I am feeling vaguely melancholy this evening.

Part of it is that I just finished “All The Way Home” which was a melancholy sort of book–one guy writing about his effort to renovate a completely destroyed mansion, the premise of which is occasionally funny but frequently sad, as the entire book basically consists of “Oh god, I have bitten off more than I can chew, but I cannot tell my wife, because she believes in me, and I cannot let her down, and I sort of sneakingly enjoy doing this, but oh god, I’m in so far over my head and oh my god, is that a raccoon?”

Had I written it, it would have been heavier on the funny anecdotes and lighter on the male angst. Mind you, that’s probably inevitable, as I do  not think I HAVE much male angst.* Still, renovating a condemned house is bound to be comedy gold. One does not need to have every other chapter dedicated to how providing a home for one’s family is some kind of primal male urge and the terror of failure as a husband/father/provider/etc and the angst about having to grow up and be a real adult and so on and so forth.**

Needed more squirrel trapping and wisteria slaying and less angst.

Still, it held my attention, so I’d at least recommend it once it comes out in paperback. Just don’t go in expecting a laugh riot.

The other reason I am feeling melancholy is because I did not get nearly as much accomplished today as I wanted to–a misplaced save wiped out several hours of editing and rewriting, which I duplicated at high speed, but which exhausted my efforts for the day, particularly after I spent half the morning getting an estimate for the body work to the car. (Body shop guy: “Man, those deer were gunning for ya…”) Fortunately it’s only $250 deductible, which, given the damage is over $2K, (they’re replacing most of the front) is nothin’ to sneeze at. Something about redoing work is far more wearing than doing it the first time. Go figure.

Also, I miss

  But that probably goes without saying.

Therefore, I shall do what I always do when sorrow threatens. I shall load up a video game–classic Tomb Raider is on the plate today–and some hot tea and perhaps later a slice of cheesecake, and Ben will see that I am playing a game requiring dexterity and concentration and thus will crawl in my lap to hug me and purr madly, and all will be, if not right with the world, at least as good as it’d gonna get.

*I can’t rule out the possibility that I have some–I am told that I am deeply non-girly in many regards, by friend and foe alike–but I’ve never noticed it. Then again, I’ve never tried to renovate a house…

**I don’t know, maybe this is what male angst looks like. I always assumed it would more involve penis size, but maybe that’s overly simplistic. What do I know?

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