Some Strings Of Words

Having been cloistered away in reclusive exile for so long now, it's quite refreshing to emerge into the real world from time to time. Of course, the real refreshment is being able to then vanish once again, into the cave of unemployment, where no-one dares to bother you. Now, to speak absolutely accurately, I'm not unemployed at all, but a freelance private tutor of Mathematics, English and Spanish, but there are only so many evening hours in the week, and so few people seeking help in these poverty-stricken times. It's much like earning a thimble full of water each day instead of the bucket and a half that you might really need.

At least Aberystwyth was nice, a genial day trip destination, as wet and breezy as usual. That town truly comes alive in the wintry months, as nature rails against the railings of civilization. The waves roar in relentlessly, throwing great washes of spray over the promenade, and filling the night with watery grandeur. The orange lights go fizzy, and occasionally all is clear and the stars shine so bright on the pebbly fringe.

The last week saw some indulgences in old 'Star Trek' novels and some musings on the healthiness of revelling in things from the past. It seems that there could be dangers in some people trying to remain the same forever, but you could also argue that maintaining a connection to the person you used to be is quite healthy, and could even be vital in the event of some personal disaster or trauma. Don't you sometimes need the idea of an earlier version of yourself? So that you can work out what differences might be causing problems now? Or even work out what differences have fixed the problems you used to have. It's an age old question. Some of those 'Star Trek' novels are very good and imaginative, little gems of 'do what you will' fiction in the early days of the phenomenon, before all became locked into the stricter continuity we have now. I've written about that somewhere before. Maybe it was the post about the Blish adaptations?

It could be easily argued that reading something familiar is a necessary thing, a relaxation after the tension of reading a string of new books, including the drain of all the short stories! Is it credible? Would someone find it credible that reading a book for the first time could be stressful and draining? Does it matter? No, not really. We are all different, after all, and united in those differences. It's the way of the world, while it's still spinning.

Now, the cave needs a bit of a dust, and the 'no-one at home' signs needs repainting. We hermits must keep up our standards, after all.

O.