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Lying in bed as is my habit, because it's warm and I don't hurt, and thinking gloomy thoughts about knee replacements, or more pecisely rehab after knee replacement, phone rings. Is surgeon's office booking for March and do I want a date and by the way he's retiring in early May. The question turns out to be moot because they want people to wait six weeks after dental surgery, so it's late April at the earliest. Which is partly relief and partly here we go again. What's with the retiring professionals?
Mail then brings me a letter from the accountants that my retired accountant has referred me to. Forms to fill out and mail in the not-enclosed envelope no matter what they say. Which will require getting stamps which requires being able to negotiate sidewalks. Oh well. Spring is coming, I should be able to bike long before I have to send all my stuff to them, even before I have all my stuff to send. They're in Scarberia, which will be a hefty chunk to courier, because even were I mobile, I wouldn't take it in myself.
Mail also brings revised forms from the insurance company, that still say my pipes date to 1910. People.
On a whim and because it's sitting there for some reason, put on a Patarillo CD for my biking time. This takes me back to when I was reading and watching Patarillo, the late 90s, so I read my Patarillo fic on my phone, which takes me back very precisely to 1997 and calls up certain oogies from that time. I respond by dumping several stacks of Patarillo manga in a clear garbage bag and putting it out for tomorrow's recycle pickup.
Reading wise, I've finished only Okorafor's Ikenga. Montaigne and the Carolingians drag, especially the latter. Carolingian scholars, all wound into knots on points of Catholic doctrine, squabble like fannish schoolgirls, while the kings keep trying to grab their relatives' land for themselves. Bunch of ragamuffins indeed.
Mail then brings me a letter from the accountants that my retired accountant has referred me to. Forms to fill out and mail in the not-enclosed envelope no matter what they say. Which will require getting stamps which requires being able to negotiate sidewalks. Oh well. Spring is coming, I should be able to bike long before I have to send all my stuff to them, even before I have all my stuff to send. They're in Scarberia, which will be a hefty chunk to courier, because even were I mobile, I wouldn't take it in myself.
Mail also brings revised forms from the insurance company, that still say my pipes date to 1910. People.
On a whim and because it's sitting there for some reason, put on a Patarillo CD for my biking time. This takes me back to when I was reading and watching Patarillo, the late 90s, so I read my Patarillo fic on my phone, which takes me back very precisely to 1997 and calls up certain oogies from that time. I respond by dumping several stacks of Patarillo manga in a clear garbage bag and putting it out for tomorrow's recycle pickup.
Reading wise, I've finished only Okorafor's Ikenga. Montaigne and the Carolingians drag, especially the latter. Carolingian scholars, all wound into knots on points of Catholic doctrine, squabble like fannish schoolgirls, while the kings keep trying to grab their relatives' land for themselves. Bunch of ragamuffins indeed.