*click* *crrk* *KA-CRACK*

My knee is making interesting noises. As a precaution, I’m going to see my doctor (and if he gives me bullshit about my weight again I’m going to tell him that even dropping to only 1500 calories a day and working the job I do and working out, the weight just Will Not Fuck Off. …almost said ‘bugger off’ but here in America that’s considered tame—probably because no one learned its actual meaning, and this makes Nigella Lawson’s lament in last week’s episode of The Taste that much more interesting, as she was basically able to drop a Precision F Strike that didn’t even get noticed.)


I can tell it’s trying to do a thing because the day before yesterday, it woke me up—by sliding right the fuck out of joint. Cue Onion Knight-like howl of pain as my brain tries to parse what just happened so I can fix it. Even if we can’t DO anything about it, I do believe I can get a stronger painkiller. Kinda need it. I have lost all faith in this knee.


Which makes the fact that I’ve spent quite a bit of time on the other one in search of my Memory Stick even odder. (I’ve had some highly irritating days recently. I’d like to beat the fire out of some AIs, maybe improve my Kefka.)


I’ve also spent some time trying to click my brain back on so I can write. I’ve fallen into a bit of a slump and can’t eve focus straight. The good news is flipping my mattress so that the part that’s caving in is on the foot end did help a bit, but I still am going to need a new mattress very soon—it’s a tad crowded.


Heads up!


100 Things makes its official return on 2 February. Be ready for some STRANGE rambles, sometimes.


Got Noms?


I am going to begin working test kitchen operations again. Everything that I’ve cooked up is now going to be noted, recorded, and set up for repetition and refinement. I’ve also been introduced to one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen, Cooking With Dog, and its huge bank of recipes has inspired me to try actually doing something again. Who votes Valentine’s melonpan?

Bushed! I'll recover eventually, but until then, I'mma rant a bit.

It’s the second day of trying to reset my internal clock. Strict-ish bedtimes have been implemented, but my body’s not having it. Soda’s made, meds are about to be taken, and…

I’m barely conscious.

I’m having a difficult time. My head hurts quite a bit; my hair looks terrible; and to top this all off, I’m so sleepy. I got a reasonable amount of sleep and yet…

My shrink and a local naturopath have both suggested that I get more sun. I can see where they’re coming from—a naturopath WILL suggest that a keyboard jockey needs more sun, and a shrink…also will suggest that someone in my condition get more sun.


Among my friends I am infamous for not being able to maintain a comfortable temperature. I’ve burned hands when coming out of the sun before, and many a time a handshake from outside has gotten a “Good lord, are your gloves full of ice?!” Ice packs fail quickly when I’m running a temperature, and hot packs chill rapidly if I’m running significantly cooler than normal.

Walking around outside tends to shoot things upward—I wind up having to strip down to the workout shirt layer in forty-degree weather rather quickly. But the threat of migraine recently has put a damper on that plan lately, and in addition to really being too tired to go out for a walk, I don’t really have an incentive right now—I still don’t have my replacement Fitbit (I will gripe about that subject from time to time because I miss my little favorite gadget).

The meds are…ridiculous. Everything that I take on a prescription causes drowsiness. It’s gotten to the point, actually, if we find more problems we have to do some grilling—we press the benefits of keeping a prescription against fixing the problem that’s newly popped up—because I’m in danger of something called oversedation. In other words, “TOO MUCH—*ZZZZZ*” could happen.

It’s 0930. I’ve just popped everything. I’ve been awake for two hours, but there’s no guarantee I’ll be awake for the next two. I do what I can. But I have to be careful of lots of things.

The good news is that last night didn’t result in me winding up so high and dazed that it resulted in another sequence of laps walked around the apartment on my hands. …granted, my nose fell asleep (…I seriously don’t even) but that’s a lot less aggravating than waking up and realizing that I’ve tried to open the refrigerator door with my feet.
…actually, if we’re being perfectly honest, it wasn’t annoying. It was fucking hilarious. I can’t help but wonder if my neighbors were up and what they thought I was on. I can honestly say that I’ve never had quite that sort of sensation—not the last time I was stone-cold drunk, not the time the housekeeping staff had to work on the floor that some guests had turned into a giant hotbox (and no one left there sober that day, it was that strong), and not even on my first salvia trip.

I’m beginning to feel dazed again. I should sleep a little bit. I’ll set an alarm, though—I can’t afford to bork my clock again.

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

TOO close.

I wake abruptly, realizing that it is full daylight outside.

“…aw, fuck.”

I roll out of bed and walk across the apartment—the new arrangement of furniture means that the phone is about three yards away from the bed, and impossible to roll over and simply slap into silence.

It’s 7:55 AM.

“Aw, fuck.”

I have seven minutes to get dressed. The closest clothes are streets and I throw those on. The uniform goes into my purse as does my phone, my cans (not those cans—headphones), and my iPod duo.

I’m ready in a minute and forty-five.

I’m half out the door when a niggling little sense goes, “Check your keychain.” I do that.

My bus pass clip is AWOL.

“…Aw, shit.”

I start to ransack my apartment, undoing yesterday’s work immediately.

My alarm goes off. It’s three minutes until nine.

One more scour.

Another scouring when I don’t see it.

I panic. I call work. “Please let it be slow.”

