No life from those seeds. I will need to buy my plants this season.
Things have been trying the past few weeks: our full-time temporary work was cut off suddenly, so we’ve moved into job hunt mode. I had a great interview for a position–I never think so about interviews!–but didn’t even make it to the second round. Loki’s had a rough time since his neutering, and hot spots have landed him in a cone. He’s handling it like a champ, though, staying pretty mellow most of the day.
In good news, I did get two paintings in the Oxford Cultural Arts Commission‘s recent exhibit. These two:
In other good news, a friend introduced me and Ken to The Bugle, my new favorite audio newspaper for a visual world. Andy Zaltzman‘s relentless nihilism has proven a perfect comfort for me when I’m stewing too long in my narcissistic frustrations. At least there’s the meaningless void that undos us all, right?
Maybe better than good news, I’m tucking into the Nag Hammadi library again. After some haphazard writing for the Internet over the previous six months, I’ve realized how much I miss writing about what really matters to me. Apparently what matters to me isn’t geek pop culture or news about space, although who doesn’t like reading about either? No: I need a place to explore paradox, I need to delve into intricate, expansive, unanswerable questions. I need to talk about silly Jesus stories from the 3rd century, so The Apocryphal Devotional shall rise again.