A short and not so irritating "meme."

Snurched from omegamorningsta:

One Word Survey

YOU CAN ONLY TYPE ONE WORD. NO EXPLANATIONS.

1. Yourself: Anxious
2. Your Lover: Home
3. Your Hair: Neglected
4. Your Mother: Conflicted
5. Your Father: History
6. Your Favorite Item: Indeterminable
7. Your Dream Last Night: True
8. Your Favorite Drink: Verte
9. Your Dream Home: Welcoming
10. The Room You Are In: Cluttered
11. Your Pet: Bastard
12. Who You Are Now: Flux
13. Who You Want To Be In Ten Years: Strength
15. What You Don't Wanna Be: Lost
16. Your Best Friend: Remembered
17. One of Your Wish List Items: Security
18. Your Gender: Mutable
19. The Last Thing You Did: Eighteen
20. What You Are Wearing: Underwear
21. Your Favorite Weather: Expectant
22. Your Favorite Book: House
23. The Last Thing You Ate: Spaghetti
24. Your Life: Changing
25. Your Mood: Guarded
26. Your Favorite Store: Dork
27. Your Favorite Sport: Sex
28. Favorite Memory: Future
29. Who Do You Miss Right Now: Byron

The sperm whale is on my desk.

Last night we went to bed at a respectable hour —— 2:30 ayem or so —— and I was utterly exhausted. Spooky feel asleep immediately, but, despite an Ambien, I was awake for another hour, tossing, turning, not sleeping. About 3:30, I gave up and took a second Ambien. It put me to sleep, but I'm paying for it this morning. I figure I may wake up in two or three hours. Maybe.

Yesterday went pretty much as predicted. Spooky's mom drove up to Providence, and we moved at least 25 boxes (manuscripts, corrected galley pages, boxes of stock for eBay sale, VHS tapes) to our storage unit. The last serious bit of box moving associated with this move, so it was cause for celebration. Our storage place is up in Pawtucket, on the banks of the Blackstone River (which, for those of you who've read Daughter of Hounds), wends and winds its way northwards to dread Woonsocket. I even took some incredibly exciting photos of said storage unit, because I cannot resist this urge to share, and you can see them behind the cut. Behold the mighty mounds of STUFF that will not fit in our house!

( Another Long Hall )

Anyway, it took two trips, but getting those boxes out of here made a great deal of difference. It looks like people live here, finally! Oh, and a few things went down to our basement, which Pickman would envy (another set of photos at some future date). The weather was cold and rainy, but good weather for moving damned boxes.

Afterwards, we had to do some grocery shopping, so we drove over to the east side of Providence. Back home again, more unpacking, then dinner (leftover spaghetti). I unpacked another display case, hung a few things on walls, etc. We watched an episode of Battlestar Galactica online ("Sine Que Non"), trying to catch up. We'll watch "The Hub" tonight. Then I read more of Nicholas Fraser's book on the Triassic, then we watched Nathan H. Juran's 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957), because sometimes only Ray Harryhausen will do, and 20 Million Miles to Earth is one of my favourites. Certainly, the Ymir is one of Harryhausen's most personable monsters. If you're not cheering for that poor sod right from the start, you've a cold, cold heart. Colder even than mine.

Let's see. What else? Well, once again it's Bloomsday, and once again I'm not in Dublin. But I am about 1,100 miles closer to Dublin than I was last Bloomsday. So, that's something. Also, do please have a look at the "cephaloflap" and "doodleflap" auctions, and bid if you are able. Danke. And it's still not too late to make Spooky smile on her birthday. Just hit the big button below. Remember, guys, she's the one who keeps me going, day to day:

.

Me, I'll be working on Sirenia Digest today, tidying it up and writing the prolegomena. Not a great deal of substance to this enty, but you did get gratuitous storage photos.

Postscript (4:19 pm) —— Fuck me. Stan Winston has died. I mean...damn.