Eeeeeevvviiiilllll
1. “Mister? Mister, wake up!”
2. “What do you mean, “RUN!”? What kind of a doctor ARE you, anyway?”
So much to love
I’m reading “Pride and Prejudice”, a version which happens to have the below picture on the front cover.
The painting is “Congratulations” by George Henry Harlow. Here is my list of concerns about the painting:
1. Why are these young women clearly teething?
2. Who stretched out their necks like that?
3. Why is a man’s hand protruding from the right-hand woman’s neck?
4. Why is the left-hand woman’s head and neck not attached to the left-hand body (I don’t care how good your corset is, chests do not stick out that far)?
It seems I’m not the only person who just can’t draw hands.
I got got
So I was caught in a scam yesterday. A simple but brilliant*scam. My phone rang; I noticed it was a long-distance number and was instantly intrigued. All I heard when I picked up was a buzzing noise so, after a pathetically small period of wondering who had called me, I called the number back.
No-one picked up. No-one ever does – as I discovered when I googled the number to see if it belonged to a publisher or to some annoying advertiser. Calling them back cost me $1.25, apparently. So I won’t be doing that again in a hurry.
In unrelated news, Louisette is seven months old tomorrow, so I’ll be posting another months’ worth of daily photos.
*or so I like to tell myself
Nothin’ to see here
Hey look! No blog entry all weekend! Go. . . . play outside or something.
Diverting power to the main grid
I seem to be strangely busy these days*so I’ve decided to cut down on blogging a teensy bit. Those readers who’ve been around for a while (or who noticed that I still blogged while on my honeymoon/in labour/etc) will be stunned at this development, while the rest of you will be left wondering, “And the big deal is. . . ?”
The blog will be silent on weekends from this week onwards. The “articles by others” (usually on writing, usually with my comments) will be moved to Thursdays, and “Steampunk Sundays” will be moved to the somewhat less alliterative Tuesdays (from tomorrow – so you’ll score two steampunk days this week). Mondays will remain Miscellaneous (including any awesomenesses that deserve the name), Wednesdays all about Louisette, and Fridays will still be all about book reviews.
* I wonder why
Ch-ch-ch-changes
So July is interesting so far. Our landlady is selling our flat; I’ve given up losing weight (for now); I’m about to go back on anti-depressants (just to see how functional I can get – possibly very functional indeed); my sister is in town and about to have a second child; and I’m looking for full-time work for the first time in my life. Should be interesting.
Here’s Louisette, pleased with her sudden increase in solo-sitting ability.
A dream
Last night I dreamt that God was going to kill me.
It opened comfortably enough – I was at a hospital chatting to two other people while the doctor took care of us (all at once; he was quite the multitasker). It was a pleasant new-person conversation, and it was nice to have the doctor fussing over us and flattering our minor injuries.
Then the girl went out of the room into the hospital foyer, and the doctor followed her. We heard suspicious noises and the boy and I went to see what was happening. The girl had gone crazy, shot knives from her fingertips, and was killing him. While I dragged the doctor towards the outside door, the boy distracted the girl.
As the doctor and I reached the doorway, I realised that the boy was in the process of transforming into a knife-handed crazy person as well – and they were both heading our way. I abandoned the nice doctor to his horrible fate and flew away.
As I hovered above the hospital, I felt awful for the choice I’d made (despite my lack of practical options for derring-do), and wondered if I could live with myself. At that point, God was flying nearby (no I didn’t see him, but his presence was unmistakeable – somewhat Old Testament-y and scary).
He offered to let me die.
I knew that if I said yes, my life would end immediately. It seemed like a fairly good idea at the time, but I was quite scared and asked if I could say goodbye to CJ first. I also had a feeling CJ had something important to say about my decision.
The sense of God’s immediate presence faded, but I knew I had to hurry to CJ or I’d die before I got there. Also, a lot of other people were starting to fly around me, and they were all extremely dangerous. Some were pure evil already, and others (refugees like me) had the vacant stare that indicated they were beginning to transform.
I flew over the high brick hospital wall and across streets and roads, with more flying refugees and knife-people all around. Fortunately, I was able to fly higher up than most, but I had to keep a careful lookout in all directions.
It transpired that I was in London and CJ was in Canberra. A long and terrifying chase scene ensued.
