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bear by san

March 2017

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writing gorey earbrass unspeakable horro

so i shot him with my shooter, bang bang bang

Progress notes for 1 April 2008

So much for my productive day off. I blew it entirely on being stressed out on Internet drama.

Fuck this. Maybe I do need to turn off comments, much as I would regret it.

Chill:

New words: 189
Deadline: May 1
Mammalian assistance: There is a cat on my knee as I type this, holding on to the cloth of my jeans with her clawtips and purring. She must be cold. Or want something.
Jury-rigging: Dream sequences. Hate 'em, Jake.
Sustenance: steamed buns with red bean paste, courtesy of the frozen foods section of the local Asian grocery 
Exercise: Climbing last night, five routes. I am still thrashing on my project wall, which is a 5.7 that really doesn't seem like it should be that hard. At least I got past the point where I was stuck until last week, and did it with relative grace and professionalism. And then I got to the traverse.

A Brief Dramatization:

The Jeff (on belay): "What seems to be the problem up there?"
Our Heroine: "(&^%(*&^(*^ traverse."
The Jeff: "Oh, yeah, that traverse. That traverse sucks."
Our Heroine: *falling off wall again* "Yeah, I noticed."
Alisa (wandering in a little late): "Which one is she doing?"
The Jeff: "Blue route."
Alisa: "Oh, yeah, the one with the sucky traverse."
Our Heroine: "*&^%^%#$*^%!"

Ahem.

After that, I tried another 5.7, which is on the level of, I sent it once but have not yet been able to reproduce the feat--I also did not send it last night, as I was too worn out from falling off that damned traverse--and then I did a 5.6, a 5.5, and a 5.7 on the slab that I had never tried before, which I sent pretty well, once I figured out a sticky spot after the transition to vertical. I am getting really good at smearing; it's the one place where being heavy and having big flat feet works to my advantage.

I have picked out a 5.11 that I would really love to be able to climb. Someday, my prince will come....

This morning, 2 mile run in the warm (for this time of year) rain at dawn, which was much more like a run than last week's two mile runs. I only did four intervals, but they were much longer intervals, so I actually ran--okay, dog-trotted--about half the distance. And there were a couple of actual sprints in there, too, which was the only time I got winded, which is incredibly exciting to me. (The other times, I dropped out of the interval because either my arches or my calves hurt too much to push through, but that will get better as I adapt, and as my weight drops and these shoes break in.) First mile in 15 minutes, five minute break, second mile in 17 minutes because after the last interval, I stopped to look at the crocuses and snowdrops carpeting a neighbor's lawn for a minute.

Not too shabby, all things considered.

The lovely thing about going for a run first thing in the morning is that it fulfills the Live Frog clause. Nothing worse is likely to happen to you all day.

Also, I went for a walk to the package store on the corner, because I needed beer.

Miles to Lothlorien: 235.8
Guitar practice: My right hand appears to be developing a mind of its own. It does stuff now without consulting the neocortex, which is encouraging--that's what we hope to train it to do--but  little disconcerting, because now it often will not do things it used to know how to do. However, it taught itself a new finger-picking pattern recently, though it kind of still sucks at it, and it just randomly invented a bridge for "Brown-Eyed Girl" the other day. I had nothing to do with it. (It was not a good or complicated bridge, but it was definitely a bridge, and it kind of freaked me out. The hand seemed happy, however.)
Mail: Dust is number 4 on the Locus best seller list for April. Of course, that is the April Fool's edition. But the story about me sharing a bunk bed with Margaret Atwood? Total fact.
The Internet is Full of Things:  Snake and mouse!

Comments

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Isn't it fascinating when you realize that your fingers are doing something musical completely independent of conscious thought? Unfortunately, that's usually the time when I say, "Wow, check that out, my fingers just shifted to play that sequence in a new position -- oh crap, I just lost the music." One wants to reward the fingers for doing something proactive and yet one wants to mutter darkly a lot.
They have like, their own thing.

it's something else.
I used to have a cat who would knead and drool.

