Author: Allegra

Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

Bean paste

Among other things, that’s what Katie fed me for lunch yesterday.  Alex dumped a coke all over our booth, the little bugger.  Argh.

I got a call back from the company I most recently interviewed for.  I will be gang interviewed by 4 lots of people over two hours.  Once again, I’m prepping in all seriousness, but I’m not going to be downcast if I don’t get it; I’m qualified for the job and I need to remember that, looking for other work.  Look for how it went next Friday morning, unless I post Thursday afternoon late.

0 hours on cpap, I actually forgot to put it on last night.  Tonight I shall try again.

Walked 4 k yesterday; I was about crippled when I got home, but hey, 270 calories were burned.  It was raining, and Alex slept through the whole thing.

Changes and exits

It’s not my story to tell, so I won’t tell it. Suffice it to say that someone dear to me is experiencing anxiety and disquiet for very valid reasons, and I feel my presence really helped move things along a good path and reduce anxiety, an’ that’s what friends are for.

Spent the night away from home, 4 hours on the cpap anyway so I feel quite perky.  Keith says he needs to talk to me about things and stuff for reasons, and that I’m going to be very upset.  Katie and Alex are coming over later this morning.  O don’t I have a lot to look forward to.

Back to the address to the troops.

the disappointment

Only half an hour on the cpap last night.  I could not get comfortable, as I was congested.

Today I learned of the purported existence of a Randy Quaid sex tape, with his wife (of course) and Rupert Murdoch purportedly watching.  I know the disgust response must be controlled, but in this case my homunculus just about launched last night’s spaghetti into orbit.

I am waiting to hear back from the interview with patience.

I light a candle for people I love who are going through a super hard time right now.  Work especially is very hard and causing anxiety and sleep loss.  I know those feels and hope a swift resolution of outstanding problems happens to their satisfaction.

Still pluggin’ away on the novel.  Most recent George quote, “Of course I love human culture! Not all of it equally.”

Paul and I keep booking appointments for blood donation and having to bail… hopefully we’ll get this sorted out.  Keith already donated this month.

This news may be of interest to certain among my readers.  Health of kidneys.

I am going to see if I have the energy to make Belgian waffles for breakfast.

Walkies

Paul and I had a simply lovely walk down at the Quay and then he treated me to sopa de tortilla and hot chocolate, both of which were simply scrumptious (Paul owned to being impressed at how fast I demolished the soup).  We didn’t give blood, thanks to things&stuff because reasons, but there’s an appointment later this week.

I broke down and made an appointment to get a crown, having previously thought that handing over a month’s income was a bit much and then I realized I was being a moron.  I can borrow the money, I can sell stuff to cover it, I can put it on my credit card.  It really hurts – I’m in constant tooth pain – and we KNOW how this story goes.  Until the tooth comes out, it’s all downhill from here.  And it’s all because there was a piece of metal in a pancake at IHOP two years ago.  Shit.

Doxie sent me another scanning unit, which took a charge promptly and which I am about to test.  DOXIE HAS AWESOME CUSTOMER SUPPORT Y’ALL and considering what a tempestuous clown I was asking for support it goes double.

Keith and Paul and Jeff and I hung out after the walk.

Tarot reading yesterday with a friend.  It was essentially the same as the last one, in that it said “Shit’s gonna fly, everything will be okay at the end.”  More specifics don’t seem to be coming.  The future’s uncertain and the end is always near.

Katie is hopefully coming Friday, with Alex, to cut my hair.

Miles does it again

My filking buddy Andrew, who goes by Miles Vorkosigan on facebook, read or pretended to read a book that would allow you to write better horror.

The book made him facepalm.  So he decided to write a trashy horror novelists description of a facepalm, and then got carried away and did multiple versions.  I hope you enjoy this cascade of awful as much as I did, because I laughed until I sprang a rib.  Since I didn’t write this, copyright belongs to Andrew.

 

ABOMINATIONS OF HUMAN ENDEAVOUR: Before reading this book: “Face, meet palm.”

After reading this book:

My palm described a perfect arc as it rushed towards my face.

There was an audible CLAP as my palm struck my face.

I felt a sharp stab of pain, every bit as intense as the emotional pain I felt from reading this link, as I struck my own face with my palm.

Before my face even had time to brace for the impact, my palm was upon it.

My palm swished through the air and landed with a dull, sickening thud across my face.

It was like that legendary baseball game back in ’42, when Babe Ruth hit the winning run right out of the park–only instead of the final, inexorable crack of the bat hitting the ball, it was the final, inexorable crack of my palm meeting my face.

My palm struck my face with all the impact of a Mack Semi, having left Chicago heading east at 2:pm at 60 mph, colliding with a freight train that left Cleveland heading west at 1 p.m. travelling 80 mph.

