Heinlein's done, and so is Death's Holiday.

2002-05-22 - 7:33 a.m.

I should have left it alone.

My copy of Heinlein's collected short stories, opened face down on the bedside table, with only thirty pages left to read.

Heinlein and I would have come to blows after only 5 minutes of talk, if the last story in his collection is any sign. His story about what we could hope for in a future America was blind, callous, even childish in it's writing. I've read online porn where the writer managed to refrain from their version of "President gets her revenge from critical underling by forcing him to his knees and making him beg."

I will likely pick up one of Heinlein's earlier works...though when his ideas differ from mine, the stiltedness of his writing is made that much more clear. I'll try Starship Troopers, since, judging from the movie, it'll be wide open to interpretation. Other than that, I think I'm done with Heinlein for a while...

Perhaps I should do as a guestbook signee suggests and move on to Le Guin. An author who has been recommended to me many times, who I've never really picked up to read.

I think on pay day, I'm going to finally find myself a good second-hand book store. I miss my favourite in Halifax. Anyone visitting there, check out J.W.Douls' book store. Look for the secret door.

And on a completely different note, another of Pookie's patients died yesterday, one who he had gotten to know a little better. We talked a bit last night, but there's not much you can do, really. There's bitterness when he remembers that four days ago he was hoping for more to do.

And take a cue from the yesterday almost-sick me, and hug someone you care about, even if it's an old stuffed animal, or an unwilling cat. Just do it.

Cheers,

The Magus

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