(no subject)

[verbicide]

It's cold and I have a headache. I woke up with a headache and while I beat it back briefly, it seems to be here to stay. I'm going to bed early. I usually can't sleep without a book, but I don't know if more eye-strain is the wisest move. Hrm. BUT, I am in the middle of The Subtle Knife.

It's taken me nearly five thousand years to pick up this second book of Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, and it's very good. I hear the first and third books are the best, but I'm enjoying this one just fine. Incomprehensibly, I picture 15 year old Sarah in my mind as the precocious Lyra. This gives me more amusement than can possibly be expressed in mere words. The only thing I have to do before I go to sleep is put away the laundry I unceremoniously dumped onto my bed earlier. In spite of a day-long, hellacious headache, I managed to clean the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. I did two loads of dishes and one load of laundry. I did the soft-copy edit of the manual I'd ignored all weekend and I'm nearly finished with the tiny rainbow scarf I've knitted for brabble's teddy bear, Roger. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I'm too excitable to surprise people and blurted it out the minute I next saw Sarah and ran at her, merrily waving it in her face. It was supposed to be a Christmas present for Roger, but holding a secret like this for 2 days is beyond my ability, let alone 2 months. Maybe I'll finish that tonight. Knitting a scar for a bear is much faster than for a cousin.