What does it say about my 7-year-old son that he was that excited to get a periodic table for his birthday? (In fact, he got two, so he hung one in his room and one in the playroom.) He was also insanely happy about: a diagram of atomic structure, a map of the solar system, and a globe. Well, and that remote-controlled helicopter. Now what does it say about me that I was equally excited about all these things? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
I’ve sent off some submissions to a writing competition. This is the first time for either of these particular pieces, so I have no idea what might happen. But it’s a tough job, so I have to stop myself from getting my hopes up and remind myself to simply keep forging ahead.
Meanwhile, I continue to have dreams that feature my regular cast, including one in which Rob Thomas was telling me how painful tattoos are and another in which Benedict Cumberbatch was shampooing my hair. (Never fear; we were clothed and in a gymnasium.) Hmm. I wish I could untangle these threads and make some kind of sense of them. (The dream in which Steven Moffat double-crossed me, however, was quite clear.)