Smorgasblog
2am. Can’t sleep. Random blogliness ensues.
There’s much gratuitous cuteness today at http://twittertales.wordpress.com
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A couple of nights ago, my cat was sitting on my husband’s chest, purring loudly as my husband snored. I slid out of bed and crept around to the other side to get his iphone to record them both. My attempt was foiled when my partner woke up and helpfully passed me his flashlight.
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I have to take another 21 anti-parasite pills. It’s at the point now where I’m pretty sure the pills are worse than what’s left of my giardia. They leave a permanent bad taste in my mouth (sore throat, too) as if I’ve just thrown up. It vanishes for about five minutes after I eat, then reappears.
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My husband and efficiency don’t get along, so I’m attempting to write a sort of will – more a set of instructions for if I suddenly die (stuff like the phone numbers of all my students so someone actually tells them why I don’t show up). If he dies, it’s a lot simpler for me, because I AM efficient. All I need to do is:
1. Get his insurance money to pay for the funeral. Register for the dole to pay for rent and food.
2. Throw stuff away (mostly his) and move somewhere smaller.
3. Take happy pills and/or avoid human contact.
I wish I knew the statistics for how often spouses drop dead/are killed in the first, say, ten years of marriage. Pretty sure rational data would help dissipate my conviction that SOMETHING bad has to be about to happen. My marriage really is the easiest thing about my life.
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Avocados: so delicious, but so risky. Does buying a rock-hard avocado EVER result in an edible avocado? I think not.
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World’s most terrifying slogan (for Kresta blinds):
Windows come ALIVE!
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Wish I could sleep. This is silly.
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Mental illness is a lot like PMS, plus having a vital assignment due at 5pm, and also being naked.
It’s all about incoherant rage, a sense of doom (and guilt), and humiliation.
It’s also a lot like being a teenager (is there any experience more horrifying?) or being old (when suddenly you can’t do things you used to be able to do).
Still can’t quite convince myself I’m not making the whole thing up. What kind of s*** would that make me, after all these years?
It’s just so. . . stupid. I should be able to walk it off.
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On Monday I made oat cookies with brown sugar, butter, flour, oats, cinnamon and vanilla. The raw mixture was infinitely better than the biscuits. Why is that always the case?
Luckily I mostly just ate the mixture.
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Yesterday I had a D and M with a student about boys. She’s stunningly gorgeous, but doesn’t want to get into a relationship until she’s well into a degree. That was cool. Especially finding out people actually still say, “D and M”. Wow.
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I wish I was friends with Queen Elizabeth, so she could tell me how to sell my writing. I think she might be the greatest self-promoter ever.
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Pretty sure that if I just go into cryogenic suspension, one of my books will be published.
But not completely sure. Got to keep writing more better-er while I wait.
DR YES: Ninja Kitten
In the first draft of the first Jimmy Bind adventure, the Shaolin monks were ninjas. That was changed for the rather important reason that ninjas are Japanese (and confusing the Chinese and Japanese is especially bad due to some unpleasant bits of history).
On the other hand, ninja is more fun to say. So here’s my photographic proof that I’m sharing my home with an EVIL NINJA CAT:
1. She strikes from above.
2. She strikes from below.
3. She strikes from unexpected places.
4. She lurks in the dark.
4. She is a stone cold killer.
6. Only pure evil can look that good.
QED.
DR YES: Men in trenchcoats
This is not a spy story. But it is actually true from beginning to end, and it happened – you’ll love this – in 1800s Britain. Enjoy!
My grandmother’s parents died when she was fourteen, so she raised her two younger brothers on her own. When she was a young woman, she was walking home on her own when she realised she was being followed.
The gentleman wore a top hat and a long dark trenchcoat. The night was misty and (remember this is the 1800s) dark.
My grandmother sped up – so did he. She slowed down, and he didn’t turn away. As she crossed a bridge, he caught up to her, and threw off the trenchcoat to terrify the young woman with all his naked glory.
She looked at him without flinching and said, “Is that all?”
Because nothing is scary once you’ve raised teenage boys.
DR YES: Welcome, my pretties. . .
Welcome to a new tale, and a new blog theme.
This blog will have a lot of cool spy gadgets on it.
Jimmy Bind and Yen have appeared before, in January 2010. Here’s their previous story in its full and chronological form:
Jimmy Bind still has an inexhaustible supply of gaffa (aka duct tape, for you USAers out there), plus all the gadgets he had first time around – a shoe phone, two cast iron matchbox cars (with grapples and cameras built in), a sleeping-gas pen and blow-up gum.
Yen is the Chinese super-spy he apprehended last story.
Anyone feel the lack of a specific gadget or spy trope? Let me know in the comments, and I’ll see what I can do.
That I am a Barometer
I think the high rate of Westerners falling mentally ill is indicative of deep problems with our society. It’s partly that we have too much stuff. Even without knowing other people are starving, that’s not good for us (people need a certain amount of struggling toward a goal to be happy). We also do too much – constantly driven to get MORE stuff, so we have as much stuff as everyone else.
