The long distance runner

Well... I mean, it's actually a VERY short distance, but long for me.

Still, length is subjective... there are many jokes in that vein about penises. And women driving. I had one that went, "Life, like sex, lasts too fucking long."

The days have a certain shortness at the moment as I am getting up so damn late (love of my life used to say, "There's only one ten o'clock in Issy's world, and it's not the morning one.") But there is then this extended period of wondering if I will get any work. No, is the answer of late. I am starting to feel that, just maybe, I have ceased to exist to anyone except myself.

I have to schedule things to give myself some form of structure... no food til after one or maybe two... no booze (or, more usually, "fake" booze) until after eight. Actually... that's about it. Obviously, from four until eight I kind of pretend to be working.

To a certain extent, this period has been productive - working on my cuckoo, hollow places, and AI papers. Also making a rather desperate start on one about acorns... the start of "The Path of the Oak" perhaps.

I have done a review for a journal and have one that I have to re-review, after the paper was resubmitted. I really don't want to. But it will fill some time, I guess.

As will more "long" runs.