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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got that wrong
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   magical realist Russia
Monday, January 27 2020
We've been running the bedroom split a little too hot lately, at least in the context of all our blankets and dogs. This is clear from the number of times I awaken drenched in sweat, something that otherwise means I am fighting some sort of illness. I awoke to the alarm on my phone this morning, which yanked me out of a somewhat disturbing dream. The dream had me in a magical realist Russia, where a clear sky was full of glowing arcs caused by the sun shining through air so close to the pole. I found myself under a bridge as some creepy operation happened with some sort of rusty mechanism that rose up from the gutter and crunched against the column of people in front of me. It seemed to destroy them with this action, but when the mechanism did the same to me, it just felt like a gentle hug and the timeline continued, at least until my phone's alarm went off.
I forgot to bring my wallet to work with me today, and, since I had no food in the refrigerator, I had to subsist on the snacks my office buys. Fortunately, they'd just re-upped, and I was able to dine on peanuts and Fritos-brand corn chips in addition to the usual energy bars. The junk food managed to upset my stomach slightly, though I was fine by the time I drove home.
Near the intersection of Dug Hill Road and Hurley Mountain Road, it seemed the highway department had cut down a fat locust tree and then cut it into four-foot segments. I managed to wrestle two of those segments into the back of the Prius to take them home as future firewood. There is no locust up on the hill where we live, but I know from my childhood that locust is a great firewood. It's also resistant to rot, making it an ideal material for fence posts (or other wood that someone might bury).
I'd left work about 20 minutes later than usual due to some last-minute data import issues. But I still managed to do some firewood salvaging after I got home. I took my saw and used it to process a largish skeletonized chestnut oak that had fallen west of the farm road. This involved cutting it into big pieces (longer than firewood-sized but small enough to be carried or otherwise moved) and then moving it all to a staging area closer to home. I also disposed of the stump, putting it in the collection of uprooted stumps near the powerline.
Meanwhile Andrea and Gretchen continued with their Claws marathon. For dinner, all of us had various leftovers; mine were potatoes leftover from last night's dinner at The Garden. Later, we all had leftover Earl Grey cake from Gretchen's birthday. Gretchen had kindled a very hot fire in the stove this afternoon, and the heat trapped in the house would last through the night.


The state of my hematomas at work today. The one on my thumbnail from late September has now nearly scrolled off to oblivion.


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