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.
2 comments:
Happy birthday, good sir! Let me assure you that everything gets better after thirty.
Thank you, good man.
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