T-shirt and raincoat weather. Sweating in baffled resentment.
First week at the new job complete, no (serious) permanent psychological damage logged. A-, will work again next week.
Final train of the day. Happy moo cows in the sun.
First train of the day. Sleepy birds watching and judging.
On a long train journey to an unfamiliar destination tomorrow… seems like the perfect setting to start into @mjohnharrison ‘s latest.
(Cutting mat, hobby knife and oil paint not strictly necessary)
On the last train trip to my current place of work. Uninterrupted blue skies and sun. Weather’s pretty nice too.
The delicate little balance of joyful abject terror between the last day at one job and the first at another.
Today in middle-aged shopping: a US quart is a different size from a UK quart, a useful thing to know when buying new sealing rings for your Instant Pot (the capacity of which you previously only knew in litres).
Carless (by choice) for the first time in around thirty years (triple checked that duration, still feels impossible).
I wonder how long the empty-driveway-it’s-been-stolen-!, mini heart attack phase lasts.
Changing jobs after 21 years… me-from-the-beforetimes would be startled by that alone, nevermind simultaneously:
a) getting rid of my car (‘commutes’, such a pre-COVID concept)
b) wondering if I can get to retirement age before LLMs destroy the need for literally any of my learned skills (either career or hobby)
All under a fake nighttime.
It’s like multiple distant storms are shooting artillery at each other in a rota.
It’s getting weird out there, the sound is popping-and-boomingly continuous.
It definitely left new holes up there.
Yappy dogs at distant rumbles silent as the actual thunder rolls over.
Tiny, faraway winds, raging at bedtime.
Maybe it’s age, but thunder is starting to sound a lot meaner here in the future.