Life fail #seventy-billion: Last night I was cutting a lime using my hand as a chopping board. It failed to occur to me that the force needed to push a serrated knife through a lime rind might perhaps be greater than the tensile strength of the skin on my fingers. Blood and carnage ensued. Band-Aid thank me, once again, for my continued custom.
Last Saturday I saw Neil Gaiman talk at the Town Hall. He was excellent and I may have a crush on his hair, but two things impinged on my enjoyment of the situation:
- The guy in front of me, who clutched a jar of inexplicable Brylcreem and spent most of the reading with his hand wedged firmly down his jeans. What’s up with that, Guy?
- The thought that one day, when people read and enjoy my books and buy them in their millions and write slashfic about my characters, or whatever, someone might ask me to stand on a stage in front of a whole mess of foreigners and let them ask me questions.
Nightmares will be had. For months.
Then Rach and I watched The Road, which caused me to wonder yet again why nobody in apocalyptic movies ever has any thumbs. Is this a thing? Will people one day read After and sneer at my poor characters for possessing a full complement of digits?
WHAT DON’T I KNOW, UNIVERSE?
Also, MAN I need a better working title. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Okay. I am mainly posting this to get my last entry out of my face. Time to go meet my mammy for gossip and dessert! And then to P-Town for late night, where I will endeavour to find the materials to construct a top I have designed in my head, but have no idea how to actually make. Though this will not stop me from trying, oh no!