After flying across the channel to Queensland (yay for subconscious georgraphy – which also gave me a sign in England saying “427km to Australia”) and across long stretches of coastline and desert, I accidentally flew into a tall prison-like school. Several other refugees fluttered frantically against the windows. I wrenched an opaque window from its frame only to stare directly into the balding face of the principal on the other side. I evaded his grasp, but plunged into darkness.
After a moment I realised where I was and reached out one hand. My fingers brushed against CJ’s T-shirt (CJ’s real, physical T-shirt, warm with his body heat), and I knew I was home, and awake, and I didn’t want to die.
How. . . reassuring.
Adulthood
Before I start, see if you can tell what’s wrong with this picture (of items that I gathered without thinking only moments ago):
Waking up, and moving on. . .
CJ and I plan to have kids one day. We’re in the perfect phase of parenthood – when your kids don’t exist, and are therefore perfect in every way (except that we’re pretty much assuming, based on strong tendencies in our genes, they’ll have ADD, some kind of mental disorder, and a lack of coordination bordering on the comical).
I see our “job” to be teaching our kids how to be good and functional adults. Last night, to clarify my thinking, I wrote a list of what skills or mind-sets ideal adulthood includes:
Awareness of how to maintain physical health, and prepare healthy meals.
Knowing how to run a household.
Being responsible with finances.
Able to hold down a job/s and/or contribute to society.
Human relationships (including holding a conversation, making new friends, accepting/adjusting to different people, and knowing manners and how to treat people with respect – and how to end friendships if necessary).
Romance – how to choose a good life partner and how to stick with them – and parenthood.
A sense of self-worth and contentment and psychological health (including management of illness).
God/spiritual health.
Some of these things, especially at the beginning, are quite easy to teach. Others are taught by example (particularly romance, I think). I think the last item may not be teachable at all.
What do you think?
God’s Love Language
Most of you have probably heard of the book “The Five Love Languages”. The theory is that everyone tends toward different ways of both expressing and understanding love. When we’re first in love, we express love in all the ways, but later on we settle into our predominant form of expression – which sometimes means absolutely nothing (or worse) to our partner.
The five love languages are:
1. Quality time.
2. Acts of service (eg doing the dishes when it’s her turn).
3. Touch.
4. Words of affirmation.
5. Gifts.
On a level beyond rationality, I feel rejected by God because I’ve offered him my life in service (as a missionary to Indonesia), and he has said, “Hmm. Nah – I don’t want that, thanks.” But even I can see that he has given me astonishing gifts – living in the Western world in safety, comfort and wealth (not compared to the average Westerner, but SO much more than the average human being). So the obvious thing for me to do is let God love me in the way he chooses – that is his right, after all.
And of course, the gift of Jesus Christ.
I think we go through a lot of pain because of our false expectations – both on other humans, and on God.
And here’s a pretty picture of some kangaroo paw, in memory of the plant (now deceased) that CJ gave me last Christmas.
How much do YOU love the internet?
Ubergeeks John Scalzi and Wil Weaton have done something wonderful. This:
Other than writing stuff themselves, they had various other (in)famous people contribute, plus they ran a competition (based on the picture). Which I didn’t win.
The book itself is, technically, free. You can go read it at http://unicornpegasuskitten.com/. But since the whole point of the thing is to raise money for lupus sufferers (Wil and John paid for everything out of their own pockets), see if you can donate $5. Or maybe more.
Because sometimes, it is lupus.
However, here’s the story I wrote. All things being equal, the stories from the book are better than this. So go click on the link and enjoy.
“Kitten Spit”
I woke as my face was scraped raw by warm sandpaper coated in slime. Something monstrous had found me, and its spit dissolved my skin. I opened my eyes to a view of needle-sharp teeth, and gagged at the stench of salmon as the thing yawned.
“Good kitty,” I croaked.
It was taller than me, even without the wings spreading from its shoulders. Since my cave had a prudently small opening, only its head could fit inside – if it angled itself so the horn on its forehead didn’t scrape the roof. I scrambled back before it could lick me a second time. Blood dripped down my neck. I healed myself by magic before the thing attacked again.
“Where did you come from?” I said aloud.
“Well,” came a voice from outside, “when a unicorn and a pegasus and a cat all love each other very much –”
“No I meant—oh actually, that does answer one question. May I ask who you both are, and what you and your – er, noble steed – are doing here?”
