Hungry Ghost's Daily Diet (TM)

I'm bored. I would find London boring, so I guess that my life is over - at least according to Mr. Pepys. I should show some evidence of scholarship but can't be bothered to verify who said that when you're tired of of London, your life is over.

It's almost the end of suckday. Yeah. Jeffrey would be pleased. Actually, it's over for him already. I don't envy him his life. Yes, I'm being judgmental, with the emphasis on mental. So fortunate, I'm seeing Dr. T on Saturday - he'll set me straight and imbue me with cheer and say something to make me laugh at the absurdity of life. Then he'll make me choose the seats, and I'll smack him over the top of his head.

I was told, again, today that I was too nice, too generous, too kind, too lenient, and that I should have been cruel, shown sharp and cutting wit and generally debased another human being, who quite frankly, deserved it in so much as anyone deserves it. I suppose, however, I took pity on youth because they will be debased at some point in their life, but I don't feel I should be the one to do it. Too much energy. To debase someone with rigor takes time, planning and a dedicated sense of viciousness. I speak of course, of a student's thesis meeting.

Well. There you have it - the choice was to stand up for the standards of scientific endeavor, or to show compassion. I'm afraid that in a moment of weakness, I showed compassion. Quite why, I don't know. I'm just that way.

What a waste of time. Especially since time is so fleeting. Time is over before you know it. Why, in less than a month, the days will start becoming longer again. The year isn't over yet, and already my next three trips - for a total of 6 flights - are on the horizon.

I so desire a new laptop; a sleek and small Lenovo X200. But I shall resist the temptation. Even if it weighs less than 3lbs, and its battery system can be made to eke out an amazing 9 hours of computing power.

It's November, and we all know what that means - yes - time for a new phone. I'm eying the Samsung Omnia II at the moment. But in the interests of economy, I shall resist the temptation.

Because in 2010, I have three conferences I simply have to go to. One in Toronto (boring location but good workshop), Italy (don't know where, don't when, but I'm there) and Maui - this meeting I've not been to in a while, but the last two times, the local police were involved in shutting down the Canadian Party...it promises to be a good time. Oh yeah, good science too.

Then again, I'm more likely to be productive with a good solid, but light computer and an elegant, sleek phone.

A new taste sensation: A slice of crisp apple with Gruyere cheese and a slathering of fig preserve.

I would so kill for a slice of thin-crust pizza right about now.

I'm constantly hungry these days. Perhaps I'm following Mr. N's example and eating to pad the bones so as to stay warm this winter.

He, in a sudden fit of rage, said to me, "Feck the asshole. Just Feck him to Hell".

"Oh my", I said and hurriedly pushed some Greek salad his way to placate him and hopefully erase the memory of the asshole who was being cursed to H-E-Double Hockey Sticks.

To no avail, for what followed was a rant and rave that was almost worthy of the ones I sometimes make about bank fees.

Then there's the case of Mr. R who had something snarky to say when he saw DWA and me lounging innocently about the other day. He mumbled some platitude about forgiveness and "it" all being for the best. I passed him the address of a witch-doctor in town who makes the most delightfully cute voodoo dolls, complete with a set of matching pins. All you have to do is provide a bit of hair, of if the intended victim suffers from alopecia, then some blood. But he would have none of it. For now. He'll be back. I can guarantee it.

Of course, all this nattering about being good-natured and so forth reminded me of PJB who I'm a little bit worried about. I called him today to see how the enforced distancing is proceeding. Well, apparently. Even so, as a precaution, I'm sending out the hounds to hunt down cupid, and apparently they were quite successful. Who knew that hounds were such accurate and dead-on archers.

My eyes are tired and drooping, but my skin is extraordinarily awake. It practically itches, but not, I hasten to add, from crabs or bedbugs. Nor do I do exotic skin rashes. It's a supernatural itch - the kind you get when the hair on the back of your neck suddenly arises in fear something that enters the room. Something you can't actually see, but sense anyway. Of course, that something is one's sense of mortality whispering in one's ear that it behooves one to forgive one's self for one's transgressions, and to be kind to oneself because nobody else will. So PPPPTHHHHH.

And now to brush my teeth and sally forth to bed. Well, to bed anyway.

Amenities that's what I meant. Not unguents. And certainly not inanities. My word. I amaze even myself sometimes.