(no subject)

The weather is changing. Already I'm boppier than I've been all day. This is probably not a good thing, given I have to wake up early tomorrow for a class excursion. We're going to the National Gallery and we might have a musical interlude.

In my increasingly alert state, I read the blogs of other people. On Jeff VanderMeer's, someone posed a question about reference books on my desk.* Most of my reference books inhabit nearby bookshelves or are electronic, but I actually have reference books on my desk. This surprised me so very much that I'm going to document them here.

I ran my finger over them, just to check for dust. There was mostly no dust. Since I'm an appalling housekeeper, this means I must use them. I use them pretty automatically, though, and don't think about them much. This worries me. It seems rather disrespectful.

So, what are these books I treat with such cavalier disregard? From the top down, they're:

Capelli's Dizionario di Abbreviature latine ed italiane (because so much of the internet requires it, of course)
My high school Concise Oxford English Dictionary (though I have a quick link to the giant OED on the ANU website, this is still the easiest way of checking I'm not being stupid about words. I wish there was an easy way of checking if I'm being stupid about other things.)
Lewis and Short (my aunt taught me "Latin is a language, dead as dead can be. It killed the Ancient Romans and now it's killing me." Having a dictionary on hand doesn't mean I actually remember any Latin - these days it just means I know how to use a dictionary. I once was almost educated. Those were the days.)
Harrap's new Shorter French and English Dictionary (proof I did first year French as an undergraduate)
Ian Hemphill's Spice Notes and Recipes
Mrs Grieve's A Modern Herbal
The Jane Austen Cookbook (which is entirely in the wrong place - it belongs in the shelf by the door)
English 18th Century Cookery (also in the wrong place - it goes in the shelf by the other door - oh! this means my German dictionary can go off the floor and onto a shelf! only two homeless books in this whole room)
Nuttall's Pronouncing Dictionary (because one never knows when one needs to be able to say something in a correct lateish 19th century English accent. This is especially useful for words such as 'colonist.')
The Theodosian Code (this had dust on - I am ashamed of myself - I love this book and I haven't looked at it for at least two years.)

And that's it. Upright computer desks don't really have much shelf space.

Do you feel enlightened yet, or should I find more books to list?

Actually, I'm going to bed. It's under 20 degrees outside, which means things will be sleeping-temperature soon. If you leave me lots of scintillating comments, I'll give you extracts from the Theodosian Code in the near future. I bought it from my first income, as a birthday present to myself. I wanted to find out for myself what laws Constantine made, because nothing anyone said about him made sense to me. Once I sorted that one out, I became fascinated to see what legislation was passed regarding synagogues. Then I looked at the status of women. Then I learned some Latin and realised I probably had it all wrong...



*Well, not specifically on mine.

(no subject)

My life is too exciting and yet nothing much happens. Today was a case in point.

I kept making excuses for myself this morning.

The bus was late. It didn't link to the next bus, so I caught the one after that. This was one of the routes the Art Gallery recommends on its website. Much better than driving, the website says. This bus was - naturally - the one that took the long way round. It was a very scenic route and I got to see lots of mountains and parks on the way from urban centre to the Parliamentary Triangle. No kangaroos, though - wrong time of day.

The bus driver told me the stop I wanted didn't exist, so had me get off earlier and walk a kilometre. I nodded in passing to the whacking great concrete shelter at this non-existent bus stop, thinking "How could he not know this was there?" and "I'm going to be about five minutes late." Also, I was starting to think "Everything hurts a bit today. How odd. I'm probably a born malingerer."

After a brisk ten minute walk in 30 degrees C, I faced the consequences of the renovations at the National Gallery. Lots of scaffolding and not much visibility. There were many signs with arrows that announced "Main Entrance." I looked at them and thought "That's an unexpected direction. They must've blocked off normal access." Of course I followed those signs.

The first door was a staff entrance and the gates to heaven (and air conditioning) were barred. I shrugged and went a bit further. There was another door, but it was locked. There were more signs that pointed to the Main Entrance. I followed them, being a dutiful type of human being. A rather tired and dutiful type of human being, by this point. My feet were dragging and I was sipping from my water bottle, looking forward to being out of the heat.

Then there was a fern garden that led to steps that led to a second locked door. After the third locked door, and 3/4 of the way round the building from where I started, I asked a gardener. He laughed and pointed to a half-hidden entry that wasn't signposted at all. "You need the escalators," he said.

After all this, I was only twenty minutes late.

None of my students were there. Not then, and not fifteen minutes later. No-one had seen them. There were extra staff watching, because of the new exhibition, and we all worried. My students are ultra-reliable, so I was very concerned. The Gallery folks were super-nice and let me make a phonecall.

There was a very good reason for my students not to be there. I thought today was Wednesday. It is, I discovered, only Tuesday. I was very, very early.

The incoming weather change had muddled my brain. I had a very gentle migraine.

I slept the aches away this afternoon. While I was asleep, the temperature dropped 6 or so degrees. It's currently nearly 10 degrees less than it was at the height of my escapades. I shall be in fine fettle for the excursion tomorrow.

It wasn't a wasted day. I know what bus not to catch tomorrow and how to access the Gallery.

Also, having gone all that way and it being so hot (and my brain being rather upside-down) I decided not to waste my trip. I popped into the National Portrait Gallery and did a bit of visual research. After that, I walked the long way (because my brain couldn't think of the short way, by this stage) to the reliable bus stop (the Intertown) and ate my fruit for lunch in the Parliamentary Rose Gardens. Thousands of beautiful, sun-scorched roses. They were feeling the heat, too. I nodded to the Tent Embassy, and noted that I was walking so slowly that an ant could overtake me.

This was when I finally realised that the problems might not all be external. I drank lots of water at that point, and avoided walking any more. In my curious state, though, I walked 6 or 7 kilometres (between busses and locked doors and galleries and muddle-headedness). So maybe it's not so bad I hit the junk food on the way home, in the time in between busses.

And that is the story of my morning. Let it be a warning unto you all. I have no idea what it's warning you of, but it's a warning nonetheless.