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Follows on from my previous post.

Does the world want to know that this particular head cold has caused my nose to produce little porcupine noises on each exhalation? I thought not.
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So that thing where I spent the day after Thanksgiving in bed (actually I worked in bed, too, so it wasn't as bad as I made it sound)-- well, it wasn't introversion. I was getting a bad cold.

Saturday I had a bit of a rough throat and my brother told me on the phone I sounded bad but I breezily said "Oh, I'm not sick--" yesterday the unstoppable sneezes began.

...I had kind of forgotten what this was like, honestly...
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Dancing not at folk dance class but at the end-of-the-year celebration for a series of classes for preschool teachers, and I could really really do it.  It was nice.

Also, I have the opening to the sequel to the Drummer Boy, and many of the things that are in the story, but not the plottyplotplot.  Of course, it is Ludmilla's story, and it might be more interesting than Yanek's if it only had a plot.  Ludmilla's a more attractive person than Yanek.  She's one, a mystic, except that two, she's not because she's a materialist, and three, she's practically a Lorax, only instead of being a ball of fuzz who makes panicked prophecies, she's a calm scientist who knows things beyond what she knows.  When she knows stuff about situations that she doesn't have the supporting information for, she considers it to be a hypothesis, not a vision, and while she's not afraid of dropping bombs into conversations with matter-of-fact confidence, she won't commit to them as facts until she's gotten the data.

So I know some other things about her character, and her appearance (she's not as little as Yanek).  I also know that she gets her parents to agree to send her to University on the grounds that Yanek will be there to be a chaperone (sexist times, yes).  And I know that when Yanek disappears she comes up with another plan.  I know that despite her determination to put off marriage as long as possible -- forever if possible -- she ends up marrying, and I know why, and I know how that happens, and I know that she has at least one child,  And I know that she does something magnificent and steampunky to do with her botanical mojo, but I don't know what.

But I wrote the opening paragraphs anyway, because I didn't want to lose them while I finish this interminable novel here in front of me.
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You're not supposed to use the BRAT diet anymore.

I'm supposed to have been eating regularly.  And moderately.  None of this six hundred calorie bullshit that's all I have been able to muster.

And now I am jumping around like a ten-year-old boy.  So, off to find something I can tolerate.


well, that wasn't a spectacular success.  But at least it wasn't a spectacular failure.

Now I am popping antacids because the kind I have is a calcium supplement and I think lack of calcium is likely causing the jitters.
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I think I will havwe a couple more.  They're the small kind and Zack keeps saying I'm not eating enough. (I lost eight pounds as of Friday but not an iota of fat, which is frightening)

But I cannopt abide the applesauce, and I cannot eat more than one banana, and how many saltines can a person eat without cheese or peanut butter on them?
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If you can bring yourself to read this, you can benefit from my experience!
Don't read this if it troubles you )
I know a lot of people have been complaining about the lj-cut change, but I like it.  I was always failing with the old one,
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The cat died on Emma and Frank's birthday.

Also, I am very sick.
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The Minerva automobile company produced exactly the kind of automobiles I want, and the DeDion-Bouton company also produced the kind of automobiles I want, at the right time, and they tended to be owned by royalty.  I'm going to have to fix some things, but I don't have to re-write every trip back and forth from the palace to the "old castle" (which is actually mostly a rel;atively modern manor), and most importantly, I don't have to re-cast the character of the chauffeur that is the closest Yanek has to a father figure in his early childhood.

Also, Poznan Imperial Castle looks as I think the Duke's Palace ought to, and was built at a plausible time. 

I am so relieved.  I don't mind fixing up a bunch of things, but I really didn't want to have to revise everything about Yuri.  I think I have to do a bunch of horse work in revision anyway, but Yuri! remains!

I have actually spoken aloud a couple of times today, without thinking. Shut up, Lucy.  You're trying to get better.

edit: Sorry, that first one, that's all wood, it's a 1906 Fondu, not a Minerva, and it's "Russo-Baltic," whatever that means in this context.

Anyway, that's three companies making closed-cabin automobiles for rich people to ride around in.
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I'm not answering the phone because I still have no voice.  Leave a message and hope that I'll figure out a way to answer before too long.
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Here is a link to some of that hypnotic Hungarian string music.  The video is an hour and a half long.
edit: have another one -- a whole raft of violinists paying tribute to one who just died.  Catch the cute kid with a stick and pretend bow at the beginning.

