![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Since our latest "heat wave" (read: "ordinary high summer heat and humidity") started I've been checking in with the Old Man daily to make sure that he's not putting off firing up the AC entirely on my account. He assures me he's still sleeping fine (that's the advantage to having our beds below soil level) but what I worry about is his comfort level when he's in the kitchen. Last night I was sure he'd had it on at least for a while, but it turns out that our apartment just retains coolness better than I remembered. (That's the advantage to brick.)
Scooter is out of town so yesterday evening, as promised, I sprinklered the lawn. Well, half of it; I wanted to give a good soaking, which means about an hour between position shifts, and since a sidewalk runs through it I can't have it up too high. I did make sure to get the parkway corner because the black-eyed susans are finally emerging! And I'm sure it's really them this time and not just more crabgrass. Also, the buckwheat is fruiting and I'm hoping the seeds drop and resow the area so perhaps we might actually end up with something close to the density promised on the package.
I've been inspired to do a bit of work on an old fantasy setting again. I've been meaning to write about this, but it's difficult because my relationship to it is so complicated. Of all the selfish things I do for self-gratification (and there are many), this feels like the most self-indulgent, I guess because it's arguably the least likely to benefit anyone else ever. It feels like self-abuse, only not as socially acceptable, and at least that relaxes me so I can drop off whereas this tends to wind me up and leave me staring at the ceiling with a head whirling with inchoate ideas if I'm not careful.
Practicing this sort of restraint means that every time I get interested again, I end up having to do a fair bit of research to sort out what I came up with the last time. Yesterday I had that rare experience of reading something I'd written so long ago that I'd pretty much forgotten how I'd come up with it and thinking, This is good stuff. Sometimes I fantasise that someone else will have the same reaction one day, but I know there's no real hope of that.
Scooter is out of town so yesterday evening, as promised, I sprinklered the lawn. Well, half of it; I wanted to give a good soaking, which means about an hour between position shifts, and since a sidewalk runs through it I can't have it up too high. I did make sure to get the parkway corner because the black-eyed susans are finally emerging! And I'm sure it's really them this time and not just more crabgrass. Also, the buckwheat is fruiting and I'm hoping the seeds drop and resow the area so perhaps we might actually end up with something close to the density promised on the package.
I've been inspired to do a bit of work on an old fantasy setting again. I've been meaning to write about this, but it's difficult because my relationship to it is so complicated. Of all the selfish things I do for self-gratification (and there are many), this feels like the most self-indulgent, I guess because it's arguably the least likely to benefit anyone else ever. It feels like self-abuse, only not as socially acceptable, and at least that relaxes me so I can drop off whereas this tends to wind me up and leave me staring at the ceiling with a head whirling with inchoate ideas if I'm not careful.
Practicing this sort of restraint means that every time I get interested again, I end up having to do a fair bit of research to sort out what I came up with the last time. Yesterday I had that rare experience of reading something I'd written so long ago that I'd pretty much forgotten how I'd come up with it and thinking, This is good stuff. Sometimes I fantasise that someone else will have the same reaction one day, but I know there's no real hope of that.
Tags: