not in our stars, but in ourselves
At least now I have an excuse for my sparse posting.
The aftermath of last week continues. I am not homeless, just to reiterate that point, and am reasonably comfortable/secure; but I don’t have an especially solid base, and half my life is still tied up where it was, and half of it has moved with me to my new digs, and it’s all pretty exhausting.
I did watch Flying Down to Rio (1933) as antidote, but I’m not quite up to writing about it – or about the Masterpiece Mystery remake of The Lady Vanishes that I watched last night, or about my re-watching of Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959), or about anything, really. Ever feel something sort of snap inside you? That’s how I feel now. It will mend, I’m sure, but for the time being, it’s all about muddling through as best as I can.
Anyway, I just wanted to assure those of you playing along at home that I’m fine, but pretty drained. This is the third time I’ve been evicted by a catastrophe of some description, and I am awfully tired. 2013, you’d better be done with this nonsense.