I have put books on my bookshelves. I have organized my books. I now have one box of classics (mandatory college reading and miscellaneous life points achievement books) that I don’t feel the need to display, one box of books I have not read and do not have a strong desire to (and yet am incapable of choosing NOT to read) and then I will soon assemble a box of books that do not need to travel with me when I move, and they can all go back in the closet while Brust, Butcher, Briggs, Bishop, Huff, Harris, Hendee, Starbuck, Pierce, Wrede, Weber, Wilson, LeGuin (and various other authors without a critical mass of books so I’m willing to list them ) enjoy life on the shelves. THIS IS VERY EXCITING AND KIND OF LAME AT THE SAME TIME.
P.S. A lot of people with depression and other mental illnesses have trouble making decisions or choosing from a bunch of different options. “Wanna get dinner at that pizza place on Tuesday night?” is a LOT easier to answer than “So wanna hang out sometime? What do you want to do?”
I am struck occasionally, usually while snuggling the cat, with our faith in domestication.
The cat is a small, ferocious predator, twelve pounds of…well, flab and fur, frankly, in Athena’s case, but what muscle there is is strong all out of proportion to her size. I have watched three 150+ primates try and fail to subdue a ten pound cat, and consider it not at all unusual. The cat is as flexible as a snake and as strong as an ox. She has quite dainty looking teeth and claws, but there’s nothing dainty about their ability to flay flesh from bone.
If the cat and I were in a duel to the death, I would almost certainly win. I am 15+ times larger than she is, after all, and while my teeth and claws are pathetic, I have prehensile hands capable of doing terrible things. But if I had to go in naked, as the cat does, (and assuming the cat was aware that she was going to have to kill me, and not taking a nap in the corner) I can pretty much guarantee it would be a Pyhrric victory. I’d look like I’d gone ten rounds with a wolverine. I would need stitches. A lot of stitches. Possibly a glass eye. And antibiotics by the truckload. It’d be a mess, and there would even be a chance of an upset if the cat managed to go face-hugger on me.
And yet, despite the knowledge of the shocking amount of damage my small predator could inflict, it never occurs to me to worry. I pick the cat up and she tucks her head under my chin and purrs, canine teeth centimeters from my jugular, and despite the fact that I am carrying a ruthless carnivore in a position where she could, with great ease, remove me from the gene pool, I am thoroughly content with the world. Even knowing full well that cats are not even a truly domesticated animal, that Athena’s kin might best be described as “consistently tamed,” my greatest concern is that my black tank top is now coated in white cat hairs.
We have such faith in the process of domestication, despite the sheer unnaturalness of what’s happening. Small predators do not curl up on the chests of large primates and purr in the wild. And yet, every now and again, generally when my small predator is purring on the chest of this particular primate, I think How strange, how strange… that we’re doing this, and even stranger, that we both take it completely for granted, and find nothing unusual in such a completely unlikely alliance.”
Thank you so much, I’m honestly speechless
When I write reviews, they are not well planned, they are basically word vomit. Just all over the writer.
And I’m always thinking “Artemis, you should not vomit on people you admire, that is not a good thing” and then I don’t review things. Or write fic. Or do, like, anything.
The point being, yay, I did a Not-Failure! I feel happy and kinda smug!
I shall now go take my smug deprived-arse to bed, because I have been awake for 40 hours.
Your reviews are always happy-making on my end, just so you know :)