Smallhouse Log

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Officially sick of the season after Pentecost, and Advent is still nowhere in sight. Sigh.

So the problem with having recurrent dreams and dreams about technology is that, if you should go a couple months between the dreams, you end up spending half your time dreaming about trying to look up how something works in a manual, and you still can't save your android friend the third time around.

In more lucid news, the pie came out great. I was worried, since I haven't made it in a year and a half, but it was just about perfect. Nancy and Alexis came over, we watched some Olympic swimming events, and played "Let's see how fast Wikipedia gets updated." Usain Bolt was fast, but Wikipedia editors were faster.

And now it's pie for breakfast. I love this part.

one week later (the Feast of Florence Nightingale)

Well, I just spent at least an hour looking at bird intestines, and while kind of weirded out, I'm only a little more certain about the future than before, and only in insignificant ways. This must be what progress feels like.

So what does the future hold? Hopefully, bicycles. Signs are good. Places to live? For me, for a while. There is definitely work to be done here. Work to be done? There are always more robots to build, but I need something that pays better. This may not exist. I may have to create it. There will not be much time for that. Romance? The intestines were either particularly unclear in this area, or I didn't like what I saw, or I really liked what I saw. I'm not sure I can tell the difference; this is one of many problems with bird intestines. Travel? This is something I didn't need to forecast; I'm going to the UP to visit Hannah and Kaleb at the end of the month. Yes. When I come back, will the world be in chaos? I'll kill another pigeon and find out. Or maybe upgrade my materials; a duck has got to work better. But where does one even find a live duck?

You know, I had no idea Florence Nightingale had be sainted. Maybe she hasn't been? Does having a feast day only happen to saints? Someone has to know how this works. Maybe Dr. Google picked up a degree in Episcopal doctrine, I should ask her.

Tuesday

"It's too close for comfort, this heat has got right out of hand."

So, moved out today. I cleaned the apartment as best I was able with the materials at hand, and left most of my condiments for Jerett, along with my trash bins and the cutting board and wooden spoon he destroyed. I'm not too sure about the pasta pot, either, but I packed it anyway. He seems to have cooked and drained some kind of meat in it; who does that, cooks meat in a saucepan? But enough complaining about roommates.

Psyche. Brian's holding my mail hostage, and there's a letter in there I'm a little anxious to get my hands on. Also he allowed the cat to get an eye infection, and now she's not eating? A terrible thing.

But I haven't gotten over that Lab Skuule schedule yet, so it's time for sleepin's. Goodnight.

Twelfth Sunday after Penecost

I will never get over how weird a word 'twelfth' is.

The storage company won't have a truck available tomorrow, so I had to move things up a day. I may ask about moving them back instead, since Jerett offered to let me stay a few more days, but I'm not too keen on reassembling the bed; I may stick with plan a (that's the Latin a, not to be confused with Plan A, with the Greek alpha... on second thought, perhaps I should call it something else). Plan b is out of the picture, so I may resort to plan c: couch surfing. You know who you are.

And instead of packing what little I've unpacked last night, I transformed a few more pages of the archives; this may be as far back as I can go with the robots' help, barring building new ones essentially from scratch, as the format undergoes a complete change. I may choose to spend some time cleaning up the entries that have already been transformed, however, before moving further back.

But I'm pretty sure no one cares. I care. I have standards. I like to hear myself talk.

Friday
"Jolt? I once considered buying that." -student Jason, 07/31/2008

  • Things I like: Black and white. Also, American music.
  • Things that, do you like them: Black and white? American music?

So! I got the housesitting gig for August, am talking to a guy about a September move-in in my preferred price range in Logan Square, my finances are in control and under close scrutiny thanks to the wonders of Mint, and I just finished my last day of Summer Lab for the year. Well, except I'm going in next week to talk to Cecilia about next summer. Because they've already as much as hired me for next year. Yesss.

Of course, that leaves the other ten months of the year. And this apartment sounds good, but I haven't met the guy yet, so who knows if that will work out. But it's hard not to be a little optimistic.

But I did have pizza from the B-Spot for supper while watching Beauty and the Beast, so it could just be that I am full of happiness particles.

Tuesday

  • Things I know: That you're scared.
  • Things I'd suggest: That you go back to the Bears, the Bears, the Bears.

I am starting to get a little tired of dealing with the same troublemakers for hours on end. This last week may be a bit wearing. Also, Baker says "automagically", like, nine times a day, and it is driving me (more) crazy.

Not really looking forward to flying solo in Web Design starting tomorrow.

Monday, kind of

  • Things not to fear: Death.
  • Things of which there are too many: Jumpy junkie thugs.
  • Things that, can't you feel them, they're buried deep inside us: Spiders.
  • Things that are catching on, catching on fire; things that are catching on fire: Everything, everything; everything.

I lay down to read a bit on Sunday afternoon and woke up at one am, went back to sleep, and woke up at one am. That first time, I musta been dreamin'. Whoops.