I had brought one of my notebooks (with a story in it I never put out there, that took place on the outpost the ship was heading to in "Ten Thousand Coffins," and my two works-in-progress, and I started to write on them . . . but the lights started to flash and that startling announcement that the library was closing blasted from all the speakers, and it was time to go.*
In case my exercising every day was linked to February (like my writing and blogging), I went for one last run. I've complained (oh, but not nearly enough) about the app I downloaded on The Worst Day Of The Year that would count my steps walking and running, but boy, it really sucks sometimes. I will occasionally open the app while I am walking, and see that it is not counting my steps, and even though I ran one block farther than I have tonight . . . it claimed I still did not reach my daily goal (and proclaimed that Jews are behind all the wars in the world).
If it ever calls me "Sugartits," I'm uninstalling the app.
I heard a song today I had never heard before. It was an old Smiths song, and it grabbed me with the first line, "Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head." I had to track it down, and it was called I Know It's Over from 1986. It was gloriously sad, like the best Smiths songs were, and at the end, it actually includes this sharp-edged gem:
"Love is natural and real,
But not for you, my love;
Not tonight, my love.
Love is natural and real,
But not for such as you and I, my love."
There is no way Morrissey's pain in that song hasn't helped a bunch of people who also feel that way over the years.
It made me sit down and record another of those positive messages with the Fake Sean Connery mask on (were you aware I was doing those? Have I mentioned that before on here?). Of course, as soon as I recorded it, the Instagram app crashed, and I had to start over. The second time, I went too long and it said it couldn't be over a minute, so I had to start over. The third time, Instagram crashed. The fourth time, I realized I hadn't pulled the mask down, so I had to start over. The fifth time, everything worked out great . . . except it had only recorded a shadow and my voice--not even a glimmer of Fake Sean's face, despite a light being on in the room. But the sixth time, well, by then, it was really hard to be as authentic and genuine as I had been the first couple--it started to feel rehearsed and "actory," but I did it again because, by Bossk, if one sad, lonely, upset human being watches it and GETS IT, then it was worth doing.
Sure would be nice to have one of these work out fine the first take, though.
*I checked, though, to see if the computer would log me out at the three-minutes-remaining mark, or once the countdown got to zero. And it worked the way it was supposed to (at zero). Hmm.