As in: I’d have a lot less if I cleaned my house.

I found an excuse – actually two – for not caring at all about “Game of Thrones.” First one is titled Eight Deadly Words, subtitled “I don’t care what happens to these people.” Second one is “Darkness-induced Audience Apathy.” I actually kind of wonder about Arya and Tyrion, but not enough to go there. Also, the problem with the “I have no idea how long summer or winter will last, and so therefore science will not happen here.” The only adaptive technology that has happened in thousands of years is that Winterfell taps into an underground hot spring. Whoopie. Where, exactly, are the enormous stockpiles of food, enough to last through a winter of eight or ten years? Oh, I know. All those little farms that get burnt to the ground that everybody has a little sad about, and then moves on to kill somebody else.

It’s winter break; has been for ten days. Yes, I am bored. The art cave (my basement studio) is too freaking cold, and I don’t want to spend the money to heat it up (money, global warming, doing something just for me are you nuts? etc.) And I am so used to reading for a purpose that just reading seems frivolous, or something. So I’m alternating between philosophy books, and sketching out ideas, and thinking hard about printing dry-point without a press. I’ve ordered the ink. I have the acrylic. This will be a thing for a while.

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Lino block print. “Russian Novels.”

I am amused.

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