2. I am an introvert. I am a gregarious introvert. This means that there is a very large category of things that are fun for me without being in the slightest bit relaxing for me. They keep popping up lately. This is not a bad thing, but...oof.
3. Teenagers, the moon, and a gerund title do not make books equivalent. David Gerrold's Jumping Off the Planet was in no real (non-superficial) way like John M. Ford's Growing Up Weightless. More's the pity.
4. And speaking of Mr. Ford, I now think of Lorenzo di Medici as Arlo Guthrie in disguise or vice versa. This is not at all Mr. Ford's fault, but rather stems from a conversation I had in Oregon. But I picked up The Dragon Waiting, and there was the Medici in the table of contents, and my brain produced the guitar riff from Alice's Restaurant automatically. Stupid brain. (Incidentally, I didn't know The Dragon Waiting would be Richard III-ful. How exciting. I didn't bother to read the back cover; I saw that it was there and Fordian, and I wanted it, and there we had that.)
5. I am not singing "Alice's Restaurant" (not a problem) because I am entirely full of "Pirates of Penzance" songs (problem). On the up side, this makes me nearly earworm-proof. I expect this to last at least a week. It lasted several months last time, but that was not exactly independent conditions (see today's Novel Gazing for more of that. Lots more. Probably more than you wanted.)
6. timprov's health insurance packet finally arrived. The first one they sent out. Postmarked May 25. How am I supposed to deal with the world using the post office when they do this to me? The second packet had already arrived. What else have they got hidden from me? Yarg!
7. I am unable to accept doing well at something "for my age." I just want to do well. One of my friends once gave this as a "problem" of only children. It doesn't look like a problem to me. (I'm sure she would give this as further evidence of my maladjustment, but she's made her views on only children more than abundantly clear, and I'm about ready to take her head off in one bite if I hear another word of it.) Anyway, this is generally a fine thing but occasionally gets frustrating when I can't console myself that really, I've done quite a lot of things I'm happy with for the amount of time I've had to work with. Who cares about what's humanly possible, after all?
8. The best thing about going up to Blaisdell Ave -- no, wait, I promise I'll get to the problem -- is getting to see pameladean and dd_b and lydy (when she is there, which she was not today, which was not what one would call a good thing but not the sort of negative that gets categorized as a problem per se). But leaving is a problem, not just because I get chattery but also because of my rearview mirror. Going down 35W southbound from there, the rearview mirror has such a beautiful view of the city that I want to whip my head around and just stare at it. And also bite my lip and sniffle. It's purty going towards the folks on Blaisdell, too, but for some reason much easier to handle. Also, in frontal view it looks like my city; through the rearview it looks like a painting of my city someone put there to cheer me up. Which it does, sort of, when I'm not sniffling.
I think there are many, many worse problems to have. I've even had some of them this month. Just listing these makes me positively cheerful. Also, the prospect of getting a surprise Roo at any time helps with the good cheer.