Out there, in the darkness, something *watched* me facepalm myself.

My palm was out there at the end of my arm, mocking me. “Mi-yuls”, it seemed to say, “Here I am, Mi-yuls! And I’m coming to GET you! You know you lose control over me when you read something breathtakingly stupid enough—you always do. And now it’s party time. I’m coming for your face. And I’m hard. Hard and calloused from that workout this morning. And sweaty too. Get ready, Mi-yuls, for the mother of all facepalms!”

Once again…. this is Andrew’s, but really I think it belongs to the world.

Colonialism rant

The crowning achievement of colonialism is how it has tapped into the human genome to recycle itself. The finely woven threads, the self-repairing structures of racism and sexism, fear of the other, the urge to destroy that which is experienced as diseased and loathsome, they all belong to colonialism, which I am now going to conflate with the human tendency to devalue other human beings based on feelings of disgust rather than facts. Now science brings us the truth behind the experience of conservatism, that it is based in physical disgust.

This disgust results in things as various as the relentless offering of young men to death in warfare, and old men fighting against young women guarding their fertility as they see fit in consequence. Generation after generation of old powerful men, in whatever culture and of whatever colour, offer young men into the maw of war and conquest, having dragged them from their parents’ arms and essentially from the mother’s womb. Kind people on the sidelines weep with loss as this happens generation after generation.

I have been struggling all my life with this fundamental flaw in human nature, the place where the sociability of human beings, which is quite remarkable, breaks down. Now I see it. It is in the rock-crusher of our capacity to feel deep, emotional, physical disgust that we are broken into pieces and fed into colonialism. It seems circular, and it is. There is a constant value, circulating in the human genome, of persons who feel disgust more readily, inbuilt and coiled in every cell. They will, being of a certain neurotype, congregate, and then they will amass resources and make of their disgust a common, noble reason to make war on anybody on the outside of the group.

Jesus God.

Hmmm

Slept away from home last night; Mike was really late getting out of work for our celebratory “You had an interview!” dinner and we picked up some beer and went back to his place.  About 9 I pumpkined out on the couch… and slept straight through until 6 am this morning, which I haven’t done in yonks. (I only had two beers, for those attempting censoriousness).

Mike fed me coffee with vanilla ice cream, and carrot cake marmalade courtesy of Cassidy, and toast.  We drank coffee on the balcony and watched the morning sun wash over the landscape, which was chilly but most pleasant.

I light a candle for a friend whose mother has just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  I feel for her.  The 5 year survival rate is crappy.  Heavy heart.

woo hoo!!!

4.9 hours last night.  I feel quite bright-eyed, although I don’t reckon my tail’s that bushy.    The secret appears to be having an iron-clad routine before bed and lying in a specific position as I’m trying to sleep.  This is wacky; positions good for my back are not great for the cpap, etc. etc.  I’m designing a bed to deal with my woes; I already designed a zero-g bed so How Hard Can It Be?  This is an automated hammock bed that senses your position and pays out or reels in support depending on ‘where your head is at’ according to the sensor.  Hey, sf is my life.  Cats would hate it though; the bed when in use is more like an electronic hammock than the staid and steady horizontal mass of comfy.

Interview is midmorning. I got a letter of recommendation in hand, maybe two.

 

Buster’s continuing antics

Buster came into my room while I was wearing my cpap mask.  He very slowly inched toward me, eyes narrowed, and gave a very soft and disturbed mew of “Why do you have an octopus on your face?” His eyes traveled along the length of the hose and back up to my face.  He left, slowly and perplexedly.  Yesterday he tied a knot in something, always an interesting feat when you don’t have thumbs.

Later he tried to come back into my room, but Margot was guarding my door so she hissed at him and he backed off.

2.2 hours last night. Sue’s coming to get me at 10 and bringing me straight home, she has a rehearsal.  Then a nice long chat on the phone with a former coworker, and getting my interview clothes together.

Diddy-wah GRR

Buster, you are a CRAZY MAKING CAT.

He came in, feet wet and filthy with more than the normal grime, and I decided to clean off his paws before he tracked the schmutz ev’y’where.  Without biting or scratching – a masterful demonstration of tension and torsion – he resisted so hard I pulled something and it feels like the last time I had costochondritis.  I grabbed the scruff of his neck and said, quietly, “You will do as you are told.”  He promptly lay on the floor and let me minister to him, and wipe his feet dry, with no further resistance.  Now I feel like I went nine rounds with a baby goat and all of its pointy little hooves, at 4 am, hallelujah.

On his account we bought toddler proofing for the cupboards…

Only half an hour last night.  Not sure what happened there.  I don’t remember taking the mask off.

400 words yesterday.

I have an interview Monday.