Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

(Posted manually, and late, because the machine that runs the cron job is still down.)

"Most of us, pressed to take a side, would vote that masturbation is not a performance art." -- someone who uses first-person but provides no name, in an essay titled "Gladiator Doilies: The Odd Phenomenon of 'Fantasy Armor'"

I'm feeling oppressed by circumstance. This really says more about my mood than about whether life is really being especially unfair to me lately, but I'm feeling extra-whiny today. (Recognizing that, I'll resist the temptation to write the whole list of minor woes.)

But I'm certainly entertained that cortejo turned my latest QotD into a poll.

I need to get to Bowie tonight, but between one thing and another and feeling half-dead, and with incoming weather of the dreaded "wintery mix" sort, and the fact that it's already starting to get late, I dunno ... (Then again, will it be any better trying to get out tomorrow? I guess it depends on how warm it gets.) I'll see how I feel in an hour or so, and probably decide to wait until tomorrow anyhow.

Recording session coming up on Saturday. It looks like we're pretty close to having all the parts recorded. I nmeed to go to the nail salon tomorrow. Must put new strings on the 6-string. And I ought to figure out what the apropriate amount of beating myself up is for blowing a deadline badly enough to screw up somebody else's week. I'm frustrated about not being able to trust my own body.

I am in some important ways too stubborn for my own good. I don't want to be helpless, I don't want to be sick, I don't want to be limited ... so I fail to recognize my limits. I need to learn to recognize when I'm losing a battle with my body, my limits, and bring myself to give up and tell people I can't finish something. But -- reasonable or not -- that makes me feel like a failure. So I resist because of fear of how bad it'll make me feel, fail harder but more slowly, and ... feh.

Okay, try to fix one thing at a time, right. *sigh*