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One of the things I like to do of an evening is to fall asleep while Vali is on the Interwebs and there's a nice thing like a Cinematic Titanic movie playing in the background. Occasionally however I will wake up just as she's winding down, meaning I end up staring at a dark ceiling with a purring cat until I acknowledge reality and get up for a spell. So here I am. It's a perfect time to reorganize your files, find out how much irreplaceable stuff you lost when your thumb drive finally went kablooey this week (not as catastrophic as I feared, thank goodness), and for writing Dreamwidth posts.
Today I got the last of the animal control statistics I requested back in January. I wish there was a medal given for tenacity in obtaining city records as surely I'd place somewhere. There's a lot of guardedness from the people I ask (as if I want to obtain them to unearth some deep dark secret), when really I ask for them so I can write grants to get spay/neuter assistance money for the nonprofit I work for. One city cut their euthanasia rate by 34 percent, which is due mainly to one hardcore volunteer, her friends and an animal control officer who helps get the dogs and cats out of animal control and into a rescue. I just emailed her to let her know. I can't help her as much as I like-- I get lots of "HELP! BEGGING!" emails from her-- but I can let her know her persistence is paying off.
Coming off of writing articles on the Federal Reserve, the Selma to Montgomery marches, and Filipino hip-hop, mailing off a P*tSm*rt grant in the nick of time and getting ready for a Neuter Scooter visit, my brain really hasn't been good for ballast these days, especially for calming down a little to read some fiction. I finally did last week (The Sister by Poppy Adams, called The Behaviour of Moths in Britain). Have you ever read something that's really well done, and yet you still don't know how you feel about the whole thing once it's over? I vacillate between admiration and "oh, I don't know," and ick.
Stupid excited for Doctor Who tomorrow-- or today, rather. I've been on a season opener high before only to have my nose savagely rubbed in it later, but this feels different somehow. Famous last words I know, but hope springs eternal.
Today I got the last of the animal control statistics I requested back in January. I wish there was a medal given for tenacity in obtaining city records as surely I'd place somewhere. There's a lot of guardedness from the people I ask (as if I want to obtain them to unearth some deep dark secret), when really I ask for them so I can write grants to get spay/neuter assistance money for the nonprofit I work for. One city cut their euthanasia rate by 34 percent, which is due mainly to one hardcore volunteer, her friends and an animal control officer who helps get the dogs and cats out of animal control and into a rescue. I just emailed her to let her know. I can't help her as much as I like-- I get lots of "HELP! BEGGING!" emails from her-- but I can let her know her persistence is paying off.
Coming off of writing articles on the Federal Reserve, the Selma to Montgomery marches, and Filipino hip-hop, mailing off a P*tSm*rt grant in the nick of time and getting ready for a Neuter Scooter visit, my brain really hasn't been good for ballast these days, especially for calming down a little to read some fiction. I finally did last week (The Sister by Poppy Adams, called The Behaviour of Moths in Britain). Have you ever read something that's really well done, and yet you still don't know how you feel about the whole thing once it's over? I vacillate between admiration and "oh, I don't know," and ick.
Stupid excited for Doctor Who tomorrow-- or today, rather. I've been on a season opener high before only to have my nose savagely rubbed in it later, but this feels different somehow. Famous last words I know, but hope springs eternal.
