zeborah: Zebra with stripes shaking (earthquake)
[personal profile] zeborah
The Mayor wants you to know that Christchurch is back in business. Sorry, I meant to mention that a while ago. He says please to come and spend all your tourist dollars here. Not in so many words, but that's what he means. It's quite safe (we just had a 4.5, which spooked Boots, but Twitter's #eqnz feed has a distinct "ho hum" feel to it, and the last noticeable one before that was eight days ago) and all tourist amenities are intact.

(Though the tourist buses have now I believe been convinced to keep out of Dallington. People need to use their Portaloos in private, y'know.)

Funny story about the Mayor. Last Thursday, the newspaper was reporting in ill-disguised glee that he was off on a secret mission to a secret location in East Asia, and was asking for anyone who'd seen him to nark on him. And then on Saturday it was forced to report, in ill-disguised disappointment, that it turned out that his mission had secured a really awesome airline deal and the secrecy had been necessary for proprietary airline reasons. As you read the article you could actually hear the reporter's chagrin.

Less amusing is our new Hobbit Law. Well, I suppose it could be amusing from a distance. Google it if you like, but I don't promise you'll understand and I'm not in a mood to talk about it. Le sigh.

Anyway, so I foolishly said somewhere I was going to do IWriSloMo this month. I think that would be going better if I could bear the thought of writing. I'm in rather a funk at the moment, as per my most recent post, and the earthquake, and a year of nonsense at work. I'm very tired. It's the sort of tired that verges on a sort of mild situational depression. It's milder than funks I've coped with before, it's just that writing worked as an escape those times, and now I'm out of practice and creaky and slow and all my stories are sucky and pointless.

...I should stop playing Solitaire on my iPod. As a way of passing ten minutes when I'm otherwise okay it's fine, but as a way of attempting to escape a funk it actually just digs me deeper. Also it drains the battery.

Oh well. I'll go make myself write anyway. Given the likelihood that my judgement is impaired at the moment, I do really want to be writing again, so I need to drag myself back into the habit. And if the funk's mild enough then being productive will (partnered with destressing) help get me out of it. So.

<glares at stubborn story>
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