I got an email from someone asking why am I not reviewing books if I signed up to review books - am I a) too busy living life? 

Have no idea when I signed up for that, but signing up to anything these days just takes 'Log in with Google?' and voila, you're signed. That said, well, yes. Yes, I am busy. We went to the shooting range yesterday and I shot some shit up and today I was supposed to fool around with the Dark Huntsman's expensive rifle, but didn't get around to it, I just got a chance to run around with his new dog. I shot a small-calibre handgun rather well. If the owner didn't say - aim a little below the dark circle, I wouldn't have put everything just below the dark circle. I still tilt my weapons, same as I do the camera and, because it's been something like a freaking decade, I don't know how to steady my weapons. I am used to lying down, using nothing for support but my own hands. Out here you are supposed to sit and the gun is supposed to rest on a bunch of sandbags or nifty little gun-stands. Fuck that :D

This afternoon we were supposed to spray the vineyards, with the sky packed with high clouds. We were debating it, knowing full well that if we a) don't spray, the sun will come out in a full blaze. If we b) spray, it will pour like a bitch before nightfall. The General proposed we just spray the smaller of the two and in a combined effort, we were done in under two hours. Then it rained a little, but only a little. 

Just to humble-brag, two new queens have been introduced to the auxiliary hives (those small ones on the side and the yellow one above the central green, some of which are also split down the middle, housing two half-families) and one covered queen bell (possible new queen being developed) was moved to the ... dunno the English word, but the native word is: prasilcek. It's just too cute. I've even seen the queen-tradesman's garden corner where he only keeps these tiny boxes. Something otherworldly about it. Bottom line, we now have ... seven or eight possible hives? At least six should grow into full stack-hive status by the end of summer. The problem is pastures - it rains just as it is supposed to bloom and the trees have gotten washed off, again, this year, so there is no honey. Not that I care, I only need it enough to feed the tiny buggers. I've no need to pour.

   *Also, I have gotten into embossing. Just a little. Because I found one of G's tools fit for it - may have overshot on the size of the industrial heat gun, but the tiny stamps I'm making are adorable. First thing I made was a girly little name banner for G's hive hut :D

Weird, dumb nightmare, looking for a train in an oversized train station. My hitchhiking days, no money, huge backpack. One way ticked going home someone else has bought me. The train station is abnormally large, equally a Parisian shopping centre, full of theatres and production rehearsals, spiralling up and up, with too little logic to passages and elevators. I'm told by a man that you need to pay the conductor 50 bucks every hour on this train or they kick you off. But a woman taking my ticket, because I asked her twice, having not understood her the first time because I am not fluent in French, deliberately misdirected me a floor up and I figured I'll be faster running, if only I knew where I was running to. Retro station cafes, full of international passengers discussing exhibitions and book launches, rich people everywhere and the clock is ticking. The train was late, so I may still have a minute to catch it, but I just can't find it, yelling in a language everyone seems to disdain and is laughing at me: which way to the fucking trains? ...

This may be a result of an Epstein documentary I started watching last night, which sort of disillusioned me. I always wanted to go to New York, but the doc starts with this girl who sells all her three paintings for an absurd amount of money on her first exhibition and I thought, that's a dream! But it becomes clear she was rich to begin with and her headmistress pimped her out to rich people who then molested her, so ... Not a dream. 

I mean, when there's corruption in a communist regime, it's filthy and pathetic, but when there's corruption among the money people, it's posh and classy and they never run out of teenage pussy and FBI has no power and articles get written about them as if they are the Great Gatsby. 

Since the dawn of time until the end of time. 

Downed four espressos, hopped on a bike. That usually results in one shitting themselves fairly quickly or a wonderful ride. It was a wonderful ride. 

General's line of the week.

"You don't have a crooked nose. In fact, it's far less crooked than it should be, considering how big your mouth is."

Didn't know a condition like this exists: my mom gets nauseated if there is too much food on her plate. (She is very skinny, really doesn't like to eat.) We were having some street food, great yummy stuff, but there was too much and I could see her struggle. Not to finish. To start. 

Fuck me, what a day :/

It started fairly well - we went to G's parents' farm to help with rolling hay. But even there it started to go slightly awry - enough to unsettle G. And just as we were to finish and have a meal, mum called that something's wrong with my dad. I called them an ambulance and g and I hurried over to get to them. Dad was in a weird state - I've seen him much worse, but he was a mess. You can never tell and I still can't, whether it's a mild urinary infection or we'll be planning a funeral tomorrow. His health is absolute. It's either there or it's gone completely. he's gone through strokes, epilepsy, heart attacks and septic seizures from zero warning to a full-blown life-threatening emergency. The ambulance came and we got this weird sense that we have to try and convince the healthcare workers that it's serious. It was such a weird vibe. 

