I ATE ALL YOUR BEES!
My world? There's been some hiding in bed, some making holes in my arm and quite a bit of art. And watching Black Books still.
I got asked at short notice to draw up a faerytale map through a labyrinth to a lost city, with riddles and things please. I did. Frankly I was only sorry I didn't have time to set up something gloriously frustrating like Tasks of Tantalon - that puzzle book rocks. Then I got asked to make up a huge occult ritual in various different flavours and write it out as envisaged by three different nutters. I did. (I have 18th century wenches and rakes to draw too, but I've got about a week for that.)
Then I got asked to the Oast to kitchen wench and told I ought to go visit my brother's newest sproggling - with present please if possible. Damn this faerygothmother lark. All of which meant I had to abandon galavanting with Blade. Feh.
Doctor's appointment yesterday wasn't with Dr Dead Cod, what a mercy, it was with a very amiable and on-the-ball chap who asked sensible and occasionally strange questions but always explained after what he'd been prodding at. He didn't play minesweeper on his computer. He took one look at me and said wryly, "The meds haven't really kicked in yet, have they? Would you like to up the dose? You're supposed to wait six weeks, but frankly I don't see that helping." I could have hugged him. He also offered to stick my arm back together but I was too twitchy to let him. (Without fuss he said, 'I assume you won't use sellotape? D'you have sutures?' and left me to it. I like him.) I have another appointment in three weeks to see how things are going.
Oh, and the Tides were high at Market today. The stall I was looking for was too mundane to be there, so, um, I spent my faerygothmother money on two bone dice and a set of tiny sewing scissors in a silver case, all small enough to hang off a necklace (and indeed I will hang them on a necklace at some point.) I saw a lot of people who don't belong to this London - including, I think, Edward Southley in rumpled jacket and in need of a hair cut; wish I hadn't been in such a rush (and that my pocketbook was fatter, obviously).
I now have a brief space of quiet before having to set off again for sprogglings and kitchen wenching.
Oh, and I'm sorry for not talking to people recently, I do love you, I'm just either catatonic or a miserable puddle on the floor, which hinders conversation somewhat.
I got asked at short notice to draw up a faerytale map through a labyrinth to a lost city, with riddles and things please. I did. Frankly I was only sorry I didn't have time to set up something gloriously frustrating like Tasks of Tantalon - that puzzle book rocks. Then I got asked to make up a huge occult ritual in various different flavours and write it out as envisaged by three different nutters. I did. (I have 18th century wenches and rakes to draw too, but I've got about a week for that.)
Then I got asked to the Oast to kitchen wench and told I ought to go visit my brother's newest sproggling - with present please if possible. Damn this faerygothmother lark. All of which meant I had to abandon galavanting with Blade. Feh.
Doctor's appointment yesterday wasn't with Dr Dead Cod, what a mercy, it was with a very amiable and on-the-ball chap who asked sensible and occasionally strange questions but always explained after what he'd been prodding at. He didn't play minesweeper on his computer. He took one look at me and said wryly, "The meds haven't really kicked in yet, have they? Would you like to up the dose? You're supposed to wait six weeks, but frankly I don't see that helping." I could have hugged him. He also offered to stick my arm back together but I was too twitchy to let him. (Without fuss he said, 'I assume you won't use sellotape? D'you have sutures?' and left me to it. I like him.) I have another appointment in three weeks to see how things are going.
Oh, and the Tides were high at Market today. The stall I was looking for was too mundane to be there, so, um, I spent my faerygothmother money on two bone dice and a set of tiny sewing scissors in a silver case, all small enough to hang off a necklace (and indeed I will hang them on a necklace at some point.) I saw a lot of people who don't belong to this London - including, I think, Edward Southley in rumpled jacket and in need of a hair cut; wish I hadn't been in such a rush (and that my pocketbook was fatter, obviously).
I now have a brief space of quiet before having to set off again for sprogglings and kitchen wenching.
Oh, and I'm sorry for not talking to people recently, I do love you, I'm just either catatonic or a miserable puddle on the floor, which hinders conversation somewhat.