(no subject)
Monday, January 30th, 2023 05:44 pmReading backwards in Phantom Moon Tower gets me at last to vol.3, first story dating to 2008. And yes indeed, we're in prime WTF Ima territory, of the 'read three times, look up every fifth word, still can't figure it all out' variety. A bit better than her prime 100 Demons method of 'write the plot points on separate cards, throw cards in the air, draw story in the order they fall down in' but that's not saying much. Anyway, on I go. In the meantime I read Gladys Mitchell's Timothy Herring series. The first three had an odd echo of PMT in that everyone wants Herring to get married, as everyone in Shōichi's family wants him to get married, but Herring was being a stubborn bachelor while Shōichi was pursuing Yōsaburo. But Herring gets affianced at the end of book 3 so now he has a wife. And is becoming that Mitchell favourite, a high-handed bullying manly man, which is what women really want, not gentle considerate lovers like the one his wife had before. Mitchell wasn't married, of course.
Reading back DW entries reveals that I've always coughed and sneezed my way through January, even in polar vortex years like 2022, so no surprise if I'm doing it in this hitherto mild winter. There's no more dust than usual, which isn't saying much, but I keep checking my furnace filters and my furnace filters keep being the same colour as my new ones ie still clean. Presumably the guy who checked the furnace last October did some cleaning, because this is unusual. Then again, I've not been using the thing as much, thriftily relying on jackets and throws to keep me warm. But I'm still sneezing and coughing from the sinus drip, and I do wish it would stop.
I'd also noticed that stairs were getting easier to go up and that I could sit in my rocking chair reading and get up from *that*- which hasn't been possible for years‐ so I happily assumed my dry January had lost me a few pounds. Well, no. I've lost exactly half a kilo and today the less said about my knees the better. Scar still aches in cold damp weather and, ok, I've stayed indoors two days running. So things may be better tomorrow when we're promised rare sunny periods.
Complicated dream last night that still sticks with me, of travelling or living in Japan with a bunch of Asian girls, vaguely Chinese but some others as well, which probably owes something to the international cast of Himawari House. And we were all packing up to go home and trying to fit things in our suitcases and I had to decide what things to leave behind before the porters came. And now that I've written this the dream details fade: they were accessible only as long as I had no words for them.
Reading back DW entries reveals that I've always coughed and sneezed my way through January, even in polar vortex years like 2022, so no surprise if I'm doing it in this hitherto mild winter. There's no more dust than usual, which isn't saying much, but I keep checking my furnace filters and my furnace filters keep being the same colour as my new ones ie still clean. Presumably the guy who checked the furnace last October did some cleaning, because this is unusual. Then again, I've not been using the thing as much, thriftily relying on jackets and throws to keep me warm. But I'm still sneezing and coughing from the sinus drip, and I do wish it would stop.
I'd also noticed that stairs were getting easier to go up and that I could sit in my rocking chair reading and get up from *that*- which hasn't been possible for years‐ so I happily assumed my dry January had lost me a few pounds. Well, no. I've lost exactly half a kilo and today the less said about my knees the better. Scar still aches in cold damp weather and, ok, I've stayed indoors two days running. So things may be better tomorrow when we're promised rare sunny periods.
Complicated dream last night that still sticks with me, of travelling or living in Japan with a bunch of Asian girls, vaguely Chinese but some others as well, which probably owes something to the international cast of Himawari House. And we were all packing up to go home and trying to fit things in our suitcases and I had to decide what things to leave behind before the porters came. And now that I've written this the dream details fade: they were accessible only as long as I had no words for them.
