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Woke up this moning, unaccountably, in 1979, where I had absolutely no desire to be. My mother was dying that summer, and though I have few memories of the time, I recognize the ambience. So I did a few breathing exercises that landed me, unacountably, in 1992, living with demented roommates in Tokyo. So I got up instead.
The gov't has lowered my old age supplement by $300 a month, which would make me sad except that it's determined by income, and apparently I was very flush last year. Wish I wasn't such a fiscal illiterate so that I could determine how I came to be flush. But it certainly wasn't from working, so my stocks must have performed well and I can hit my investment advisor up gor extra cash if needed. And next year, when I'm still not working and the market has crashed, my income will be down again and my OAS will be up. Think nonetheless that I'll be a little more cautious with the restaurant delivery, which can easily eat as much as dining in. But in these pandemic days I know I'm spending less than before: no massage and only one aupuncture session a week.
Finished The Little White Horse which is, ok, comfort writing in wartime, so I'll live with the everything is perfect-ness of the thing. But a book that tells me almost at the beginning 'Miss Heliotrope used to whip Maria within an inch of her life' but Maria always lets Miss Heliotrope know she has no hard feelings, is not going to be a favourite of mine ever.
Slighter, but more fun, was The Haunting of Tram Car 015. I wish Clark would write a novel sometime; I always want more. Book had a preview of The Black God's Drums, which I've read, and would really like a novel set in that universe.
Am within 100 pages of the end of Tristram Shandy. Slog slog slog.
More happily, now the library books are finished, I'm back to Karen Lord's Unravelling, still happily between Three Parts Dead and Neverwhere. Started from the beginning again because it's that kind of settei. I have another library book to pick up tomorrow, but it's a short Judge Dee that I can read in an evening.
The gov't has lowered my old age supplement by $300 a month, which would make me sad except that it's determined by income, and apparently I was very flush last year. Wish I wasn't such a fiscal illiterate so that I could determine how I came to be flush. But it certainly wasn't from working, so my stocks must have performed well and I can hit my investment advisor up gor extra cash if needed. And next year, when I'm still not working and the market has crashed, my income will be down again and my OAS will be up. Think nonetheless that I'll be a little more cautious with the restaurant delivery, which can easily eat as much as dining in. But in these pandemic days I know I'm spending less than before: no massage and only one aupuncture session a week.
Finished The Little White Horse which is, ok, comfort writing in wartime, so I'll live with the everything is perfect-ness of the thing. But a book that tells me almost at the beginning 'Miss Heliotrope used to whip Maria within an inch of her life' but Maria always lets Miss Heliotrope know she has no hard feelings, is not going to be a favourite of mine ever.
Slighter, but more fun, was The Haunting of Tram Car 015. I wish Clark would write a novel sometime; I always want more. Book had a preview of The Black God's Drums, which I've read, and would really like a novel set in that universe.
Am within 100 pages of the end of Tristram Shandy. Slog slog slog.
More happily, now the library books are finished, I'm back to Karen Lord's Unravelling, still happily between Three Parts Dead and Neverwhere. Started from the beginning again because it's that kind of settei. I have another library book to pick up tomorrow, but it's a short Judge Dee that I can read in an evening.