"How's Da Sickie?"

16 October 2001

Being sick is not particularly interesting. Lots of juice and water to drink. (When I've been feeling particularly nasty, I've been feeling like a hamster, lying down with a sport bottle of water and sort of licking at the little nozzle thing.) Very much lying around. Also coughing and jammie-wearing.


Some people want chicken soup when they're sick because it reminds them of their mom (or dad). Me, I watch baseball. Sounds of home.

I just found out from Gloria that Ceej was sick enough to have to go into the hospital this weekend. She e-mailed me. Didn't say what he had or whether he was still there, just that he was getting better, which is always good. Ackackackack! C.J.s are not supposed to get that sick, especially when I am not around to Do Something About It.

(What I would do, especially in my own sick state, I don't know. Probably deputize someone to go over to his place and make him soup or something. If he's home already. Worried whimper.)

On a much, much lighter note, I finished The Age of Patronage and read Kim Stanley Robinson's anthology, Futures Primitive: The New Ecotopias. My land. This man cannot tell the difference between "a good story" and "a story I agree with." I had suspected this to be true from The Martians but had not known the extent of his inability. There were stories in this collection that were just sermons -- and not particularly good sermons, at that. Sigh.

At the last writers' group meeting I was able to attend, someone -- I think it was Zed. Hmm. I know Zed reads this journal from time to time, so I'll ascribe it to him and see if he objects. Right. So Zed was saying that while the environment is very, very important to him, he doesn't write stories about it because he doesn't want to write sermons, because he still wants to write good stories. This is very, very important. And I really wish KSR would get it.

Ah well; at least I'm not in a writing group with KSR.

So I started reading Doris Lessing's Briefing for a Descent Into Hell, which David lent to me. I don't know if I'm just in the wrong (sick) mood, but it's not hitting me right, so I set it aside and will try it again later when I feel better. I started rereading Richard Powers' Prisoner's Dilemma. I really like Powers. I wish I had something coherent to say about his books. He likes history, but his novels aren't usually historical; he likes trivia buffs. Not particularly informative, I realize. Hmm. Galatea 2.2 is about creating an AI, but it's not science fiction, and that delighted me, that I live in an age when a book about creating an AI could not be SF. And Gain -- Gain is about cancer, and about soap. That had to have been a good deal of fun to tell people. "Hey, Rich, what's your latest book about?" (Whether he likes it or not, people will call the man Rich. I know. My grandfather's name is Richard, and people who don't know him attempt to do this very thing.) "Soap. Oh, and cancer." It's more compact than most of Tim's lists of what his books are about, more compact than my latest one, even. But satisfying.

Right then. Well, the plan for today: migrating between couch, bed, and computer chair. Drinking fluids. Hoping for the best. Reading, maybe watching TV or a movie. Writing e-mail if I get some to answer. Hoping that Gloria gets back to me soon and none of the rest of you have similar news.

And on the side of much rejoicing (there had to be something): Scott passed his thesis defense! Of course. Yay, Scott!

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