On another front, I have total laryngitis -- no voice at all, and no real warning: I was suddenly hoarse in the afternoon yesterday, but not extremely, and then I woke up with nothing. I can't really work with no voice, so here I have been all day, messing around with an embarrassing little Sims project -- trying to make the art nouveaulicious build set not suck.  It is clearly not finished: the edges are much rougher than EA's artists usually do, and the texture is nothing at all.  Obviously, it was a concept sketch and when EA decided they were done with the SIms 2, they yanked the project away from the people who were working on it and slapped the thing on the store page and people paid good money for it.  It's promising.  I don't have the skills to smooth out the mesh but I can retexture the things so they actually look like more than a jigsaw stencil.  maybe.  If you could see my desktop now, you would see this garish rectangle of awkward swirls of lime green, magenta, periwinkle blue, red, and ashes of roses -- justfive colors that would be distinct enough that I could use the magic wand selection tool and always get the right field.  This is a template for a layer that will have different colors of inlaid woods or paints, depending.  I traced the general outline from the object texture, but that was not immediately successful as the original texture had very little actual molding or shading to it.  It was like a flat piece of plywood, really.  Which means that the swirlies I put into the texture will look like crap if I don't figure out how to sculpt it all.  I think I have a trick to do that, involving the find-edges thing and then using the edges to make highlights and shadows on a different layer from the color part of the texture. But I also think there will be a lot of intermediate stages of suck.
For one thing, I can't smooth the blobs of color for the template, so therefore the curves are really difficult and tend to be hideous.  And not in the good way. 

Another thing is that there are five pieces to this: one-tile door and arch, two-tile door and arch, and a one-tile window.  I have started with the one-tile door. They do not share a common texture, and the swrily bits behave differently on each piece, so they will be happy if they go together at all by the time they are finished.

Also, the young doctor's go-to-city-hall marriage has turned into a Disney princess wedding with oranges.  Prague has a way of doing that to you, I guess.  At least the young folk are having fun.
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I don't feel sick till I try to do stuff but I have no voice at all. I talked to Emma when I took her to work but it was pointless - I don't know how she understood a word I was saying. I can whisper, and I can produce a tiny creaky unmelodious noise that sort of approaches speaking but it's exhausting and I can't imagine taking care of babies tomorrow like this. Recall that one of my most successful techniques for crowd management and transistions and routines and getting kids through the blues is the Stupid Little Song. And my early education philosophy is rooted in Talk to Them and Tell Them Stuff.

So I guess I'm texting my boss again. I want to say obscene things but I don't like any of the ones that come to mind.

On another front,it is difficult to find Derby Park, but we got there after I dropped Emma off and we had a lovely walk in the beautiful after-the-rain weather.

Also, I figured out what the hell the tree images on Ludmilla's and Yanek's bellies are all about. But I'm worried it's a complete game changer. What does it mean if their mother comes from a people who have been incorporating plant chromosomes into their bodies on an irregular basis for no particular reason for centuries?

I'm pretty sure they don't photosynthesize. Except maybe in emergencies?

day 6

Nov. 6th, 2011 11:26 am
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2500 words: 1500 to close out chapter 2 (at 5100 total for chapter 2) and 1000 to open chapter three. to make what, about 11600 for the story as a whole, so far? is that a 1900 average? I want to get well over the 50K: if I wasn't working fulltime I'd be setting 60K as a firm goal for the month. I'd like to have a full first draft before Groundhog Day (a day I expect to be difficult to ive through as it is the anniversary of my mother's death).

Accomplished: some backstory and some of Yanek's "little soldier" training in chapter 2. Also, Ludmilla's science stuff, and both the mysterious tree images on Ludmilla's and Yanek's bellies.

I actually don't have a good explanation for those damned trees, but I seem to be wedded to them, and they keep producing more story-useful stuff.

I thought this chapter was going to get them all the way back to the capital and the Duchal Palace and Yanek being mistaken for a servant, but it looks like, as usual, it will take more words and more scenes to get from one place to another than I planned on. I guess we'll at least get the pony stuff out of the way and a couple of other revelations.

Also, I am sick. I have a sore throat and no voice (as opposed to almost no voice and intermittently I feel shaky and achy. I don't know if it's a virus I got from the young fellow, or a virus I got from the babies, or a reaction to the shots I got Friday. I don't usually get this marked of a reaction if that is what it is, but every shot is different. And yes, I would rather endure this, if it is a reaction, than take the chance of passing any of those potentially fatal diseases to the babies.

I feel as if I ought to weigh in on he beating video, and I might at some point say something tangentially related to it. But when I finally steeled myself to watch a bit of it, it crashed my browser, so I feel that I have been mercifully prevented from being able to comment directly on it. I do have things to say about parental authority, however -- even beyond the subject of corporal punishment (which as a child always sounded way too similar to "capital punishment"). I don't have time to elaborate, but here's a sneak preview: the best and truest authority is gained by not imposing yourself as an authority and the best obedience isn't obedience at all.

Zen mommying, huh!
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I'm not better at all, but I have to move around or I won't get better. At least I'm better enough that I'm not sleeping all day, anyway. So I weeded for les than an hour -- meaning I made a few tiny fragile dents in the massive jungle that is my backyard -- and I found myself muttering
"no sorrel, no dock, no feverfew, no violet, no borage, no nasturtium, no blackberry . . ." Doesn't that sound like an Elizabethan garden or something? (maybe they didn't have the nasturtium yet, though) They're all thugs. They need to be rooted out with vigilance, which I do not do because, one, I am lazy, and two, I always get laid up in the spring.

