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talk to me - don't talk to me
Friday, 29 February 2008 11:27 amToo weird. The comments numbers on this blog seem to rise and fall in graceful sine waves which seem absolutely uncorrelated (in my opinion, at any rate) to the actual interest, artistry or amusement value of the posts to which they're attached. I think I should be looking for significant relationships by plotting comments stats against something like the phase of the moon, the gold price, my hormonal cycle, or possibly the wibbles in the space-time continuum caused by the flappings of Cory Doctorow's cloak.
V. tired again, all sinusey and headachy and post-nasal drippy. It's been a busy week, and this weekend is madly full of the soon-to-be-traditional End Of Month Salary Celebration Eating Out With the jo&stv (Jewel Tavern tonight), jo's birthday party tomorrow, and another play practice on Sunday. In all of this I have to finish updating this paper, illegally acquire and watch Enchanted, get cracking on the book updates, annotate a Masters student's Tolkien thesis, and, oh, yes, go through a 2cm thick wodge of board schedules, which I should have been doing today but haven't had time to, owing to a continual string of disorganised students. In other, unsurprising news, I clambered on the scale last night to discover another kilogramme has mysteriously vanished. I'm currently losing one approximately every two weeks.
Oh, yes, and The Bruise is now red, angry and even larger. Butt flab is apparently the sadistic artist's medium of choice.
Last Night I Dreamed: I was attending some kind of large-scale gathering in the woods at night - lots of cars, picnics, families, what have you. Afterwards I drove off through the night, preventing myself from falling asleep by the application of buckets of ice. A stop in a surreal and Cthulhoid small town for more ice resulted in unsuccessful visits to a series of poky corner stores staffed by strange, creepy people, after which I miraculously found buckets of ice standing in the main street. (I think my subconscious is actually revelling in the possession of money, here).
V. tired again, all sinusey and headachy and post-nasal drippy. It's been a busy week, and this weekend is madly full of the soon-to-be-traditional End Of Month Salary Celebration Eating Out With the jo&stv (Jewel Tavern tonight), jo's birthday party tomorrow, and another play practice on Sunday. In all of this I have to finish updating this paper, illegally acquire and watch Enchanted, get cracking on the book updates, annotate a Masters student's Tolkien thesis, and, oh, yes, go through a 2cm thick wodge of board schedules, which I should have been doing today but haven't had time to, owing to a continual string of disorganised students. In other, unsurprising news, I clambered on the scale last night to discover another kilogramme has mysteriously vanished. I'm currently losing one approximately every two weeks.
Oh, yes, and The Bruise is now red, angry and even larger. Butt flab is apparently the sadistic artist's medium of choice.
Last Night I Dreamed: I was attending some kind of large-scale gathering in the woods at night - lots of cars, picnics, families, what have you. Afterwards I drove off through the night, preventing myself from falling asleep by the application of buckets of ice. A stop in a surreal and Cthulhoid small town for more ice resulted in unsuccessful visits to a series of poky corner stores staffed by strange, creepy people, after which I miraculously found buckets of ice standing in the main street. (I think my subconscious is actually revelling in the possession of money, here).
