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Jan. 8th, 2011 01:02 pmI have two lists to govern my life. One is for the cookbook and includes five emails without which I cannot proceed. Once I have those five, I can finalise the first draft within a day.
This explains why "cookbook" is on my second list. The second list is to reduce the feeling of overwhelm I had when my neighbour decided I didn't need to sleep last night. This is not the same neighbour who felt that sleep last weekend was not a priority.
The second list is only eleven items long. If it were everything I have to do in the next seven days, it would be about triple the length. It's the "I'm in big trouble if I don't get this done" list, and is as short as I can make it. I intend to reduce it by at least two items today, because overwhelm is not my favourite feeling. I also intend to take time out this afternoon/evening and be all foodie with friends.
My handbag book for the weekend is Aliette de Bodard's Harbinger of the Storm. I'll report on it as soon as I finish it, as it's another Angry Robot book (they sent me a lovely parcel that arrived last week). My other review book is Stephen Bertman's The Genesis of Science, which arrived in the mail just yesterday. The book I'm trying not to take from the shelf (useful for food history research, but the most depressing book I own and so I hate getting it out) is In Memory's Kitchen. The magazines I'm reading (in bits and pieces) are the latest ASIM and Parergon. The book at the back of my mind (and one of the many inhabiting my coffee table) is Clemence of Barking's Life of St Catherine. My reward book for catching up on everything is Elfsorrow (James Barclay). The book that really ought not be on my sorting shelf is Storied Kitchens, but I keep forgetting to put it away. The pile of books that most urgently needs to go away has Lambert's Du manuscrit a la table on the top and Thomas Dawson's Good Huswifes Jewell at the bottom and has just been rescued from an ungraceful topple. The novels closest to my bed are by Michael Chabon and Marian Eldridge, except for the London Street Directory (which isn't by either, although part of it is most certainly fictional). The last book I read was by Elizabeth Chadwick. Today's book situation is entirely controlled and, in fact, there is much space between books. It's not always this clear. (Simply writing this paragraph explains to me why I'm often stymied when people ask "What are you reading?")
This explains why "cookbook" is on my second list. The second list is to reduce the feeling of overwhelm I had when my neighbour decided I didn't need to sleep last night. This is not the same neighbour who felt that sleep last weekend was not a priority.
The second list is only eleven items long. If it were everything I have to do in the next seven days, it would be about triple the length. It's the "I'm in big trouble if I don't get this done" list, and is as short as I can make it. I intend to reduce it by at least two items today, because overwhelm is not my favourite feeling. I also intend to take time out this afternoon/evening and be all foodie with friends.
My handbag book for the weekend is Aliette de Bodard's Harbinger of the Storm. I'll report on it as soon as I finish it, as it's another Angry Robot book (they sent me a lovely parcel that arrived last week). My other review book is Stephen Bertman's The Genesis of Science, which arrived in the mail just yesterday. The book I'm trying not to take from the shelf (useful for food history research, but the most depressing book I own and so I hate getting it out) is In Memory's Kitchen. The magazines I'm reading (in bits and pieces) are the latest ASIM and Parergon. The book at the back of my mind (and one of the many inhabiting my coffee table) is Clemence of Barking's Life of St Catherine. My reward book for catching up on everything is Elfsorrow (James Barclay). The book that really ought not be on my sorting shelf is Storied Kitchens, but I keep forgetting to put it away. The pile of books that most urgently needs to go away has Lambert's Du manuscrit a la table on the top and Thomas Dawson's Good Huswifes Jewell at the bottom and has just been rescued from an ungraceful topple. The novels closest to my bed are by Michael Chabon and Marian Eldridge, except for the London Street Directory (which isn't by either, although part of it is most certainly fictional). The last book I read was by Elizabeth Chadwick. Today's book situation is entirely controlled and, in fact, there is much space between books. It's not always this clear. (Simply writing this paragraph explains to me why I'm often stymied when people ask "What are you reading?")