Category: Journal

My stepfather would break my mother’s heart with his manipulations and dismiss her pain by telling her “you’re too sensitive”.

Unless you’ve been living way out in a desert, you’ve probably heard of the recent proliferation of Artificial Intelligence driven image generators.

I just got my genealogy database back online. I’d been putting it off for ages. There’s always so many other more important things to do. But yesterday was the day. My uncle, Allen Lovelace, died on Sunday. I owed it to him to mark his passing.

If more of us were actually adults instead of over-grown children just pretending to be adults, we could talk about suicide, and have a sustained, reasoned discussion about this very real issue. But I don’t see that happening.

When I saw this article, I immediately thought “Wil Wheaton is right”. I expected there would be plenty of people posting comments about how Wil Wheaton was a spoiled Hollywood celebrity, and belittling artists who expect compensation for their work.

I expect to be around for a while yet, but I don’t see myself reaching a ripe, old age. That kind of sucks when you consider that I already feel like I’m thirty years behind schedule.

Something to put our human struggles into perspective; to paraphrase a comment in the article, those aren’t noisy pixels. Those are freaking stars. If you’re not sure what that means, consider that our sun is a star, and it has planets orbiting it.

I’ve put it off as long as I could, but I have finally been forced to concede that our friend, Sunny, is probably not coming back. I’d rather avoid thinking like that. But in the end, it does a disservice to her memory if I don’t take a moment to acknowledge my debt.

However much I might like to avoid the trouble of doing so, there was really only one way to honor Mama. I decided to make biscuits and gravy.