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incandescensThe weather was nice for most of the day, so no complaints there.
Took apart the fan shields on top of my hob to clean them (well, slid them out of their casings to clean them) and spent the next hour or so going yuck a lot. Can we say ingrained grease? Memo to self: clean them more often. And their slots, too.
The One Piece Enies Lobby arc continues to be awesome stuff.
Have begun to keep a spreadsheet of knitting magazines/patterns just so I can justify buying them on the grounds that I might some day use them. After all, if I have a huge pile of magazines and no idea what patterns are where, this does just a little weaken the argument that I plan to use them.
(I suspect this is also a subconscious reaction to having lots of fiction to write. If so, ahem.)
---
Malagueña
Death
enters, and leaves,
the tavern.
Black horses
and sinister people
travel the deep roads
of the guitar.
And there's a smell of salt
and of female blood
in the fevered tuberoses
of the shore.
Death
enters and leaves,
and leaves and enters
the death
of the tavern.
-- Garcia Lorca (translated by A. S. Kline)
Took apart the fan shields on top of my hob to clean them (well, slid them out of their casings to clean them) and spent the next hour or so going yuck a lot. Can we say ingrained grease? Memo to self: clean them more often. And their slots, too.
The One Piece Enies Lobby arc continues to be awesome stuff.
Have begun to keep a spreadsheet of knitting magazines/patterns just so I can justify buying them on the grounds that I might some day use them. After all, if I have a huge pile of magazines and no idea what patterns are where, this does just a little weaken the argument that I plan to use them.
(I suspect this is also a subconscious reaction to having lots of fiction to write. If so, ahem.)
---
Malagueña
Death
enters, and leaves,
the tavern.
Black horses
and sinister people
travel the deep roads
of the guitar.
And there's a smell of salt
and of female blood
in the fevered tuberoses
of the shore.
Death
enters and leaves,
and leaves and enters
the death
of the tavern.
-- Garcia Lorca (translated by A. S. Kline)
