Brr. (Cold. It's a cold place. Redux.)

It is very cold. Not as cold as folk in Montreal have reported recently, but, at least according to lstone, colder than Alaska. At least when we had that conversation, we haven't talked today.

It is very cold, and I have a leaky house. I may try, until some of this passes, to arrange my life such that I only venture downstairs to get food, because upstairs is, I swear, about ten degrees (Fahrenheit) warmer than down here, even including the loo. Partly that's heat rising, partly that's terrible insulation in the basement and between the basement and upstairs, partly that's because of better shrinkwrapping the windows upstairs, but in any case, it's cold enough in the living room (where the good music selection is, which is why I'm here) that my fingers stiffen up.

Perhaps this will motivate me to rip more music out of the changer to MP3. Make raids of discs and run upstairs with them. . .

Miscellaneous linkitude, because no brain:

• A specific comic probably only comprehensible to kinky computer geeks or those who speak their language.
  
• The Boston Phoenix interviewed the Spaceman. I get such a kick out of Bill Lee. (From yehoshua.)
  
• larksdream and I are almost certainly insane.

teinedreugan spent most of the evening upstairs with our respective laptops reading webcomics and being just amiably together. Showing each other particularly good ones. (I read all of the Suburban Jungle last night, and I like it lots, so I was going through and looking for my favorites.) Nice and family and warm. Arthur and I played a few rounds of fetch, to teinedreugan's vast and perturbed amusement.

Having some issues writing next section. Need to gnaw on economics a bit, and possibly wait for my fingers to thaw so they bend again. Going back upstairs now that I've eaten all the meat out of the leftover Chinese, yes yes.

Been a while since we did just straight religious noodle.

I don't know that I . . . iTunes is messing me about again . . . have much noodle to say, though.

I have both preachermanfeed and correction_feed on my readlist. Interesting watching other people on their journeys in service to the divine. Both have shared their doubts, their fears, their occasional inability to face their god. It's . . . oddly strengthening, even though their faiths and their paths are not mine.

I've spent all my life without ambition, without that particular sort of focus. (When I was discussing this with teinedreugan, he asked about the writing; the writing isn't an ambition. It would be neat to be published, to have my stories out there, my worlds, but I write because that's what I do, not because I have goalstate on it.) We'd been feeling the . . . lack, I guess, for a while. Not sure what the words I want here are, a great deal of it's coming out of the Nameless, not anyone who has words of their own.

Now They have things for me to have as goals. Hooks, y'know? Ways of catching the mind, shift the focus.

I don't know if these are my goals, if I can adopt them, if I can make them my own. I don't know if I'm strong enough for these things, I don't know if I'm able to handle them. (And I get "Would we ask if you weren't capable?" and "Don't worry, kid, you'll grow into it.") I don't know if I can make these things mine, anything other than a burden laid upon me, another expectation to fail at.

Is this an angel or a demon that I wrestle at the ford?

I'm hounded by jackals. (Ha.)

Addendum: I hit 'post' and iTunes starts up "Rolling Home". Thanks a heap, Mom.