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Time sense is quite gone this month but I suppose I'm pleased to discover that it took me two weeks to dispose of that gin, not one. And I really need to stop the g&ts, not merely for calorie reasons but because it costs an arm and a leg to get the stuff delivered to me, since I'm no longer limber enough to stand in line at the LCBO and walk around inside it. Another reminder of how I've decrepited since last year.
But in spite of decrepitude and gusty spring winds I got to an actual bookstore again, in the belief that Doug Miller always has loads of early Pratchett because everyone always has loads of early Pratchett. Only of course he doesn't. My requirements have been badly out of sync with his stock for the last year or so. But I did get The Light Fantastic even if he had no copies of The Colour of Magic, and also a buncha probably disappointing mysteries. I don't know why I keep buying Ian Rankins when his gangsters annoy me so much, but every now and then I want to read an Ian Rankin, so now I can. Bright blowy cold spring is made for fluff mystery reading, and everything else I have is so very much not. (Mabinogion, Montaigne, Metaphysicals, or the 400 page fantasy whoppers on my tablet that are always undecided if I can make sense of them or not.)
My acupuncturist can drive and has offered to chauffeur me to one of the gov't's mass inoculation sites if I can get an opening some day when she doesn't work. The gov't sites, unlike the pharmacies, don't use the A/Z, which is still sounding iffy to my ears. 'The blood clots have been in younger women, like under 60, so get the shot because you have more risk of getting Covid than of getting a blood clot.' Err, no. My risk of Covid is practically nil because I don't interact with anyone unmasked in an enclosed space for more than a minute or two at a time. Might be different if I were facing surgery any time soon, but the earliest will be May 21, and I am not sanguine about cases dropping enough to allow electives. Not when we're still well over 2000 a day *and* venues opening up again.
But in spite of decrepitude and gusty spring winds I got to an actual bookstore again, in the belief that Doug Miller always has loads of early Pratchett because everyone always has loads of early Pratchett. Only of course he doesn't. My requirements have been badly out of sync with his stock for the last year or so. But I did get The Light Fantastic even if he had no copies of The Colour of Magic, and also a buncha probably disappointing mysteries. I don't know why I keep buying Ian Rankins when his gangsters annoy me so much, but every now and then I want to read an Ian Rankin, so now I can. Bright blowy cold spring is made for fluff mystery reading, and everything else I have is so very much not. (Mabinogion, Montaigne, Metaphysicals, or the 400 page fantasy whoppers on my tablet that are always undecided if I can make sense of them or not.)
My acupuncturist can drive and has offered to chauffeur me to one of the gov't's mass inoculation sites if I can get an opening some day when she doesn't work. The gov't sites, unlike the pharmacies, don't use the A/Z, which is still sounding iffy to my ears. 'The blood clots have been in younger women, like under 60, so get the shot because you have more risk of getting Covid than of getting a blood clot.' Err, no. My risk of Covid is practically nil because I don't interact with anyone unmasked in an enclosed space for more than a minute or two at a time. Might be different if I were facing surgery any time soon, but the earliest will be May 21, and I am not sanguine about cases dropping enough to allow electives. Not when we're still well over 2000 a day *and* venues opening up again.
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