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kinzelA very strange day today, following a night that was low-sleep. I slept for two hours, woke up wide awake, and then couldn't find a comfortable position. It took a 20 minute sojourn in the living room on the old very-soft-couch with Dulsey after 3 AM before I was tired again, and then it took the wonderfully welcoming Mozart (sleeping in my spot, ahem....) who gave me amazing amounts of cat belly and purrs before I could find a sleepable spot.
I napped today, trying to catch up on some of the sleep. Even so, I had no concentration, and so after a wonderful lunch of Rolanni's custom bean-and-rice soup, chased by some cheese and a Shaw's whole-wheat roll (which beats Hannaford's so-called whole wheat rolls hands down) I found that writing wasn't working, and for that matter, the web work was ... not up to snuff.
Did I mention that today was my father's birthday? He would have been 78. And I'd have called, to hear about the girls on the beach.
So, what I did this afternoon was which may be too boring for most of you...
I worked my way through several layers of previously just-couldn't-be-bothered-to-get-rid-of, including a couple Writers Digest I'd gotten to see if I wanted to try to sell them an article, a two month run from 2004 of the major sf magazines (all three of them)I'd gotten to sample current fiction, and also a bunch of Xerox Free Color Printer reports. I threw most of that out, and eventually threw out a bunch paper copies of old emails and about 4 or 5 reams of stages of paper proof copies of SRM Publisher chapbooks.
Then, I got to the two boxes I've successfully been hiidng for some years: old photos, old love-or-lust letters, postcards, my PSAT scores... (really, and I kept them!)...
While my run at the other papers had fairly quickly produced a 30 gallon trash bag full of disposable, it was harder to work through these boxes, so hard that it's not done. Some stuff I snickered at -- the card saying (approximately) "I think we need to know more about our common ground before we get physical... have you ever been to East Winsap, Ohio?" and which on opening says "Me neither.... KISS ME YOU FOOL!" is an example. Some I treated respectfully, say the photos from Clarion West Class of 1973, which I left in a pile and still have.
Then there were letters from people now dead. Some were easy to toss -- eight pages of hand-written pencil explanations of why I'd been given over for a guy with a real job and a big-truck. A letter explaining that it had been a great fling, but she was ten years older than me and needed to move on, before I got drafted (which I never was, but it was a *really* near thing). Letters where each "i" was dotted with a tiny heart. A series of letters, each more hopeful, that the next convention we went to we'd be able to spend some time, and she wouldn't drink as much -- each dated within a week or so of the end of a convention where the drinking not -as-much had failed. Most of those I threw out: what use, now? Why did it take so long to get the courage?
Surprise at how many people had actually *written* to me. Carol W. Sarah G. Sue N. Sharon B. Suzy T. Susie B.
Jean A. Alis R. Wally S. Roger Z. Linda M. Scary how many of the young women had been impressed by Steven R. Miller the poet...the writer I gave over to be Steve Miller, the reporter, reviewer, and science fiction guy.
A bunch of the photos should be turned over to one of the fandom archive projects for scanning. Some family pictures are bad snapshots of kids I don't recognize who now have grandkids; those I'll toss....
So, that's the south side of the room; there's more to do later. And I'm going to reduce the two boxes to one, Real Soon Now.
and so that's the way it is. A good evening, with the Orioles winning another, hooray!
I napped today, trying to catch up on some of the sleep. Even so, I had no concentration, and so after a wonderful lunch of Rolanni's custom bean-and-rice soup, chased by some cheese and a Shaw's whole-wheat roll (which beats Hannaford's so-called whole wheat rolls hands down) I found that writing wasn't working, and for that matter, the web work was ... not up to snuff.
Did I mention that today was my father's birthday? He would have been 78. And I'd have called, to hear about the girls on the beach.
So, what I did this afternoon was which may be too boring for most of you...
I worked my way through several layers of previously just-couldn't-be-bothered-to-get-rid-of, including a couple Writers Digest I'd gotten to see if I wanted to try to sell them an article, a two month run from 2004 of the major sf magazines (all three of them)I'd gotten to sample current fiction, and also a bunch of Xerox Free Color Printer reports. I threw most of that out, and eventually threw out a bunch paper copies of old emails and about 4 or 5 reams of stages of paper proof copies of SRM Publisher chapbooks.
Then, I got to the two boxes I've successfully been hiidng for some years: old photos, old love-or-lust letters, postcards, my PSAT scores... (really, and I kept them!)...
While my run at the other papers had fairly quickly produced a 30 gallon trash bag full of disposable, it was harder to work through these boxes, so hard that it's not done. Some stuff I snickered at -- the card saying (approximately) "I think we need to know more about our common ground before we get physical... have you ever been to East Winsap, Ohio?" and which on opening says "Me neither.... KISS ME YOU FOOL!" is an example. Some I treated respectfully, say the photos from Clarion West Class of 1973, which I left in a pile and still have.
Then there were letters from people now dead. Some were easy to toss -- eight pages of hand-written pencil explanations of why I'd been given over for a guy with a real job and a big-truck. A letter explaining that it had been a great fling, but she was ten years older than me and needed to move on, before I got drafted (which I never was, but it was a *really* near thing). Letters where each "i" was dotted with a tiny heart. A series of letters, each more hopeful, that the next convention we went to we'd be able to spend some time, and she wouldn't drink as much -- each dated within a week or so of the end of a convention where the drinking not -as-much had failed. Most of those I threw out: what use, now? Why did it take so long to get the courage?
Surprise at how many people had actually *written* to me. Carol W. Sarah G. Sue N. Sharon B. Suzy T. Susie B.
Jean A. Alis R. Wally S. Roger Z. Linda M. Scary how many of the young women had been impressed by Steven R. Miller the poet...the writer I gave over to be Steve Miller, the reporter, reviewer, and science fiction guy.
A bunch of the photos should be turned over to one of the fandom archive projects for scanning. Some family pictures are bad snapshots of kids I don't recognize who now have grandkids; those I'll toss....
So, that's the south side of the room; there's more to do later. And I'm going to reduce the two boxes to one, Real Soon Now.
and so that's the way it is. A good evening, with the Orioles winning another, hooray!
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no subject
2006-04-15 18:53 (UTC)Really? That's curious. My father too. He would have been 82, I think. A fun guy. Hard to believe he's been gone so long.
no subject
2006-04-17 12:07 (UTC)Father's Birthday
2006-04-16 12:58 (UTC)