Porthole

A sad saggy blog

11 p.m. 27 degrees. Quiet.

I finished Tracy White's How I Made It To Eighteen. Young and bulemic... breakdown... interesting read. She calls herself Stacy Black in this memoir... that too I find interesting.

I will choose something totally different next. I've finished 5 books. Two of them short, but pages don't count. Like poetry. I need to read poetry slower. Each poem deserves to have its moment. Some deserve more moments than others.

I need to be careful what I post here. This is not my rant blog nor is it my private journal. Just because no one comments doesn't men it's not being read... although... 33 views in a week = not being read.

It's sad saggy blog.

I hope to get one more piece of writing done and submitted today. That will help. I have 9 days left and lots of writing in front of me. Getting something done actually helps while I work on other things.

I commented to Robert re life on Mars: "I like the idea of robots. But quantity matters. I'd like to see 100 mini-robots that can travel (roll) in any direction, get out of holes, over or around obstacles, that can be recharged by a weak sun. Even if half weren't functioning after a year, and half again in two years, there would still (hypothetically) be 3 scurrying after 5. Unless they are all going around in circles... or pausing to 'pee'... they could cover quite a bit of territory... if they were slow moving, say 1 km/day they could go over 300 km/yr or 1500 km after 5 years. And small is key. Like ants, they could teach us a lot. Many humans tend to think in macro terms when micro is where it's at. Bigfoot doesn't have a summerhome on Mars or Titan, but microbes might.

Even on Earth, so much life is small and so much life seeks shelter in the cracks."

Noon ... ish ... 33 degrees. I'm melting.

I'm reading Mrs. Pollifax... light reading, short and sweet.

I finished my second coffee so at least I'm awake ... ish. Not as bright today as yesterday.

My last two posts on the Newsfeed have been ignored. *sigh* This blog is ignored *sigh*sigh*. My life is *s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s* You get the picture.

Evening... in the garden of...

My geraniums are blooming and the plant I barely rescued last October has a flowerhead developing. It should be red.

No mail. I crossed the river to check. It was 38 degrees. Balmy.

Wrote: "I lean [351]" 

I made my own hummus: crushed white sesame seeds, added lemon, lemon pepper, garlic with parsley, cooked chick peas and blended, adding olive/canola oil.

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