La Serpiente rushed into the house at six this evening, exclaiming "what a beautiful graph!" So I have at least one vote in favour of what I was doing all day: battering at some data in an effort to find something new, and then making a pretty picture. It made me happy, at least for a while, to find some pattern there amongst the numbers. Now all I have to do is find a way to make it useful. Or, alternately, find someone to find a way to make it useful.
The disgusting lesions and blisters from my shingles are healing rapidly. The pain, on the other hand, lingers. It’s depressingly debilitating, a stabbing pain in my midriff (or even just the fear of pain) that means I can’t exert force through my core, so I struggle to lift my daughter’s, or to bend down and pick anything up. Something as simple as running is totally out of the question. Worse yet, spending the day sat over a laptop at the kitchen table has now ruined my back, so I’m wracked with pain in every direction. I keep taking the pills. I keep hoping it will end.
La Serpiente asked for the very simplistic I Hate Boots for bed tonight, a dreadful story in which a small pig rejects winter clothing and then realises, when out in the snow, that boots and scarves and socks have some utility. This book deserves a full review for posterity, on this, the anniversary of writing about Love You Forever.
I cannot remember what else La Serpiente wanted read to her, because she fell asleep quickly tonight and then I sat on the sofa in great discomfort, sharing cheesy poofs with my wife. Only the highest class, Marks & Spencer cheesy poofs, mind. I have my standards.
But La Serpiente liked my graph, and Destroyer kissed me on the cheek. Not everything is disastrous.