I'm still wading through Moby Dick, reading it in bursts on my iPhone. I recently got through a chapter about the narrator's experience at de-lumping spermaceti, the oil taken from the whale's head, squeezing globs until the oil is as smooth as it can be.
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The trouble with re-opening wounds of mental trauma is falling into expressions of angry grief.I was reminded of my life of people with a duty of care for me thugging me over and I started yelling. Then I sat down with food, made whilst yelling, then yelled at my iPhone sitting next to me.
The trouble with wins it reminds you of wounds. And even if not actively mulling your subconscious does and leaden fatigue sets in. I've been wretched for two days, entwined round a body pillow as my body and brain semi-hibernate. It's a common reaction, I slept weeks away after initial injury. I feel old already with early-worn joints but additional lethargy makes me ancient.But it's just for now and not for long. There are sunny wakeful hours ahead.WFTW.
My psych was the one who told me, that I had landed on my feet. I hadn't realised and she was right---there was a golden cross on the top right of my character pic indicating I'd levelled up. I got to a tavern, sold some loot and clicked to go up and I rolled a one for hit points. Typical.
Ford just exhorted me, via YouTube, to consider their latest sale where "I could walk away with an X for only fifty-two thousand [something] dollars."I am targeted via my Google presence and the bolshi in me recoiled at the idea someone could be wealthy enough to consider walking away with a fifty-two thousand dollar car to be prudent good sense and masculine presence wish fulfillment.
I slipped in the mud, pen mud, so shit and mud. My foot slid into the start of an escape tunnel and then I was on the ground in the rain, shit and mud and sore from smashing the shed gate to the ground.
I'm reading Moby Dick on my phone and I'm up to the bit where Captain Ahab is practically chewing the mess rug in his monomania to get Moby Dick, an albino sperm whale which last time ate off one of his legs (Ahab's).I'm guessing it's all going to go tits up and Ahab will #Fail.What if someone gave it an Ahab-happy ending?
I woke to sounds of the electrical cord mower having at rain-fed grass that was ankle high when we got home. I wasn't fussed---though machine noises can cause distress---but it was in the shower that I discovered I could become a lawnmower man. theboy had enjoyed a fearsome flow motel showerhead and when we got home attempted to replicate it with our variable flow setting.
I went to a pool. It was outside and with a decent spray of adults and children. There was no echo to compound it but I handled the visit. I handled being in water surrounded by noise that could trip my brain into unreasoned panic and I did not trip into it.There were storms all through the week. There was a set of three bolts that hit near to where we were staying. I was on the balcony when I saw them strike then got palm-heels-to-ears before the noise of their strike hit.
I'd not seen the cat in a week so when I lay on the bed she hopped up and spent a dozen minutes licking my wrist. She'd pause then go again. Eventually I got sick of it and stuck my wrist under my pillow and she tunneled into it to lick some more. It's a sign of affection—and she wants the salt in my skin—but irritating. I got she needed it though and gave her that dozen before it was "JESUS CHRIST, STOP LICKING ME!"My pussy is a wrist licker. I accept it and have moved on.