The usual mid-eyelid-opening psychodrama this morning, to the tune of Schubert pumped out by the gigantic clock radio on my bookshelf, tuned to CBC Stereo. The numbers are so huge for when I go blind. Can you get a braille clock radio? I suppose you could get one that speaks the time, but that seems counter-productive to a calming existence.
The postcard story blog is up and running, tentatively, and there are already a couple of stories up. Postcard stories working laterally into the comments would be cool as well; I've always been a bit turned on, worked up, aroused, entranced, mesmerized, and seduced by the comments feature and its potential uses.
Lunch with Jo in about an hour, I'd better get a move on because I have to go blow money on a bus pass again. Then afterward I'll come home and - gasp - write. I'm going to sit down and avoid watching TV, avoid talking aimlessly to Michelle, avoid all the other shit; just write at my computer for at least an hour, get something to work out.
Michelle got the final diagnosis: four kidney stones and a benign cyst (there's a special word for it, fugoid or something) in her ovaries. Her body continues to amaze me in its complete lack of sensible functioning. Had a bit of a talk about it and I managed to get her to not drop down into the amazing pit of despair - at least for the moment. Her pagan circle's going to do a healing ritual this week, which might make her feel a bit better about everything.
Other things: Read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep yesterday and now I crave Dick (Phillip K). If only I'd actually gotten more than ten pages into Valis back in Prince George when Brown was leaving for Australia and demanded that I take it and read it.