Simply criminal, has been the embarrassment of time since last I updated, gentle readers, and the time I take now to write for you is filched at gunpoint from reading the emails of elderly ladies from Florida who need to know how to save a file to floppy disk.
KM and BB and I tonight attended LI's concert tonight, which was the moment of pure, easily-curved leisure in an otherwise Kafkan week.
In other news, and I don't think this contravenes my self-inflicted moratorium on talking about work, I am learning not to laugh so heartily at the soap-operatic announcement that the server is down. Of course, the immediate effects (after the half-hopeless, half-celebratory smoke-break I take) are mild frustration and the sense of reprieve. Afterwards, though, came the blushing dawn of aimlessness, of not having control over my universe. It is rather like laughing heartily at a story about a person who died electrocuting himself with a Hello Kitty vibrator and then . . . and then (under the iron compulsion of coincidence) having to sit next to his disconsolate mother at the funeral.
Music: Vivaldi concerti da camera, torn through by Il Giardino Armonico with the voracious grace of a military duke biting into a slice of bread topped with prosciutto
Wish: that anybody -- anybody -- listened to what I say. This doesn't include written prose, of course, where I have a certain advantage. But conversation -- yes, there I feel more or less misunderstood. I cannot possible speak over the din of cascading earnest self-importance. I am too wrily-forged to present myself with genuine interest.