Movement Orders

I’ve fueled up the car and finished wrapping the gifts. The girls love the whole phenomenon of wrapping presents, especially the bows and ribbons, and Tink is particularly fond of tissue paper. I saw the doctor today, and he said I’m probably not communicable, but added that I can expect to continue to be very, very tired and low-energy for another week or two; the gunk in my lungs makes them rather poor at doing what they’re supposed to do. I got a haircut, my first in years, since my habit’s usually been to run the clippers over my head every couple weeks. The girl who cut my hair was young and pretty and absolutely brutal in the way she let her aesthetic sensibilities run over my 34-year-old male ego, and I’m delighted with the results. I’ve cleaned out the refrigerator and washed all the dishes. The committee is on board with the project, and wants some doable revisions to the prospectus. I’ve had the car’s oil changed and checked the tire pressure, and the tires themselves look fine, as they should: they’re practically brand new.

And I’m very, very tired, and all this means that I haven’t yet read another word of Derek Bok or Stanley Aronowitz or Andrew Feenberg, and I feel a bit of guilt about that, but I won’t let myself feel too much. I’ll bring Bok and Aronowitz and Feenberg with me when I drive down to D.C. tomorrrow, but I’ll also bring Patrick O’Brian.

Blogging, as you can guess, may be intermittent, but I’m looking forward to taking some occasional quiet time at 3rd & Pennsylvania, too. Happy holidays.