Bring back the eight-hour day.
Don’t work all weekend (and be aware of what “work” is, eg for me going to church is work so I have a rest day on Saturday, not Sunday).
Give away more money.
And then the world will be full of hugs and puppies.
Or not.
Yet another up side to mental illness
I have found marriage FAR easier than I expected. To be honest, however, not a day goes past that I don’t want to slap my husband at least once. It’s all a matter of perspective (and he IS astonishingly good-natured, which certainly helps).
I think some mental illnesses make fabulous preparation for marriage. For instance, since everything in the entire world annoys and fills me with rage, I am quite good at sharing a house and room with a deeply peculiar individual (who reads this blog, and will be taking that as a compliment right now – as he should). He annoys me no more than my own existence, so that’s handy. Probably the toughest part of marriage is living together harmoniously – but since I’ve survived my own mentally ill company, I can now handle anything. (Particularly if it doesn’t involve leaving the house or getting dressed, which are still a bit difficult – conveniently, my husband quite likes it when I’m at home and naked.)
Mental illness also means you’ve already lost a great deal of what is most precious to you – your independence, your intelligence, etc – so whatever your spouse asks of you is relatively little, even if they want you to eat your own faeces – and, to be clear, this is not a request my partner has made. (NB: if your spouse actually wants you to eat poo, they probably have some issues of their own.)
Mental illness is also excellent training for being a parent of a teenager. Even teenagers can’t be more insulting or more consistently demeaning than the voices in your head.
Therefore, mental illness is excellent preparation for marriage.
On this basis, the best possible preparation for marriage is probably a year or so of imprisonment and torture. I’ll be recommending that to future generations then.
Cloud Wars: Full Story
New story begins March 1. . . and might just feature Jimmy Bind.
CLOUD WARS
Wed 10 Feb
“Mum! I gotta go make rain now.”
“Why can’t you get a real job?”
“MUM!” I switched off the comm and shot my payload into a full-looking cloud.
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Since I’d cunningly forgotten to shut my lid, the rain I made fell right in. When the sparks started I cursed myself and pressed ‘eject’.
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I floated down as neatly as you please, but the Eastern plane had already landed. They wrapped my own chute around my neck and I was gone.
Th 11 Feb
I woke in an Eastern jail – all concrete chic with a side order of migraine. Eastern cloud seeders made bets on me outside the barred door.
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The good thing about being a nineteen-year old girl is that people think I’m weak. On their odds, I wouldn’t wake up. So I didn’t move. Yet.
Fri 12 Feb
When a doctor came to take my pulse I grabbed both his arms and twisted. He yelped but he quickly learned not to move – a perfect shield.
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“We’re BFFs now,” I told him, “because today we live or die together.”
“Do I get to choose?”
“You sure do. . . is that a sandwich?”
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I escaped into a land as dry as my mouth, and searched the dying fields for water without success. If only I hadn’t done my job so well.
Sat 13 Feb
A woman woke me, and I followed her into her home. She gave me water to drink. Then I saw the picture of her dead son – a cloud seeder.
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She saw me looking, and nodded. “I helped you for his sake. You’re a seeder too.”
“And possibly his killer. Have you poisoned me?”
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She laughed sadly. “I no longer care for East or West. Only sons or daughters. When you’ve eaten, take his plane. It’s no use to me.”
Sun 14 Feb
Dan stood over me – he liked to belittle his employees. “You lost your plane and consorted with the enemy.”
“I escaped. Isn’t that my duty?”
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I competed for my job using the dead boy’s ancient plane. Two sleek Western planes dived for me, and I wrenched at the wheel with all I had.
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The wheel came off in my hand. I swore as the green, green ground of my home rose to meet me. My second crash in five days. Real impressive.
Mon 15 Feb
Dan put me in the visitor’s cabins to shame me. Was I fired or not? If only I had a plane! The other seeders flew off, laughing and revving.
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I awoke, miserably, at 2:00pm. Someone was outside. I crept out and saw six Easterners unbolting our cloud cannons. Filthy thieves!
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I ran to our emergency cannon, and grabbed the air siren. Then I blasted the enemy with noise and silver nitrate. They fled; skinny shadows.
Tue 16 Feb
“You wasted our silver shooting at phantoms,” said Dan.
I controlled myself with an effort: “Perhaps I should be transferred.”
“No.”
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When my room was broken into I heard my attacker above the pattering rain. He lunged for me. I rolled off my bed onto the hard floor.
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I pounced on his sword and wrenched it from his hand. He kicked at my knee, but I dodged – and bashed him unconscious with his own sword.
Wed 17 Feb
I watched the river water rise, knowing my late-night attacker was in the room next to me, and probably treated just as well. Bosses suck.
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The other seeders flew back and forth, firing again and again so the clouds wept needlessly. For the first time, I became truly annoyed.
Th 18 Feb
At dawn I dressed and went outside, shocked to find the river was now lapping at my door. Fortunately we kept our planes on higher land.