Seasonal note: summer's on its way. I had to water several plants today. Drought is close at hand.
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At just over 12K words, the protagonist is two years old, and I have written the sentence that heralds the death of his mother and little brother.

The symptoms that got me the anitbiotic are clearing up, but the cough isn't.

I am tired of this.

However, my neice got into the Brandeis CLassics Masters program! really very cool.
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I'm already sick. The usual, I won't bore you with the reiteration of upper respiratory symptoms, but damn. It's not even November. The rainy season hasn't even started (yes, it rained once, but that was about a centimeter and it didn't make it even as far south as Monterey, and it hasn't rained again in two weeks, so you can't say the season ahs begun).

The dog is not at all happy about my failure to deliver on the promise of Fun for Dogs. There was the Volunteer Appreciation Fish aco and Garden Burger Barbecue at the Coastal Watershed Council back deck overlooking the Yachjt Harbor parking lot yesterday and she wasn't fooled: it wasn't a real Fun for Dogs outing even though I gave her treats. Too much sitting around waiting for people to stop talking and get a move on.

But today -- I said I wouldn't bore you with symptoms. Suffice to say I have scrapped all my socially useful, social, and useful palns and I am sitting here in a cold house in my pajamas reading funny Sims stories and attempting to write a little.

I think I will turn up the heat. It's 17: 20's not too hot, is it?

I may also go back to bed soon.
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I'm pretty sure the weird feeling in the space above my missing teeth was a sinus infection in waiting all along. I'm pretty sure that what I've got going now is a sinus infection full-blown.

And I'm very sure that I am very, very tired of losing my voice every time I get any kind of respiratory thing. And I'm really irritated that the ear nose and throat specialist I saw a while back spent five minutes dismissing the hoarseness that brought me in to him after a month and a half of it.

I'm not whispering, but I can't carry a tune either, and that's a crucial part of my professional toolkit.

On another front: peanut butter and celery now seems to me to be a breakfast pastry.

Oh, and department of (nearly) irreproducible recipes: I have made a hot vinegar by loosely half-filling a tall baby food jar (guess where I got that from) with baby wild radish seed pods and flowers and then filling it up with rice vinegar. It's lovely to look at, but I won't taste it for a little while longer. This can only be done in May: before that, there are not enough seed pods, and after that, there are not enough undeveloped ones. I am sure ripe ones would make a satisfactory vinegar, but I am thinking that the unripe ones will make a satisfactory quick pickle also. They get tough as soon as you can tell they have seeds in them. I know this because I started using them in salads last year or the year before. I think it only takes them a week or so after the flower withers to get tough.

Still working overtime, but a little less now, since I'm not having to stay so late. Writing a few sentences here and there.
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I found the guy's flickr account, which he wasn't hiding from me but I didn't know where it was. I searched flicker for "Prague," "uploaded between Oct 1 and Oct 19, 2007" and then paged past several pages of pictures posted on October 20 -- I don't know why, do they use a sort engine that thinks 20 is the same as 2? -- anyway, there it was: orangegeni. Heh.

Meanwhile I spoke too soon about being well. I'm not going to the Band Review even though I can hear it from my house because the thought of moving that much makes me want to puke. It's annoying: I have a lot of energy, but my insides are wobbly. The nice fellow went to work, which I think is irresponsible considering that he works with food. I imagine he'll wash his hands and change gloves often, at least.

Emma is hit the worst. I think that might be because she's younger and hasn't been exposed to as many of these already. I think she needs a flu shot, actually. I haven't got mine yet.

There's an added neurological dimension to this digestive virus: it seems to cause different neurological symptoms depending on where you've had trouble before. There's the skin supersensitivity, headache, and lightheadedness, of course. Then there's also, for me, a return of the hand symptoms I had laid to rest through a thoughtful regime of exercise, diet and medication, and for Emma, a return of back symptoms. Really a nasty creature, this virus.

Hey -- the guy's IMing me!He sent me a link to a picture of Bush and Putin in starry masonic wizard robes.

Liveblogging . . .

we're talking about Czech Nazis and his classes. And his ancestry, which gets more complicated every time we turn around. Now with added Sintis and Sorbians. Well, probably not Sintis, since we can't find an actual thread linking Johan Trollmann the Sinti hero destroyed by Nazis with Johan Trollmann the guy from Glogon. But Johan the Sinti looked, physically, as much like our Trollmans as Ignaz Trollmann, who beat up the Balkans for the Austria-Hungarian Empire. Who do you want to identify with?

Now he's gone to watch Rugby. I'm thinking about whether I'm going to eat breakfast.

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