So there are critter hijinks.
The other night I got sleepy so I went upstairs and was changing into my jammies. Silas, who is a cat, and pretty much spends his life in our bedroom, the one next door, the catbox in the attic hallway, and the feeding station on a shelf level with the 2nd floor, was, as always, fascinated by the fact that the closet doors actually open.
So he sniffed around in the corner next to one laundry bin while that closet was open. And then the other one. Now in that corner, I have a pair of winter/hiking boots parked for the season, a few other pairs of little-used shoes, and a shoulder bag with my softball gear in it. The shoulder strap has a carabiner attached, which I use for carrying a water bottle.
Poke, poke? goes Silas.
It seems he dislodged something, which moved to a lower energy state. And scared the bejesus out of the cat, who hissed loudly and jumped back not his usual six inches, but more like a foot and a half. His tail fluffed out.
I sat down because I was laughing so hard.
He then crept vewy quietly up on the Closet Monster, poked at it with his paw, and had another hissy fit. He amused himself for three or four minutes, fighting the Horrible Closet Monster. It's gotta be the funniest thing I've ever seen him do.
It's hot out. I wanna curl up someplace air conditioned and sleep til fall. On the other hand, this is toxicfur's native habitat, so she's all about the garden and frolicking in the sunshine.
At least it's not as hot this summer as it is other summers. I know this from comparing numbers. It feels oppressive, though. We haven't, to be sure, gotten out the window air conditioning unit (yet).
Elsewhere on the web, I'm an editor for an online literary magazine. We accept submissions continuously for our quarterly publication. Two of the editors whittle down the list to about 50 entries, and we all read and grade the short list entries. Those with enough votes are in. Those without, if somebody feels strongly enough about them, can go in as an "editor's pick". So I cast a vote in favor of a very nice little story that ended up with 2.5 votes (two and a maybe) out of seven editors.
Today I got a poem, as a token of gratitude, I guess, from the author of that story. Said poem having been inspired by my very minimalist and evasive "bio" on the masthead.
How very odd.
Must. Focus.
I remember being able to get my brain to do stuff. Not happening today, though. Maybe my thyroid is out of whack, one way or the other.
Ooh, shiny!
Which is (at least partly) to say, I have no progress toward a working project for the WTFC.
Tick, tick.
We have tickets to the RedSox on Aug 25th, through the social committee at work. I hope they're done with the suckage by then.
I've only been to Fenway Park once, just a few weeks over 10 years ago. My two companions (likewise from work), a Dane and an Aussie, sat me between them and peppered me with questions about baseball. "No, they're not booing at the other team, they're booing at the umpire." "He can lead off 1st base as far as he wants, but..." [pickoff move fails] "if they tag him with the ball and he's not on the base, he'd be out." It was fun.
Then we walked a couple miles after the game, because all the Green Line trolleys were hanging-from-the-rafters-room-only.
We should take Sybilla, our GPS, so we can find the nearest Orange Line station as pedestrians at ground level, after the upcoming game. The subway is pretty nice, and it works pretty well, but getting 35,000 people out of the immediate area of a stadium in half an hour is Epic Fail, as the kids say nowadays.
The other night I got sleepy so I went upstairs and was changing into my jammies. Silas, who is a cat, and pretty much spends his life in our bedroom, the one next door, the catbox in the attic hallway, and the feeding station on a shelf level with the 2nd floor, was, as always, fascinated by the fact that the closet doors actually open.
So he sniffed around in the corner next to one laundry bin while that closet was open. And then the other one. Now in that corner, I have a pair of winter/hiking boots parked for the season, a few other pairs of little-used shoes, and a shoulder bag with my softball gear in it. The shoulder strap has a carabiner attached, which I use for carrying a water bottle.
Poke, poke? goes Silas.
It seems he dislodged something, which moved to a lower energy state. And scared the bejesus out of the cat, who hissed loudly and jumped back not his usual six inches, but more like a foot and a half. His tail fluffed out.
I sat down because I was laughing so hard.
He then crept vewy quietly up on the Closet Monster, poked at it with his paw, and had another hissy fit. He amused himself for three or four minutes, fighting the Horrible Closet Monster. It's gotta be the funniest thing I've ever seen him do.
It's hot out. I wanna curl up someplace air conditioned and sleep til fall. On the other hand, this is toxicfur's native habitat, so she's all about the garden and frolicking in the sunshine.
At least it's not as hot this summer as it is other summers. I know this from comparing numbers. It feels oppressive, though. We haven't, to be sure, gotten out the window air conditioning unit (yet).
Elsewhere on the web, I'm an editor for an online literary magazine. We accept submissions continuously for our quarterly publication. Two of the editors whittle down the list to about 50 entries, and we all read and grade the short list entries. Those with enough votes are in. Those without, if somebody feels strongly enough about them, can go in as an "editor's pick". So I cast a vote in favor of a very nice little story that ended up with 2.5 votes (two and a maybe) out of seven editors.
Today I got a poem, as a token of gratitude, I guess, from the author of that story. Said poem having been inspired by my very minimalist and evasive "bio" on the masthead.
How very odd.
Must. Focus.
I remember being able to get my brain to do stuff. Not happening today, though. Maybe my thyroid is out of whack, one way or the other.
Ooh, shiny!
Which is (at least partly) to say, I have no progress toward a working project for the WTFC.
Tick, tick.
We have tickets to the RedSox on Aug 25th, through the social committee at work. I hope they're done with the suckage by then.
I've only been to Fenway Park once, just a few weeks over 10 years ago. My two companions (likewise from work), a Dane and an Aussie, sat me between them and peppered me with questions about baseball. "No, they're not booing at the other team, they're booing at the umpire." "He can lead off 1st base as far as he wants, but..." [pickoff move fails] "if they tag him with the ball and he's not on the base, he'd be out." It was fun.
Then we walked a couple miles after the game, because all the Green Line trolleys were hanging-from-the-rafters-room-only.
We should take Sybilla, our GPS, so we can find the nearest Orange Line station as pedestrians at ground level, after the upcoming game. The subway is pretty nice, and it works pretty well, but getting 35,000 people out of the immediate area of a stadium in half an hour is Epic Fail, as the kids say nowadays.
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