![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ashlymeI was out of the city most of Monday and Tuesday when they found and detonated an unexploded WWII bomb near the Aston Expressway. I've no stories to tell; I only found out about it Tuesday night via Facebook. I was talking to a lovely couple about it in the Wellington last night. They lived too far away to be affected by the bomb, but one of their parents had remained in Brum as a child when it was being Blitzed. It rained like prison bars all of yesterday and by the time I left the shop at four we'd made just over a hundred pounds. The only good part of that day was finding the Gormenghast board game for a couple of quid. I'm not one of nature's gamers - it's like superheroes, one of those geek things I can never get my head round - but I couldn't not get this one.
Moodwise, I'm not great. I feel low, brittle: socially skittish (I feel like I need company, then when I get it, I withdraw inside myself and feel all the worse for being a bad friend; it is all too easy to feel walled up) and have crying jags I'd rather nobody saw. I have this feeling that I open my mouth and all that comes out is vacuous, glib, fatuous bullshit. The same with writing. The words all feel like clay I can't shape. I know I'll pass out of this feeling - I've managed it before, I will again. But the sooner the better, please.
Other people's words are fine, though. The TBR pile includes Judith Thurman's Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette and John Fowles' essay The Tree. Enjoyed the picaresque of Monkey/Journey to the West but it's always a shame when tricksters turn to the light.
Moodwise, I'm not great. I feel low, brittle: socially skittish (I feel like I need company, then when I get it, I withdraw inside myself and feel all the worse for being a bad friend; it is all too easy to feel walled up) and have crying jags I'd rather nobody saw. I have this feeling that I open my mouth and all that comes out is vacuous, glib, fatuous bullshit. The same with writing. The words all feel like clay I can't shape. I know I'll pass out of this feeling - I've managed it before, I will again. But the sooner the better, please.
Other people's words are fine, though. The TBR pile includes Judith Thurman's Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette and John Fowles' essay The Tree. Enjoyed the picaresque of Monkey/Journey to the West but it's always a shame when tricksters turn to the light.
no subject
Date: 2017-05-18 08:08 pm (UTC)Wait, what is this? I didn't know there was a board game!
I know I'll pass out of this feeling - I've managed it before, I will again. But the sooner the better, please.
For the record, you sound neither glib nor vacuous nor even fatuous right now.
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2017-05-18 08:53 pm (UTC)http://kickingdownthedoor.com/post/67946102514/review-gormenghast
Such a pity they couldn't use Peake's artwork for the game, but I doubt the company could afford it.
ETA: "Gormenghast is obviously based on a popular BBC mini-series from the distant past of the year 2000; which from what I remember was all about Jonathan Rhys Meyers acting poorly at people." Okay, I laughed at that.
*For the record, you sound neither glib nor vacuous nor even fatuous right now.*
Thank you. That means a lot to me. *hugs*