must be a typo; I think maybe that was '72?
Anyway, thanks much for posting that, Jay. Also, Dobe, thanks for the story (posted as a comment to that entry) about hitchhiking to Washington from Berkeley; I had forgotten that story, and it's a good one.
(It reminds me of the time that Peter and Jay and I hitchhiked to Seattle together, when I was, what, 6 or 8? I seem to recall that the people who stopped to give us a ride tended to be the ones whose cars were already full; I vaguely remember the three of us squeezing into a VW bug that already had two adults and a couple of kids in it, but I may be exaggerating.)
What else? I guess I should welcome any others of my co-workers who find their way here: welcome! Make yourselves at home. (To explain, for the rest of you: at today's writer lunch, one of my colleagues who reads Asimov's mentioned that Jim Kelly had listed my blog in his list of forty sf blogs. So any of my colleagues who didn't know I had a blog know now. Whether they'll come take a look is another question.)
Anyway. I'm sure there's lots more to say, but I should go do some editing and my taxes. More soon, probably.
