Every parting is another death. End is end is end.
I am loath to leave my nest in NH - but the time's up, kiddo. Back to the antipodes and work. No blogging there. The firewall is complete. But the information overload makes such luxuries out of the question, anyway.
I've been watching my colleagues coming and going from the office 12,000 miles away - or is it more. A security firm has erected a stunning surveillance camera in the street giving live streaming on images one may control - and zoom to a surprisingly good closeup. Watching people in the street one suddenly realises how many things they do with their hands as they walk about. One is not aware of it as a fellow pedestrian. But now it has become quite a study.
Of course there are questions about this people-watching for, after all, it is also called spying. And I wonder how long it will be before we complain about the invasion of privacy. Then again, walking in a public place? We could hardly call that private. So I will go on watching - er, well, come to think of it, I will soon start participating. For it is beneath that same lens that I will be going about my daily business, and the world will be able to see when I nip out for a coffee or a quick ciggie. As if they'd care.
I've been reading up on Wes Clark, since I have not had a chance to see him in the flesh - and won't. His interviews produce very personable responses, but mainly sophistry, methinks. I am not yet swayed.