By now, I am at that point in the winter where I am just ignoring it and hoping it will go away. Filthy snow and icy lakeside tundra and all, I am still sometimes in love with this city, though it is the sort of love that wavers a little when the temp dips below 20. I will forget such wavering as soon as it's March and my mood soars as the temps rise, but now is the usual bitter, hold onto your sanity with your frozen fingertips sort of time, the time of year when I am most in danger of losing all perspective and crying over ridiculous setbacks like missed buses and paper cuts. With the holiday off work, I've been working today on notes for our panel on publishing women authors and thinking about the press as political gesture vs. scholarly interest, about "otherness" and frames of reference. I've working a bit more on the radio ocularia layout (see above). I've been scribbling a little in my terrestrial animal series and thinking about underground houses and atomic age fear and other cheery things. But chocolate is nice. Tequila is nice (I mixed up a batch of margaritas last night with some Patron I'd gotten as a gift). Laundry and fresh white sheets and fluffy blankets are nice. At this point, the only way out is through...