“Are you the orc magician?” The voice was curiously flat, as if the man was mortally exhausted.
My heart sank. Even among other magicians, that question always led to an awkward conversation followed by an even more irritating battle. I had thought living on an active volcano would discourage further inquiry. “Just because I have green skin, pointy ears, and incredibly well-developed muscles doesn’t mean I’m going to kill you.” Under my breath I added, “Like all the others.”
The kitten retreated as someone tugged on its reins. Not for the first time, I was glad I slept in full armor.
A human stood by the lava river outside my cave. Other than his sweater, he was unarmed.
I took an involuntary step backward and hit stone. “That’s –”
“Yes,” he said, looking away. “The clown sweater. I need you to kill me.”
I looked at his young face and saw the deep worry lines of a man possessed by the most diabolical fiend of our time. “But. . . you’re immune. And besides, we’ve just met.”
“I’m Wil.”
“John. But –”
“I’m not immune.”
“Then how?”
“Sometimes, it sleeps.”
“Can you take it off?” I asked. “Can someone take it off you?”
His eyes glittered, but he held himself together. “I used to have three brothers.”
“Ah. So I’m dead then.”
“No! Kill me first and save your life. And she’s not a monster. She’s Petunia, and she just likes to play.” He pulled down a golden spear from her back. “Take it!”
“Don’t make me do this. Killing people is so. . .”
All colour fled his face, silencing me. “It’s waking up. The clown. It’s coming! Help me!” I saw his eyes turn mad just before he leapt onto Petunia’s back. He lifted the spear and smiled the serene smile of the deranged.
The awkward-conversation part of our friendship was at an end.
I grabbed my axe and shield and ran outside. Wil seemed decent. The least I could do was sever his head from his body.
Petunia leapt into the air and bore down on me with her claws splayed. Magic filled me, sparking from my fingertips. I jumped straight into Wil and we both tumbled to the rocks. Petunia crouched to watch us, switching her horse’s tail from side to side in excitement.
“Unicorns,” I thought frantically, searching for a weakness. “Good for looking picturesque with virgins. Not helpful right at the moment.”
Wil leapt at me, drooling with fury. I parried and his spear clashed against my armored shoulder.
“Pegasuses,” I thought. “Pegasi? Good for traveling long distances fast. But flighty.”
Petunia’s eyes glowed with mad kitten joy. Her pupils darkened and she waggled her rear end, ready to spring.
Wil spun with impossible speed and I ducked just in time. His foot connected with my head, but I magically dismissed the bright stars of concussion before they got me killed.
“Kittens,” I thought. “Nice to look at, if you like that sort of thing. Attracted to shiny things. Also a source of pure, unadulterated evil.” I blinked, and knew what to do.
Luckily for us, Petunia was already in the mood to play.
Wil lunged for my throat and I didn’t have time to dodge naturally. My magical defenses shot me fifty feet into the air. I had time to look down as I fell, curious to see if gravity would get a chance to kill me before the rest. Or perhaps I’d think of some further magical brilliance. Either way, I looked forward to finding out what happened next.
Petunia sprang at me. She batted me sideways in mid-air, knocking me into my cave. I landed on nice soft armor and watched with quiet surprise as magical sparks healed my broken legs. With one hand, I pointed to Wil. Pretty blue sparks danced an irresistible pattern on the clown’s red nose.
Petunia took the bait. She pounced and pinned Wil to the rock with one paw, biting into his sparkly chest as he screamed in pain and rage.
She spat something white and red and grinning into the lava river, where it dissolved. Then she sat on Wil’s legs and licked the hole that used to be his chest.
I staggered outside, dragging up what magic I had to try and heal him. Sparks flew off me into him, building new organs, growing new skin, and filling him with new blood.
It was no use. Petunia’s saliva ate through him faster than I could build him back
Wil didn’t move.
“The sweater is dead,” I said, falling on my knees beside him. “Long live the sweater.”
Petunia yawned emphatically and touched him with the tip of her horn. “Unicorns,” I thought. “Handy for fixing poison. Does that include kitten spit?”
THE END
PS This piece of awesomeness comes free of charge. Your regular schedule of Daily Awesomeness will continue tomorrow.
PPS Please do spread the word about this book. If you’ve ever had a disease of the immune system or known someone who has, you’ll understand why.
