This morning has been a difficult one. I was required to retrieve my aunt (one of them, there seem to be dozens of siblings and all of them ancient beyond toleration) so that she might sit in the living room smoking and watching the Westerns Channel with my mother. It behooves me to be generous. I hope fate is so kind to me as to supply me with a living room and a channel (probably the sci-fi channel by then) where I can sit when I'm 100. Though honestly, I might hope with equal fervor to be spared the fate of ever being 100 years old.
Thank the gods for Kenya AA. I would not make it through today without it.
I haven't been making much use of HTML in this journal. I recently re-acquired COFFEE, my favourite HTML editor. Perhaps I'll develop my journal entries there then paste them to this location. I actually enjoy the pop-up nature of the journal client, however. It encourages a spontaneous entry. Though have I done that yet? I guess I'm just not a spontaneous journal kinda guy, what can I say.
No house hunting is planned for this weekend. Batette is off to attend the nuptials for one of her offspring-in-law. This somehow involves a three-hour drive to Kansas City and some pink clothing. I think it better not to inquire to closely.
My penchant for poesy seems to have faded. I am writing again, thank goodness. My latest effort is another swords-and-sorcery-ish story. Once again I am going to try and involve some technology. I can't make it work. I cannot understand my fascination for a sub-genre that I detest. Maybe it's one of those things where you just have to go pet the boa constrictor to prove you can. I loath most mixes of fantasy and science fiction simply because I don't believe that taking a spaceship to the planet of the grumblebees and plaid unicorns makes fantasy science fiction. Still, I want to be able to intermix the two. I want to pit Merlin against Kimball Kennison and see who wins, you see. Unfortunately, all such efforts on my behalf and those of others have produced trash of the lowest order.
I have often thought I would enjoy attending a writer's workshop of some sort. Maybe spend a month in some quiet place soaking up the inclination to write from others who share my vile inclinations. Even more, I would love to buy an old hotel or motel somewhere near the ocean (one that the new highway has bypassed and open such a retreat. I guess the gasthaus tendency in me is too strong. One way or another I am always taking in boarders.