Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   important fractions of my attention
Wednesday, May 10 2017

location: Chestnut Hill Road, just east of the Village of Woodstock, Ulster County, NY

Concerned about the bathroom needs of the dogs, I awoke slowly (and in stages) in Susan & David's bed. Darla, who used to snuggle with me in that bed, now sleeps in a crate every night as part of the new regime to enforce boundaries and make her less likely to get in a fight with Olive. She and Olive seem to have amazing bladders and lower intestines, since they rarely seem to have much use for going outside. Olive is particularly reluctant to go out there and had to be carried (something Susan had advised me to do in her notes; she'd written Olive would act like she had "spinal bifida").
I managed to thaw out and heat the frozen Amy's burrito and eat that for breakfast with a cup of English Breakfast tea. Meanwhile a couple cars were parked in the driveway and there were guys painting Susan's studio. Gretchen and I joke about the people across the street from us always having contractors there doing work, but I think Susan and David have contractors swarming their compound at least as often.
A cup of Stewart's coffee in hand, I stopped at the Tibetan Center thrift store on the way back home. There was a digital photo frame for sale there that seemed like the kind of thing that could be made to do something useful, and it was $5 in an unopened box, so I bought it. But once I got it home and hooked it up, it proved utterly dead and useless. I've found that an unusually large fraction of things I get at the Tibetan Center thrift store are in some way broken, which is to be expected, but it's rare to open a sealed box containing an electronic device and find a bricked device inside. The problem with such things isn't so much the money lost (I can take things back), but the way I compulsively try to fix things that turn out to be broken. I can't help myself, and so the things I buy at the thrift store end up devouring hours of my day and important fractions of my attention until I force myself to give it the fuck up.


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