I hadn't meant to write today, but it's 1825 and I'm sitting here transferring data to the machine with the tape drive so that I can then dump the data to tape. Very slow. Very boring. To entertain myself I'm reading Ceej's journal from the very beginning. This is actually a project I started several weeks ago, but the backup hell of yesterday & today has allowed me to make great strides. I should finish all of 1996 before I leave tonight.

Hmn. Even with lots of free time I'm reading slowly. I wonder why? I read very fast when it comes to books. Probably it's the medium... I have to do this clicking thing, and then I have to wait for the page to load, which means I flip to another part of my desktop and do something else, and then go back to the Netscape/journal window when it occurs to me. If there was no delay in accessing the data it might go faster. This is why physical books still win out over online books -- well, one of many reasons.

I've also been doing Java. I successfully wrote some code which rolls 3d6 six times and sticks the results into an array, and then does a bubble sort on the array. I copied the code for the bubble sort from a C lecture Ambar sent me, which felt vaguely dishonest. All my programmer friends have pointed out that algroithms exist to be copied, but it still feels like I'm cheating. More imposter syndrome. Anyway, I wrote the code & made it work, and then sent it to Rachel, who pointed out some minor flaws & otherwise complimented me excessively. Now I am trying to understand vectors, but without much focus.

All of this (the reading, the writing, the Java) would be much simpler if my co-workers weren't screaming to each other about their Quake game. I'm almost out of batteries for the discman Steve so kindly loaned me, or otherwise I'd be doing the music thing -- oh, the hell with it. I might as well run the batteries down right now and have some peace of mind. Plus it's after 18, so I can legimitately turn the music up loud enough that I won't hear people asking me questions.

The music of choice is Mindcrime. I was listening to it earlier also, while writing the kludgey Java. It's such good coding music, although I haven't spent enough time coding yet to know if this will hold true. I assume so, though.

Borders last night was a vile disappointment; not only did they not have the new Pamela Dean book, but they claimed it wouldn't be out until June and that anyone who had it already was in a secret conspiracy with the publishing house. Feh. I had them reserve me a copy anyway, although I expect that I'll pick up a copy MemDay at Future Fantasy and be able to snub them. "I found a store which had it in stock," I'll say cheerfully. "So I shan't be needing your copy." Will this make them feel foolish for coming perilously close to accusing me of lying about the book's existance? Probably not, but it's satisfying to think about.

I did acquire two new YA fantasies, by an author whose name I can't recall, and one of the books I read a review of yesterday -- Like People in History by Felice Picano, which is about gay people, so I suppose it's not a mainstream novel after all. But I'm sure I'll enjoy it, unless the writing sucks. My best find was my very own copy of Congenial Spirits -- the wonderfully edited book of Virginia Woolf's letters that I burbled about at such length yesterday. I'm reasonably pleased by these, which is why Borders was only a vile disappointment and not a horror which should be cleansed from the earth.

Once home from Borders I played Angband, ate a veggie rice bowl from Trader Joe's (which was yummy, if a little over-peppered), and coughed. Oh, did I cough. Hours of coughing, quieted finally by the last of Earl's cough syrup. So this morning I dragged myself to the doctor and demanded that something be done. They patted me on the head, said I probably have bronchitis after all (take that! Dr. Ryobal), gave me erythromycin, and (after I explained that I'd just used up all of Earl's) a bottle of cough-syrup-with-codeine. At least if the antibiotics don't work I can drug myself into a non-coughing stupor.

My creeping plague is less annoying! It hasn't been itching at all today, despite my wearing a loose-ish dress.

Mindcrime has hit track nine. Lots of drum. Lots of guitar. Okay, this is true for most of the tracks, but nine stands out compared to eight. I think when this track is over I'll go home; I've successfully dumped 800mb to tape, and estimate another three or so hours to finish, which means there's no way I'll finish tonight. I'm not staying until 22, especially not on a Friday.

I need to write Jim about why Mindcrime reminds me of him. And why Teenage Wasteland (nonfiction book about teen life in the suburbs during the late 80's) also makes me think of him. I wonder if he'd find the book interesting? I wonder if it would have any resonance?

Only finished through October 1996 in Ceej's journal. Writing is distracting.