In which I get a little nostalgic for the radio that I missed listening to, and have hope on catching up for 20 years of backlog.
In which I celebrate and whinge a little about being forced to actually consume the media that I’ve served myself on (faulty) (disk) platters — or finally let some of it go away.
In which I ask myself what the good fixations are, versus the bad obsessions are, and how I can edit one out of the other.
In which I reflect on the different ways fiction and non-fiction were coming at me recently, and how I might find some way to talk about them constructively.
In which I lament not being unafraid to create with my hands, and see if I can pinpoint why.