The phone opens on the first ring. “Good morning—”

At first I think it is a voice mail. I freeze. Then I remember I need to be SPEAKING and ask what the deal was with my last lateness and pretty much beg for it to be slow, as if our deskman can make that happen.

…I luck out. It’s slow. In fact they were just about to text me.

I almost fall over in relief.

After this scare, I’m going to be putting myself in a rather rigid sleep schedule on days where I work. I don’t want to lose my job, and so I will now be putting myself to bed BEFORE 0130 on workdays—no exceptions. Phone goes off, statuses go DND, and I put my damn self the fuck to sleep. I’m not having this happen again.

If you need me I’ll be searching for my godsdamned KEYS. And probably eating toast. My nervous stomach has decided to kick itself into gear this morning.

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

Oh, Mondays.

*drag* *bump* *CRASH*


*drag* *scrape* *SQUAWK*

“Move, dammit!”

Oh, furniture-moving.

The condition of the apartment started bugging me—the décor’s gotten old (only took five months this time), and so I had to rearrange things. The good news is this one wasn’t flashback related—this is just me being bored with my surroundings.

Which explained why I had to put down a chest of drawers and knock on their door, explaining the racket (“Don’t worry, I didn’t drag the bastard here to disembowel. I’m just redecorating. =D”). I began the work a little before Jeopardy started, so I’ve been at it on and off for…damn, four hours now. The bed is now flush with the wall—I’m going to have to run an extension cord through underneath the bed for access to the stuff there. The couch is now flush with the bed—I needed room to move my work area—and the chest of drawers now faces the other direction. All in all I have added about a square foot to the apartment’s space.

It doesn’t sound all that big, but last night convinced me that I could do with better space—it was bad. I was in some pain from tweaking my back, and then there was the head pills. I wasn’t feeling well at all so I decided to pop them right away. Within fifteen minutes I had to sleep.

Within an hour and a half I was awake again, attempting to do handstands and walk a lap around the apartment, because it sounded like a great idea at the time. When I finally realized how very bad an idea it was I was split between the bed and the floor giggling. High? A BIT.

That was when the apartment got hot. Unbearably hot. Mental images bombarded me, none of them unpleasant…but all of them incredibly distracting.

Right about then the best idea was making a grape soda cold enough to hurt my teeth until the sensation passed. I was asleep AGAIN in a little less than half an hour. I woke up at six AM and was about to throw on clothes for work when I remembered—no work today.

I totally need a vacation.

…or caffeine.



The floors a mess, but the apartment is widened ever so slightly due to the positioning of the furniture. Even my work area is functional, no longer a place to throw mail—and it will stay neat, because it is in view of the entrance now, and a bad looking work are doesn’t exactly go over well. Stove is clean, fridge is organized—ish. Floor will be cleaned and swept shortly, and then I’m crashing out. I got a LOT done today; and the position of my new office-area—right in front of my bookshelf—serves as a constant reminder to do what it is I do: write.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there is a glass of pineapple-orange soda and a clary-sage soak with my name on it.

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?


For instance, after getting out of the doctor’s office today—a few bad bouts of dissociation; not knowing where I am and how I got there is starting to get REALLY FREAKIN’ OLD—I made a trip to the pharmacy. It took forever to get the prescription in—X goes wrong, Y doesn’t fix it, Z asks if I can have more time, and P, D, and Q all decide that they ALL have to get this done right here and right now and could I please sit back down and drink my goddamn tea wait as they get the prescription ready, please and thank you.


Rather than sit down I walked a couple laps around the store and landed in the bread aisle. My target: these gorgeous pretzel buns. They have a wonderful sepia coloration, with vibrant cream-colored slashes in the top of the bun, making an ‘X’ across the top. Advertised as ‘a tasty blend of salty and sweet,’ I decided to give them a shot as a test kitchen project. And since my meds were STILL not ready, I checked out those items to wait.


It wasn’t until I got outside that I could taste the bread—conveniently (or maybe because of hitsuzen) the bag had fallen open, spilling one bun out into the grocery bag, the plastic conveniently forming a flexible hotbox and concentrating the delectable aroma. If you asked me, I couldn’t really describe it—it was pretzel-y but bready at the same time, and smelled pastry-sweet without being pastry—a quick poke and you KNEW you were dealing with bread, not pastry. I ripped off a corner of the bottom, took a whiff—my first mind was “Where’s the yeast smell?” I tasted the surface—it tasted like a pretzel, vaguely bittersweet, and with a tang I can only describe as baking soda (vital in the making process, actually). Yep. This was a pretzel.


It was high time I took an actual BITE of the thing. My teeth were greeted by this soft, springy surface, a wheaty-sweet taste that didn’t taste like bread—only like soft, soft pretzel with a sweet finish.


When I get home I nuke the remainder of the roll—the sweet smell intensifies, and the entire bun is SO soft, I almost think the microwave was moist somehow—it wasn’t—and taste that. The flavor is stronger, sweeter, and the roll is so soft it almost feels like biting into a marshmallow. I finish it off with a schmear of Benecol. January now has a project. It is—


“I’mma make this.” *pins a little Quinn’s Kitchen flag into one of the remaining rolls*


*crickets chirp*


…as I said, I do strange things when I am bored.