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I took the air siren, and blew the first blast at Dan’s open window. “Flood!” I shrieked, “Save the planes!”
“Who – huh – what?”
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Since I’d saved our entire fleet, I was moved back into the group cabins. Dan said I was on probation. Everyone else said I was a hero.
Fri 19 Feb
Probation Schmobation, I decided, and marched into Dan’s office.
“Hello Ann,” said Mum, sipping her latte, “you’ve been causing trouble.”
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“Back in the visitors’ quarters?” I asked.
Dan said, “Yep. And on rations.”
“Thanks Mum. Thanks a lot.”
Mum shrugged innocently.
Sat 20 Feb
I moved to the top bunk as the flood waters continued to rise. My Eastern attacker somehow escaped (while MY door was locked).
Sun 21 Feb
“Congrats,” Dan announced, waking me.
I said, “What now?”
“You’re going to be our liaison to the East.”
“A spy, you mean? Do I get a plane?”
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“No plane,” said Dan.
I said, “Mum’s idea, was it?”
“She said you were sneaky.”
“Fabulous. Can I at least sleep somewhere dry?”
“No.”
Mon 22 Feb
The flood continued, fed by our seeders hourly. I cut a hole in the cheap roof to get in and out. Dan was kind enough to let me have a boat.
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“Your first job,” said Dan, “is to tell the Easterners that if they give us all their planes, we’ll give them a share in tomorrow’s storm.”
Tue 23 Feb
I called Mum. “Thanks for the new job.”
“What are mothers for?”
“Indeed. I may not see you for a while.”
“Because of the job?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
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I picked the best plane – why not? – and scraped its wires until it roared to life. Dan came screaming from his office. I waved.
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“Stop thief!” Dan roared. As I lifted into the grey sky, he slipped and fell face down in the mud. It was a good omen for my defection.
Wed 24 Feb
I switched the comm to all Western frequencies. “Ann here. I’m taking the rain where it’s needed – or I can take all of you down with me.”
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Only Jed liked Dan enough to fight me. I’d hoped it’d go that way. I raked his wing with real bullets and grinned as I saw him eject.
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Jed’s plane spiralled downward fast, spewing flame. A great gout shot up straight for me, and I banked just in time, coughing in the smoke.
Th 25 Feb
I yawned as I crossed the East-West border, and jumped as lightning cracked around me. “Nice storm,” I said, “now go do some good.”
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Bam! Something hit my tail – and it wasn’t rain. I twisted and saw Dan’s own plane. “Thought you’d forgotten how,” I said through the comm.
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He strafed me and I screamed as a lucky shot found my leg. I let my plane dive and hoped for the best. Dan laughed as he turned home.
26 Feb
Through stupid tears I spotted a familiar farmhouse, and glided into a landing in a cloud of dust. The first heavy drops of rain fell.
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“Hello again,” said the dead cloud seeder’s mum at my window.
I said, “Hi. How’s things?”
“Nice plane,” she smiled, and helped me inside.
*
“My name’s Victoria,” she said as she bound my wound and brewed tea for me and my new Eastern boss. “But everyone calls me ‘Mum’.”
THE END
Yay for Parasites
I’ve always thought parasites were pretty cool. The symptoms aren’t so bad – it’s a lot like having my time of the month for two months. (This is why girls are more stoic than boys, despite being more sensitive to pain.)
Today I found out one of my best friends also has parasites. Well, parasite. Just the one – but it’s bigger than mine. Which is only fair, since she’s apparently been infected with it for twelve weeks. She even showed me a picture – and she and her husband are talking about names for it. She plans to have it extracted in early September, so that’ll be fun too.
Yay for Emma and Matt! I’m so happy for you both!
Wait a sec. . .
Why am I going without chocolate when there really is absolutely no point? I thought being sick would just make things more difficult, not less useful. It’s a vital distinction.
I’m going to go and get some. Right now.
Today’s recipe: Caramello Malteser Jelly Bean Feast.
Ingredients: Lots of sweet sweet candy.
Method: Combine and eat.
It’s sad, to have lost another month of being in the healthy weight range. But clearly it’s out of my control. So at least I ge to enjoy life for a bit longer (ya know, except for the constant nausea).
Erg
I wasn’t gonna weigh myself today, but since I slept in a huge amount, I knew I had a good chance of seeing a nice number.
Nope. 78.3 again. It’s pretty clear now that something is not working in my body as it usually does. I’m still gonna eat no chocolate or lollies until Monday, but this really is pointless misery. (Unless treating my presumed giardia makes me suddenly lose a bunch at once. Unlikely.)
There are two good things about dieting:
1. Losing weight.
2. REALLY enjoying food.
Neither of these is happening. Food – all food – makes me feel sick. But Monday is only a few days away, and I’m on tablets that should fix my gut in 1-2 weeks. So I remain homicidal, but optimistic.
On the up side, I wrote a really excellent blog entry over at http://twittertales.wordpress.com about giardia AND it’s got pictures. Enjoy!