        Because of the Covid, only one person may escort him and even then I had to sit (or I stood) in the waiting room while he was first tested and then taken into the ER... And I waited .. and waited ... and waited ... An hour passed, two, three... It got to 5 pm, at which point he has to take his blood thinners, and still nothing. I started asking people if they have it on supply or should mum bring it. nobody would talk to me. Dismissive, flippant people. Acting like they were brutally overworked when in truth hardly anyone came through the ER - perhaps half a dozen old people feeling nauseated, a girl which OD, some man with his toe chopped off and a few people with allergic reactions to season hayfever. They all came and left while I sat. They allowed me at some point to go check on him, because he needed to pee and hasn't drunk anything for four hours - he has diabetes. 

       At 5:30, three and a half hours after having been brought to a near-empty ER, a nurse finally takes pity on us and checks his chart and they take him to an office, where they decide he doesn't really belong in the COVID section. A nurse who signed him in hurries over to say he's already been checked. really? By which doctor? What did they say? Oh, they said he doesn't really belong in the Covid section. AND?? And he was supposed to be taken to the non-Covid ER section. Which he wasn't. He was left in the hallway for three hours. An 82-year-old man. 

       I told the nurse they are damn lucky he wasn't having a stroke or a seizure. She said they're not really the ER. I said: We came in a fucking AMBULANCE. With symptoms of a septic seizure! 

       Mum arrived and the doctor went outside with me to take his history. She assured mum that he doesn't need blood thinners, to which mum and I thought, oh, good, because he only takes them for the flavour and everyone knows nothing bad happens when you suddenly stop taking them. It's not like 25-year-old doctors can be wrong. Well, she told us to wait and linger for a few more hours as they wait for results. 

       Starving - it was near six and I haven't eaten yet, mum and I offed to the closest food vendor, where we were eventually joined by sis and her man. My sis can go full Goebels on shitty people, even strictly asking nurses and doctors to give her their full names and so on. We decided that at 8 pm, she will go in to ask if they offered him any water, taken him to the restroom, given him any of his medication. but a few minutes prior the doctor phoned mum to say he's been moved to the infection ward. 

      That is where we are now. I'm wondering if maybe dad was stung by something, but would he have a fever then? 

      G has in the meanwhile successfully transported one of his father's wayward swarms, having to wait just a little while when we spoke last, to get all the bees out of the car (the dog had eyes like saucers and kept perfectly still the whole ride). He was using his dad's old crate, which obviously had some gaps :D 

       I am SO tired. The terrified adrenaline of dad's condition subsided into exhausted, frustrated weariness and I am beat. He kept asking for mum, her presence giving a centre to every situation - same as I feel about G. Fuck. I have to sleep some now and we'll see what tomorrow has for us. 

In the cart

Sometimes Etsy shows you that people have your shit in their carts... And it's equally: Just buy it already!... and Really? MY shit? OMG I'm so proud of myself right now!! :D 

Jesus, Mary and Muhammad's uncle, with Krishna on top, the second shop finally came through. After eight weeks of back and forth. For the love of fuckidy fuck that was frustrating. 

And of course, today I had the whole ice-cream series to shoot and have just ordered nine kilos of pigments. 

Good timing. 

Probably gouache

I've bought a ton of tiny vials of various shapes and sizes and am wondering what would happen if I poured the paint directly in and corked it.

I take it as a sign the General's allowed me to buy literally kilos of pigment. Should be a deliciously productive May. 

Almost an explosion

Ye, the whole yesterday was a waste, a shitty Monday, but there was one moment that sort of turned the tables in the afternoon. I was already depressed as fuck, on top of being agitated and borderline manic. I was mad with the General for fucking up my plans and then refusing to comprehend why having a precise schedule for something random means so much to me. Things already being on a verge of me burning down the village, I offed to the restroom and didn't properly close the door to the studio - one of the cats sneaked in and went right for the window ... the window where newly poured paints were drying ... One wrong step and the lot of it would come spilling down, sticky multicoloured popcorn, in one colourful irreparable mess, as the trays are not designed to support cat. The General realised this and the fact that losing two weeks of work in one moment would result in triple murder-suicide, his universe coming to a horrific halt. You know those scenes in movies where the camera zooms out but the frame pulls in. That. The cat stood literally in between the pans. If just one stuck to her hairs, she'd drag it and spill over the others - this would be the least damage imaginable. The most ... if she slipped and started knocking them over ... unimaginable.
       This was the most General has been afraid all year. Like talking to a suicide bomber, trying to defuse a nuclear warhead, he approached the cat carefully, getting tangled in my photo arrangement on the way, afraid to breathe, afraid to startle Tove or excite it. Luckily, he managed to lift her in time. But how worried he was for a moment. The marital alternative to handling nitroglycerin. 