I miss him.
after the last interval, I stopped to look at the crocuses and snowdrops carpeting a neighbor's lawn for a minute.

aren't they lovely! I took my dogs down for a walk around Old Wethersfield on Sunday, specifically so I could enjoy all the flowers peeping up in everybody's lawns. my crocuses have been a bit slow in coming, something that is not helped by my EVIL rabbit neighbors. I knew they went after tulip leaves, but now they've apparently added crocus leaves and blossoms to their diet. rrrg.
Well, I did my part to help Dust's position on the charts yesterday ... picked up that and Carnival at the bookstore in GCT. :)
Thank you. I hope you like them.

on comments

I kind of hesitate to mention it, because I hear that you're in a bad mood, and any advice at all might hit your button, but I'm going to say it anyway, because, as I've demonstration amply lately, staying quiet is not my strong suit (and I have now built this up to ever so much more than it is).
Have you considered screening comments, and then just ruthlessly deleting the irritating ones?
Wouldn't work for me personally, because I have "Someone on the internet is WRONG" syndrome, but if you're better at it than I am, it might be a viable middle path between turning off comments altogether and putting up with advice from the punters.
And if you tell me to shut up now, I will completely understand.

Also, I keep meaning to ask, why "Miles to Lothlorien," what was the original number, and why that number?

Re: on comments


I have thought of screening comments. But oh, the work involved.

Re: Lothlorien: it's the Eowyn Challenge:

http://home.insightbb.com/~eowynchallenge/Tools/tools.html#Location

The idea is to walk to Mordor.
Sorry to hear you are having comment difficulties. It would be a shame for you to have to turn them off. Your commenters are usually a very interiguing bunch. Normally I enjoy them as much as your enteries, but lately I haven't had a chance to read them. I am not sorry to have missed the drama.
Random climbing question re: "I did a 5.6, a 5.5, and a 5.7"

Is your climbing gym set up with handholds screwed into the wall, then the staff puts colored tape on some handholds and make a route that they give parameters (tracking, all hands, all feet, natural feet, etc) and a grade (like 5.7)?

Or is it along the line of here's a wall and getting to the top makes it a 5.7?

It's a random question because I find that some routines seem to not work for a tall ape like me. I end up leaning way out from the wall to get my hands/feet on the right things...

My dream is to climb some big walls all natural, no handholds. Of course, there's a 5.0 in the bouldering room that still kicks my butt so I have a way to go :-)

- yeff
My gym goes by the colored tape makes a route paradigm.

Alas.

All the damned routesetters are BOYS.
Yeah.

That is stopping me.

I do not want this to be a broadcast medium.

Maybe I need to do a Warren Ellis and get fussy about which comments I answer. I appear to have become sufficiently popular that I have to alienate a little. DO NOT WANT.
I'd be sad if you turned off the comments, but if that's what you have to do, that's what you have to do. (Just not on the CM posts, pretty please!)
Oh, good point.

And Wednesday night, there will be a new one.

I don't think I can turn off comments. I rely on you guys too much, and this community.

But man, today hurt.
But the story about me sharing a bunk bed with Margaret Atwood? Total fact.

I think that this is probably the end of the "if anybody needs me, I'll be in my bunk" idiom as far as I'm concerned. Because...Margaret Atwood is Not My Kink.
Bunk bed.

Has two bunks.
Oh! And I have been meaning to tell you: WOW on the running, eh? I cannot do it. I am a sucktastic exerciser. I am especially impressed with the first thing in the morning bit.
frogs. Srsly.

But then it's over.
I would wish you my day instead, but even on my worst enemy I would not be so cruel. And you I wish well. Hoping good things for both our tomorrows.
Nooo!!!! Please don't disable comments! If you do, how could we tell you we lubs you?!

Thinking of which.... We lubs you! (Except for possibly a few jerks. They may not lub you. But they're jerks, so they don't count. The rest of us lubs you.)
Well, no. the hard thing is fannish entitlement. Which boils down to--I like your work, so I get to tell you what to do.

And no.

But god, it rattles my cage.

I need coping mechanisms.
The jerk-face argument is compelling.

I need to be able to write. I am not sure yet if isolating myself makes that more or less likely.
I don't think a prince will help you do that 5.11. A Rapunzel would be more useful. I'd volunteer, except a) my hair's only to my knees, b) I'm on the wrong continent and c) I'm pretty sure it'd hurt a lot.

I have to say that the "The great thing about running is that eventually it stops hurting" remarks don't inspire me to take up the sport. :-)
Bwahaha. Yeah, I bet it would hurt a lot.

Running is a stupid sport, and nobody should do it. Just so you know.

Now where are my track shoes?
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