Creaking in the damp
Jun. 7th, 2012 08:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Gym stuff: climbing proved an improvement over Tuesday, though I repent most heartily my loss of conditioning.
Links of interest:
Aliette de Bodard's fantastic short story "Immersion" at Clarkesworld. (And I say this as someone who rarely reads shorts.)
Amal El-Mohtar on The Sandbaggers and Female Exceptionalism.
jennygadget has some thoughts after reading the first chapter of How To Suppress Women's Writing.
What you might call a grand soft day today. Never got brighter than twilight, really. A rain like mist occasionally spattered into greater vigour. Crossing the Liffey between Connolly Station and the arse-end of college, the Jeannie Johnston down the river almost obscured by the mist: docklands disappearing in the rain. River high and swollen with the tide, lapping less than a meter or so from the bridge arches, the green weed-scent of river water at war with the faintest tang of brine.
If it's like this tomorrow, I don't think I want to leave the house. It makes my joints ache. I am too young to creak in the damp.
Links of interest:
Aliette de Bodard's fantastic short story "Immersion" at Clarkesworld. (And I say this as someone who rarely reads shorts.)
Amal El-Mohtar on The Sandbaggers and Female Exceptionalism.
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What you might call a grand soft day today. Never got brighter than twilight, really. A rain like mist occasionally spattered into greater vigour. Crossing the Liffey between Connolly Station and the arse-end of college, the Jeannie Johnston down the river almost obscured by the mist: docklands disappearing in the rain. River high and swollen with the tide, lapping less than a meter or so from the bridge arches, the green weed-scent of river water at war with the faintest tang of brine.
If it's like this tomorrow, I don't think I want to leave the house. It makes my joints ache. I am too young to creak in the damp.