…when we can’t even force ourselves to move an inconvenient cat.
Good morning, folks, and happy Monday to you all. We missed the aurora of a lifetime last night, I understand, because we were socked in with much-needed rain. (“More rain less frequently” seems to be New England’s current draw from the Climate Change Deck Of Many Things. Could be worse I guess. We also lost the whole peach crop this year and probably most of the cherries because of a brutal February cold snap. Sigh. I was hoping for tart cherry pie this summer…)
Well, I had a struggle to get out of bed this morning. Molly has an amazing ability to detect from anywhere in the house when I start to stir, and as soon as I do she plumps herself down on top of me and starts purring like a wind up toy. Which led me to the revelation above—
So many of our narratives focus on the idea that if you are strong-willed and certain in your convictions you can win through against any kind of pressure. (The ones that acknowledge that people break are rare, and I’m pretty sure everybody hates that aspect of say, 1984, while also acknowledging the truth of it.)
How many cats are there, Picard?
I’m writing the climax of The Folded Sky finally—a book that I’ve been working on since 2019 in one way or another. A real pandemic baby, I guess—and trying to sort out all the complicated threads of narrative into a single ending, rather than a Lord Of The Rings movie trilogy series of endings. All those narrative complexities seem so enticing and interesting when you put them in, and then you have to get that hippopotamus ballerina to land en pointe at the end and well, we’re not all Walt Disney.
Anyway I usually read the news in bed while I’m waking up (a restful morning practice) and today I stumbled across this WaPo article on computer scientist types using chatGPT to game dating apps, and… well, here’s a gift link.
All I can think is that this is the latest iteration of Terrible Dating Strategies 101; Pretend To Be Somebody You Ain’t.
I wish as a culture we could recast “dating success” as “finding the right person or people” and not “getting a lot of dates.” (I guess if your goal is to hook up without wanting an emotionally intimate relationship it doesn’t matter how you do it, but I feel like that’s what Tinder is for…) At least we seem to be getting better at accepting that it’s fine to be alone, and in fact preferable to be alone than carrying water for a substandard relationship.
But that requires at least as much mental pushback as getting out from under a cat. And well, here we are, and the little bugger keeps purring.
I eventually finished the article and extriCATed myself and made it to the couch to start work, and here I am. The problem being that now I’ve become ensnuggled by Duncan and Fafhrd, and I need to get up and exercise and make coffee. And write the next chunk of pirate attack and chase through a disintegrating space station.
The cycle of catrapment continues.
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Fafhrd is an /excellent/ cat name, btw.