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bear by san

February 2017



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writing softcore nerdporn _ heres_luck

kiss me make me cry how did i wind up here?

Book Report #77: Ken Norman, The Complete Practical Encyclopedia Of Bonsai.

What it says on the cover, man. I have drowned in information on tiny trees.


commodorified has asked me to link this page, publicizing a Canadian group's action to support American war resisters.

Do what's in your conscience, as the sergeant said.

Mysterious Galaxy offers a book review of A Companion To Wolves, the publication of which is only a month out, now. It was originally scheduled to come out while I was teaching at Viable Paradise; Now I'll actually get to have a celebratory beer without crawling out from under a pile of manuscripts first.

However, I will probably be deep in frantic revisions of the Stratford Man books by then, so I may need more than one (1) beer.

Now, I'm gonna stop yammering on LJ and go play Chuzzle until I feel like going to bed. Tomorrow, I get to read a book or something and also start writing the second-worst day in Chaz Villette's life.

The worst day, alas, is still to come.


For a different set of tiny tree info (including a wonderful book on "miniature" bonsai... what are called mame) you might look into Gustafson. He's great, I have three or four of his books.

Me, my dreams aren't suffen, and there are times the red goes up to my elbows.

So far, however, I've not been stapled to guns.

Er... sudden.

They are, if you care, usually odd, often violent, and rarely does anyone die in them.

Which can be frustrating as all get out when you are shooting the bad guys in the chest.

I didn't even notice the typo. 0.o

I also almost never remember my dreams.
There are times I think not recalling my dreams would be nice, but then I remember that it's the dreams I can't, quite, recall which unease me.

I get the sleep like the dead thing.

I don't approve.

Other people seem to enjoy sleeping; I just get it over with so I stop being tired.
I don't sleep any more.

Well, that's not true, I do sleep, but not much. I used to sleep for eight-ten hours, if I didn't have to be up.

Now... I think I wake up between five and six hours.

This is, sort of, a problem, because Maia likes sleep, and I end up leaving bed long before she does, which disturbs her sleep.

When she has class, I am awake long after she is, because I wake when she does.

I blame the war.

Five to six hours is my standard. Eight if I am exhausted. I can get by on three for several days in a row.

And the war? Seems like it would be exactly the right thing to blame. Man, I'm sorry.
It's funny. It's not that I'm not rested when I awake, just that it isn't what I think I ought to be doing.

I am aware of how I don't sleep as much as I used to; also that I can't just lie in bed as I did. I am, in this regard, restless.

And it wasn't like this before the war.

But, if that were the worst of my problems from the war, it wouldn't be so bad. I can think of much worse things I could have.

So, all in all, I shouldn't complain.

Because the best way for all of us to handle our PTSD is to suck it up.

Yeah, I have that one too.

I actually wonder if my sleeping-like-a-dead-thing thing isn't a trauma response, because I do remember--when I was little, I dreamed. Later, it got very hard to sleep.

Now, unless I'm having an insomnia night (and my insomnia, thank whoever assigns these things, is of the "so sorry, not sleepy, mind going a mile a minute" variety rather than the "exhausted and can't turn off" variety) I'm out like a light pretty quickly.
That's probably part of it; but there's not much to do.

My PTSD is minor; and I'm not going to be given counselling for it (look at ginmar's problems, with a much more serious case than mine.

Which isn't really the right answer either.

But I don't do coffee in the afternoons any more, and I have a much easier time of keeping up with the world. Hell, sometimes it looks as though I never sleep, and am always online.


It's not insomia-like (though mine is more like yours when I get it). I can go to sleep, but then I'll be awake early.

Ok, I'll stop rationalising/analysing it.

I hear a rumor this comes with the aging process, too, and we can look forward to sleeping less on a sort of rolling basis.

Wonder what I'm gonna do with my nights in thirty years.

Write more books, maybe.
Yeah, I've thought of that. My grandmother only slept about four hours a night when I saw her last, but she was 79 then.

I'm just hoping this is some sort of coping mechanism, the coping will happen and things will revert.

That, or the need for less sleep will just catch up with my present state.

Either of those would be a pretty optimal outcome.

Thank you! I was mostly reading it to intimidate myself. *g*

Watch out for the vicious flying llamas, man.
They can fly all the like, so long as they don't do that stream of cud thing people refer to as spitting (I don't think a three-foot stream; which tracks, is spitting, nope, no-way, never... that's power-puking).

On a serious note, if you are interested in Bonsai Gustafson is a great resource. He might still participate in the usenet forum on Bonsai.

Book are a great blend of facts, photos, anectdote and philosophy (both generic, and his; which I like a lot).

In some ways the best summation of bonsai is in The Karate Kid, just take away everything that doesn't look like a tree.

Right now the only thing I have that comes close to being bonsai (as opposed to in training) is an olive, and it's still really young, and somewhat shapeless. Maybe in anothr five years.

I have four grapes in training, a wisteria, a crabapple, and a plum. The plum is going to be a 6-8 hander (which is the measure, how many hands it takes to move the pot).

Come to Calif, and I'll take you to the Huntington Gardens. You can visit an alien landscape, see great bonsai, fondle a medieval hymnal and take tea with me, Maia, and (maybe) skeetermonkey.

Then we cna go to the range and make noise.


Next time I am near the city of the angels, I will let you know.
See, Bear? All your friends want you to go to the Huntington.

TK, don't forget to show her the rose garden! (As if you would, man.)
And all my friends know each other, too. *g*

Of course, you both are Justifiably Notorious, so I should not be surprised....
I have danced with TK. He is way better at it than I am.

Blame J. Hertz. That and starting at a ridiculously young age.

If nothing else (though there is a lot else), he taught me to dance as if no one is looking.

Which, given how hard he looks, is saying something.

No; and the Shakespeare garden, and the statuary walk, and the bamboo stands, and...

The Huntington is an all day place for an out of town guest.

Back in the day (late winter to early summer 1993) when I was oddly employed, and it was free to walk in (now the fee they used to charge for parking is a fee to enter) I used to walk there (which I didn't realise was 6 miles, each way, and uphill going home) two-three times a week.

I live only three miles from it now. I suppose I ouhght to buy a membership, and then I can do that again.


BTW, I've been reading some scholarly articles snarking about Marlowe scholarship, as I try to decide whether or not to try my hand at my own academic paper.

In the process, I've come up with the title for an essay that I shan't write, but I suspect somebody will in the future: "Kit, Kelly and Kuryakin: the influence of espionage in the works of Elizabeth Bear"
[Hey, somebody managed to publish an article on Shakespeare in Sandman, which comes down to 3 issues of the comic -- and managed to forget Hamnet's brief appearance in Books of Magic]

I shall work on being more obscure. *g*


Well, I guess it's a publish or perish world.
You have gotten me addicted to Chuzzle. O the joy of a mindless match-3 game in which one destroys innocent colorful Tribbles! Something had to be sacrificed, and better the Chuzzles than - well, maybe *not* better than the small yapping dog down the road which has a penchant for six-hour-long yapping fits, which inspired me to want to invent a sort of powerchair polo in which I smack the small dog down the sidewalk with my cane while driving... but certainly better than most of the humans in my vicinity.
Ahh, Chuzzle.

It allows me to give vent to my urge for destruction, without you know, actually doing any damage.