Eccentric Flower:199903/sleep brainspin and dorothy
From Eccentric Flower
 |
eleven march sleep, brainspin, and dorothy So where have I been? Well, I haven't been sleeping properly (again). I haven't had the composure to write anything major since the Clio pieces last weekend, and have spent the time playing shooters instead - I don't even have the brains for Alpha Centauri right now. My eyes hurt. Ideas are whirling around in my head non-stop, but none of them stand still long enough for me to catch them. And they don't stop spinning, ever ... which prevents me from being able to sleep, which prevents me from being able to focus, which brings us full circle again. I have a pretty good life. I don't have any detrimental vices, any bad health or money problems [knock wood]. It's a tenet of fiction that your protagonist must have a Tragic Flaw. My flaw is my sleep cycle. It prevents me from achieving what I hope to achieve. Meanwhile, this morning, I have rejoicing vicariously in other online words, since I have no compelling ones to offer of my own. I had a lot of journal catchup to do. I don't mean to offend any friends and journallers, but I think if I had to pick the most provocative journaller I read regularly, it would be Dorothy. I don't know how she does it. When I read a few of her entries, I usually want to write her a half-dozen emails. For example: The fudge probably didn't turn out because of moisture level in the air; you can't make decent divinity in the south (fortunately divinity is the world's most useless candy anyway) ... I am still trying to figure out why Les Liasons Dangereuses is so compelling that it has been filmed three or more times - mind you, I like the story too, but it's nasty and bi**chy - why does that appeal so? ... I must remember to tell my abortion clinic story ... It's "Arbeit Macht Frei," and my favorite Nazis-in-Space story is the now hideously dated Rocket Ship Galileo by one Rob't Heinlein ... and speaking of German .... Dorothy notes that foreign-language teachers are the ones that high-school students most dread meeting in the hall, because (I paraphrase) not only to they expect you to stop and hold a conversation, they expect you to do it in another language ... actually, my German teacher (I had four years of it) was a joy ... but good language teachers are a rare breed in general, it's a hard thing to do. It's like teaching programming (which is another language, when you think about it). I have taught computers on several occasions, and I do a pretty good job. In fact, that was what I originally went to college to study - I was an education major before I soured on the whole system. A couple of days ago, I was going to write a computer-related postcard here (in response to some thoughts from Mary Anne) ... and scrapped the idea, I figured it would bore everyone. But you can have my usual summation for free: Computer programming isn't hard. Honest. (Heaven knows, if it were hard, I wouldn't be able to make a living at it.) It's just teaching it that's hard. If you can't wrap your head around the concepts, then you didn't have the right teacher. Unfortunately there aren't many. Personally, the teacher I dreaded a conversation the most with in school was my literature teacher. This wasn't a personality conflict - I liked her style then, and I remember it fondly even now. It was an issue with the curriculum. That gets a little long, so I'll put it in the next postcard, later today. Meanwhile, read these two pages: First, one of the most hilarious bits of parody I've read recently (I wonder whether Shmuel has heard Tom Lehrer's "Clementine" variations). And second, an amazing dialogue in a hair salon, courtesy of Rodney.
© columbine |
