And as I slump my way through the day I ponder is there an actual god of sloth and should I be setting up a shrine that I don't make offerings too?
Yesterday was good, actually the day before yesterday was good. I was sort of productive. I mopped my kitchen floor. I scoopped poop. I contemplated all the good things I would do the next day.
And then I, I kind of obsesessed about the prospect of no further Terry Pratchett books, and ... I couldn't bring myself to finish the book I was reading. I read three quarters of the way through and now I wonder if I should set up a bookcase for books I really like and am saving to finish or when I really need them.
It is silly.
I will probably finish it tomorrow.
The first time I read a Terry Pratchett book was when I as feeling very very bad. I was in a job I hated for an extended period of time, that I felt I had no way out of. I was on a trip that was terrible. I was reading a book that made certain death funny. I was gobsmacked. It changed my life. Or if not, it gave me something to hold onto. I wasn't going to off myself yet because I hadn't read the next Terry Pratchett book.
It is silly, but I am finding it hard to reorganise my sole reason for existance now that he is no longer writing books.
Not that I haven't been unfaithful since. There are lots of authors I have been devoted to since. Lots. Lots and lots.
I have a warm purring cat waiting for me in my bed. He likes to sleep in the back of my knees. I shall cut short this contemplation of existential angst and mention that Marieke Hardy has book out for those of a brave disposition. Called, I think, "You will miss me when I'm dead" or I could be wrong. I think it is probabably worth being wrong :) She is a funny chick.