I turned thirty a couple weeks ago.
Today, I played in the snow.
Maybe you can say it means something. But I'm not sure what.
Also, I took advantage of the snow-in (and in, and in, and in) yesterday to do some more damage to the blog layout. It remains, as always, a work in progress. (That's an as-of-yet highly unstable Tumblr thingamaroo off to the right. More on that later.)
Before the white stuff started falling out of the sky I finished It by Stephen King, which I liked. I needed that--sort of an extended cleansing of the mental palate. With bugs. Now I'm reading The Einstein Intersection by Samuel R. Delany because I need something short and impressive and, so far, I like it, too. I think I'm going to want to say a lot about it that I'll never quite get around to saying. In the meantime, I'm going to go read some more of it now before I pass out or my arms fall off.
Playing, you see, is hard work.
Happy birthday, good sir! Let me assure you that everything gets better after thirty.
ReplyDeleteThank you, good man.
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