I'm just angry at her for doing so because she's afraid to start her life, that's all. But it's her business, not mine.
I don't think this is all that uncommon. My brother in law is a retired Marine. He joined up a few years after school, because he didn't know what he wanted to do. Then, while in the service, took a million correspondence courses, and is one class away from a certificate in a dozen areas. And re-signed several times since we met, and I kept asking why, if every day his response to how's it going is "ya know, another day in hell". And his reason for going another term was "I dunno what I want to do when I grow up yet, so, it's a job, why not". Now he's a retired Marine. Go figure.
The delivery I was waiting for (my bath lift! I can shower every day again! People around me will be so pleased) arrived early. I wonder if I should go and try and work at the library. I'm not achieving much here. On the other hand, many more books here. I shall try another hour or so.
The minutiae* of being a researcher. It's ridiculous.
*My CD-ROM Oxford English Dictionary is a dyslexic writer's dream come true.
Oooooh, happy birthday, omnis!!
Birthday Happies, omnis!!
Happy belated birthday, lovely Sail!
Happy birthday, Omnis!
(I misread - Omnis' birthday is actually tomorrow. Is it tomorrow somewhere? Maybe I can pull it off if I say I was going by the Australian clock or something.)
No matter. I fully endorse celebrating birthdays for at least a week.
