Yesterday I agonized over a plotting issue: where I finished one rough draft of events jarred with where I next took up subsequent events. I tried hard to solve the issue but to no avail. So this morning I blew up the text into a big typeface and printed out a couple of dozen pages. Out come the scissors. On a large desk I’ll snip and reassemble. Hope it works . . . (if it doesn’t there is something even more terribly wrong) . . .
Cloudless blue sky outside. Cars zoom. A Monty Python refrain: “my brain hurts.” I know I am fortunate with this windmill to tilt at, but I also need to be kind to myself, to build shields against excessive strain.
Meaning? Hit the day hard, never ever cease!
Two crap days, then two days that set the spirit soaring.
By the name of
. . . which by definition means the day is ruined. My choices abound, most of them depressing. So I cycle a bare minimum and head to a local café. If I can’t get in a full day, let me aim for a half day. I block out Facebook. I work. Work gets done. I smile.
Drafting 1,000 words is hard enough but some days I hit a barrier that requires going back into the research books. Today I wrote:
Everyone talks about “containment” protecting reactors. The term sounds simple: protective overpants preventing radioactive spillage if a disaster strikes.
But what does it REALLY mean? Why isn’t it obvious to me which of the world’s reactors have containment or not? Is “containment” a fuzzy term that hides more than it shows?
Meaning? (After a break:) rise, slug, rise.
It’s a Monday, nearly two months into 2018. This Big Year is working but is creating havoc in the rest of life. So it’s goodbye Bar Ristretto for five days, off to hike in the western part of Victoria. Much restorative and reflective time is needed.
Constriction/restriction. As in “Nevertheless there are moments of deep astriction . . .” from, of all things, last weekend’s lovely article about the National by Julian Tompkin