Tumblr is getting on my nerves. Posts from people I'm not following show up randomly on my dashboard, over and over again, and it seems the only way to get rid of them is to block the poster. FB at least has a 'hide this entry' function, which amazingly puts it one up on tumblr. Equally, I understand that 'fandom is on tumblr now', but judging by the second hand noise I hear (people I follow reposting someone else's answers to a third party's posts), tumblr fandom is a) very young and b) wankier than anything seen previously, GW and HP included. Because now it's youth plus self-righteousness, slamming Neil Gaiman for gay-baiting(!) and Rowland for associating with TERFs (and therefore being a TERF herself, since youth has never heard that guilt by association is a fallacy.) Fandom Wank, thou shouldst be with us at this hour.
Am slightly cranky because my body woke me up, irrevocably, at 4:15 this morning for no good reason. Eventually took an antihistamine and went back to sleep ca 7 a.m. Body then proceeded to cough all day from draining sinuses choking my throat. It's a bad allergy year, and probably about to get worse with next week's heat. Is also the stink time of year when the fragrant flowers of May give place to... oh, I don't know what: lilac wannabes and linden droppings and mock orange.
Incidentally, my front lawn tree was supposed to be an ironwood, but the arborist says it's really a basswood , ergo a linden. 'Fragrant flowers', the webpages say, which is one word for them. Could make a soothing tea from them, or put them in my bath to reduce hysteria. Yeah, sure.
Cherries are red red red and the noisy birds feast on them all day long, which makes me happy, because sweeping up pits is much easier than sweeping up half-rotted fruit. Gorge your fill, little birdies. Now, at the end of my seventh decade, I realize that I can't tell birds apart by their cries but am newly aware that they do make different sounds. None of them strike me as melodic, mind : I'm especially puzzled at Shelley's 'profuse strains of unpremeditated art.' Shelley was smoking the good dope. As for nightingales singing in Berkeley Square- well, someone posted the sound of a nightingale to the Rivers of London FB group and, er well, I'd be tempted to chuck a stone at something that made a noise like that. But then I have little use for birds at the best of time. They're still dinosaurs by me.