ResourcedIn a re-spawn I gained access to resources I’d never imagined. It’s like having a bat cave but without the batabs to back it up. The flabs yes; abs no.That makes me batecstatic. Bus sads I met someone who had no cash but was catching a bus that didn’t use MyWay. I gave them a ten without them asking and I waved off their offer of an e-transfer back.
Articles from Harrangue Man
It was lying on the path twixt the shed and the house and had my lumbering, shuffling over-fed self stood on the one to thirty-two scale black Volkswagen Beetle then my flat feet would have slipped, I'd have fallen backward and caved in my skull heel on the concrete path. NowMikey saw it and kicked the car under a table. If the multi-verse theory is correct and the universe is but multi-versions of me then a decent chunk of those mes are dead.That would have been some coroner's report though.
I'm still wading through Moby Dick, reading it in bursts on my iPhone. I recently got through a chapter about the narrator's experience at de-lumping spermaceti, the oil taken from the whale's head, squeezing globs until the oil is as smooth as it can be.
The trouble with re-opening wounds of mental trauma is falling into expressions of angry grief.I was reminded of my life of people with a duty of care for me thugging me over and I started yelling. Then I sat down with food, made whilst yelling, then yelled at my iPhone sitting next to me.
The trouble with wins it reminds you of wounds. And even if not actively mulling your subconscious does and leaden fatigue sets in. I've been wretched for two days, entwined round a body pillow as my body and brain semi-hibernate. It's a common reaction, I slept weeks away after initial injury. I feel old already with early-worn joints but additional lethargy makes me ancient.But it's just for now and not for long. There are sunny wakeful hours ahead.WFTW.
My psych was the one who told me, that I had landed on my feet. I hadn't realised and she was right---there was a golden cross on the top right of my character pic indicating I'd levelled up. I got to a tavern, sold some loot and clicked to go up and I rolled a one for hit points. Typical.
Ford just exhorted me, via YouTube, to consider their latest sale where "I could walk away with an X for only fifty-two thousand [something] dollars."I am targeted via my Google presence and the bolshi in me recoiled at the idea someone could be wealthy enough to consider walking away with a fifty-two thousand dollar car to be prudent good sense and masculine presence wish fulfillment.
I slipped in the mud, pen mud, so shit and mud. My foot slid into the start of an escape tunnel and then I was on the ground in the rain, shit and mud and sore from smashing the shed gate to the ground.
I'm reading Moby Dick on my phone and I'm up to the bit where Captain Ahab is practically chewing the mess rug in his monomania to get Moby Dick, an albino sperm whale which last time ate off one of his legs (Ahab's).I'm guessing it's all going to go tits up and Ahab will #Fail.What if someone gave it an Ahab-happy ending?
I woke to sounds of the electrical cord mower having at rain-fed grass that was ankle high when we got home. I wasn't fussed---though machine noises can cause distress---but it was in the shower that I discovered I could become a lawnmower man. theboy had enjoyed a fearsome flow motel showerhead and when we got home attempted to replicate it with our variable flow setting.