Pain and Billy Goats
Why does my office schedule after-hours meetings? Like I have TIME to go to meetings when my Big Fish hidden-object game calls me, calls me, calls me with its siren song. No more knitting, either, till my thumb joint heals from the latest cortisone injection. This more recent one hurt like the very blazes and doesn't seem to be helping as much as the first one 6 weeks ago. Grumble. Isn't pain an interesting phenomenon when you think about it? While the injection is going on, I feel the pain as waves of intense heat, long jolts of electricity, an odd crushing sensation in the injection site--anything but what it really is: a needle poking around in the joint, shooting little bits of cortisone here and there. Of course all those things really HURT, but I think one must put a name to the sensation other than just "pain" which, though accurate, is scarcely precise enough for some reason. Well, it IS interesting. I am very glad there isn't more of it, too.
In Second Life news: I definitely have a place to sell my wee little cartoon suits if I can get the vendor to work. The wee little cartoon shopgirl is IMing me, sounding crazy and desperate. Heh. Keep 'em waiting, I always say (when I have been too lazy to get something done anyway).
Anyway! Camping at the hippie commune! I got to play with the goats, two young billys, brothers, who were very gentle and rather playful when they stopped eating which was for perhaps 3 seconds at a time. Honestly, it takes a lot of grazing to keep a goat going (not to mention a few nibbles of my hat and skirt for variety). These ones are to be traded for some laying hens when slaughter time comes, since the commune children have gotten so attached to them that they can't stand the thought of the goats being killed and eaten onsite. They have admitted that they don't mind it quite as much if the goats are taken away to be eaten elsewhere. I love goats, love their mad and all-knowing empty slotted golden gods' eyes.
Sigh. Meeting time.
In Second Life news: I definitely have a place to sell my wee little cartoon suits if I can get the vendor to work. The wee little cartoon shopgirl is IMing me, sounding crazy and desperate. Heh. Keep 'em waiting, I always say (when I have been too lazy to get something done anyway).
Anyway! Camping at the hippie commune! I got to play with the goats, two young billys, brothers, who were very gentle and rather playful when they stopped eating which was for perhaps 3 seconds at a time. Honestly, it takes a lot of grazing to keep a goat going (not to mention a few nibbles of my hat and skirt for variety). These ones are to be traded for some laying hens when slaughter time comes, since the commune children have gotten so attached to them that they can't stand the thought of the goats being killed and eaten onsite. They have admitted that they don't mind it quite as much if the goats are taken away to be eaten elsewhere. I love goats, love their mad and all-knowing empty slotted golden gods' eyes.
Sigh. Meeting time.