Well, that's a weekend blown into kleenex. I'm still really sick. Sicker than I've been in months. Sick enough to lie in bed miserably clutching my kleenex and whimper. Bah. I've been having weird fever dreams and strange thoughts too, of course, and here they are. I think I made them up. I'm not entirely sure, but I think they came straight out of my subconscious. Or hell, or something.
1. A long conversation with my friend G in which he told me that he'd never known the name of the NC state senator. "He's been senator forever," said G dismissively, "Why would I bother? That's like homework. I never know any of that stuff."
2. A long essay I wrote about the horrific sexism and dearth of female role models in science fiction and fantasy throughout the sixties, seventies and the first half of the eighties. Partly in response to a metafilter thread about Dave Sim and Cerebus, who for some reason I feel compelled to defend and partly to point out again to a whole new bunch of indignant nerds that there is only one woman in the first three Star Wars movies, yes, fuck you, one and doesn't that seem a little unjust?
3. Summerproofing my house: it can be done with space age materials.
4. If I burn all the blankets and furniture, perhaps all the germs will die. But is that too drastic?
5. Is my cat the most annoying cat in the universe or only the second most annoying? Should I get another cat to keep her occupied? Should I saw a hole in my bedroom door? Why is the cat tormenting me so? Why does the dog keep farting under the bed and waking me up? Why am I out of dog kibble and what can I do about that? Can I make it to Ingles? No. No, I cannot.