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The Salmon of Certainty |
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-- Douglas Adams I sit here, at 6:32am on the 15th May 2002, slightly over a year after Douglas Adams died. For various reasons, I have spent a restless night, eventually deciding at 5am to get up and have a bath (unconsciously echoing one of Douglas's own methods for avoiding the work at hand, which in my particular case was, of course, sleep) and read some more of The Salmon of Doubt. The experience was a pleasant one. The water became cold, and the candles that another sadly departed friend once recommended to me burned low before I stopped reading. Having just read a wide variety of Douglas's writing, I am energised, and enthused, by both his prose and philosophy. I feel the spark I need to actually get on with many of the projects I keep threatening to do, to grab the universe by the lapels, and to tweak the nose of the dreadful spindly killer fish. I shall continue the software work I was doing - the work I love, and that I know I am good at. I shall also attack the writing projects I have skirted around for so long...and I shall also start one other project which suddenly popped into my head in the bath...the details of which I shall divulge when it's finished. Or nearly finished. I am excited, I am spoilt for choice as to what I do next, I feel the need to temper my zest with discipline, so I can do justice to each of the creative projects I want to dive into, but most of all I'm thinking:
Of course, the real problem is not being able to thank Douglas in person.
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