I look out of my office window to see it’s snowing again and I find myself wondering what day it is, what month, even. Every day seems to bleed into the next, one inch of freezing white powder at a time. The skies were not always this gray and foreboding, I think to myself. In fact, there was one day last week, perhaps even two, during which the sky was as blue as ever and the sun shone brightly and the snow began to melt and the promise that spring would soon be here was hanging in the air. That was a promise doomed to be broken, as I peer above my monitor and see the snow swirling in the wind.
I awoke this morning to find my voice had gone missing, though it seems to have finished whatever it had been doing in far away places unknown and decided it belongs in my throat, where it’s warm. Though my voice has returned to me, it is the raspy growl of one who is old and has seen much and may be a bit bitter about it all. The coughing that bellows up from the depths of my chest cavity is a sign that my voice will most likely sneak away from me again tonight.
Having seen the film RED this morning, I have decided that I won’t be trying to kill Bruce Willis any time in the near future, as it doesn’t seem to end well for anyone who has tried doing so in the past.
I have also decided that John Malkovich plays a crazed man better than anyone sane possibly could.
The robots are learning! The robots are learning!
I was amused to read about a woman who has just recieved her Master’s Degree in The Beatles.
“It’s been a really intense 18 months doing the course, then the dissertation, and I’m working full time back home at the college,” she said in an interview. “So I’m really chuffed — very proud and excited to the first to get this degree.”
It sort of makes you wonder when the Rolling Stones course will start up. Or the Bob Dylan, or the David Bowie.
Off I go, then.