metapost

No iron. No gall. No ink.

Yet.

(no subject)

"Nothing comes of nothing. Speak again." --King Lear

Getting Started

Part of a reply to a friend who was concerned that he had bummed me out by talking about his strong dislike of turning fifty:

I exist at a weird Lagrange point between screaming existential angst and a ferocious, exuberant embrace of life. I can wholly sympathize with either end of the spectrum, including wild vacillations between them.

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Would I like to have the HGH of a seventeen-year-old? Yup. Would I like to have the knees of a seventeen-year-old? Yup. Would I want to be seventeen again?

Nope.

I'm just getting started on the really cool stuff.