OK. I read a lot of books. I'm also a Michael Moorcock (AND Hawkwind) fan. As I look at the news reports, sometimes I feel like Moorcock was a prophet who foresaw the NOW, kind of like George Orwell with his 1984. Of course Moorcock is a phantasy writer, and his tales take place in other worlds, but the parallels are there.
Only in this world, there will be survivors, unlike his Elric series. Rebuilding is going to be a bitch. This is the second time I've seen it, though right now I can't remember the first time. I'm glad I never had to actually play the game. I'm not such a glutton for punishment. It's bad enough I chose the job I shall soon be leaving, and it's worse that I'm here now for reasons I also can't quite remember, but at least the duration of my time here is not long; and though I bitch about it, I realise that my position is statistically something many would almost kill for.
So WHY am I bitching? Because I don't really like uncertainty in my existence, and I don't like it when my plans go haywire. I don't deal well with squelched expectations, and such. It's not something that happens when I'm in my real home, where I write all the rules, and so it is.
Expectations! I wonder if it would have been better if my publisher did NOT put Volume #3 up early? I suppose so, since everything is moving back to on schedule.
Oh well. There's nothing I can do about it. The compelling adventure continues, whether I like it or not.
Not sure I liked what was ahead for the day. Would do my part to scrub the floors, walls, manger, wall hangings for the steel bowls the equines got their corn, oats, treats and fruit juices in. We'd blanket them, and lock them out until we were done. We did this once a month. And the mullethead got the lawn. All in time for more snow in a couple of days.
We would not be cooking from scratch, later today.
No comments:
Post a Comment