Not the best day, but ok. The 18ths have never been my days, really. 

So for the first time in ages my beasts have no fleas, bugs, lice, scabs and so forth, you name it, so I sat down yestereve to have a good play-tussle with them all and it was lovely. I called out to G to come to see how cute we were. The moment he stepped into the room the entirety of my menagerie ran over to him and only cuddled with him thereon. 

I feed them. I walk them. I pet them. I talk to them. I take their photos and post them on the 'Gram. 

But no. Unsterilised bitches. They need a man. Misogyny at its worst. The only one who truly loves me for me is the mould forming in the sink. 

Found an excellent way to store the fickle fluorescent pink which refuses to dry. And guess what.

Now it's drying. 

Excuse me while I go and chase around local drug dealers, buying all the blow they have to offer, throwing it out and just keeping the vials... Is cocaine vegan? Wouldn't want to contaminate my darlings. 

That one time I almost bought a puppy

(Good thing I have no access to money. Or we'd have two dogs tomorrow.)

       It's probably because mum asked me if I would not be afraid of living somewhere remote and I said not if we had three rottweilers and then we both kind of slowly looked over to our family rottweiler who, hand to heart, tends to make coffee for intruders and asks how they've been doin'. She's the kind of dog who does not understand why aggression should be a part of any kind of confrontation. Having said that, the fluffy puffy 'golden' golden retriever goes straight for the jugular of everyone who comes close to the house, be it health workers, postmen, visitors or extended family. So. 

    Maybe I should get three golden retrievers? 

    

    On a darker note ... sometimes I have ideas which would make for excellent business ideas, but I refuse to complete them, because they are too sad. Another person from G's parent's valley died and he was a lonely old man with just one niece and of course because everyone avoided him, he always go super happy and painfully overwhelmed when anyone finally came to visit. And he was always afraid of dying alone, which obviously he did. It took a while for people to find him. I was thinking of a service which would check in on old lonely people every day. Then again, missing one check-in is normal... Missing two in a row ... three days to check on a dead body. Dunno. I imagine there are already services which provide it. I just don't want to do it. Even though it would be a neat thing to do. Employ a bunch of kids, make some calls. Charge extremely little. 

     On a happy note: I bought some essential oils - no, not for curing cancer or dementia or to lose weight - but to add to the new shiny colours. I should probably test it in advance. And offer it optionally. What I really need is a blueberry essence. I have such neat blue tones. (So far I got lemongrass, lavender, rosemary and vanilla. Perhaps I'll also get sandalwood. Coffee should be easy :D)

    For a little while, it was interesting, checking the news. Now we're back to who owes what to whom and which politicians are blaming whom for what. And some sports stuff. And fake tits on celebrity people. I kinda miss the "damage report!" wave. I thought our land's spokesperson actually did a very decent job, constantly keeping us up to date and keeping it cool and honest. Crisis sobers people up. For about a minute. 

LoL, got a text from mum today. Didn't know she can even send a text. it was a passive-aggressive attempt at getting my attention, but she put a very polite 'regards' at the bottom. Too cute. 

First semi bee-sting

Since we started beekeeping, I've only just been stung today. And not even fully - it was through a soft glove, no stinger inside. It felt like a bit of a cigarette dropping on my finger, really. A minute of goosebumps and warm hand. Later I just forgot about it. So, not a proper sting. A proper sting will have my hand swell up like a tennis ball. 

Managed not to kill myself riding a bike yesterday. Small victories!

Man, t'was such a lovely day. Flawless, one might say. The dog had to stay at home, as G planned on purchasing planks, but other than that, flawless. I've not been on a bike for over a year. It's not that far of a ride, really, from one town to the next, I just hate that several segments have no shoulder to speak of and you are at the mercy of countryside drivers on an uneasy country road. It's an up and down region, so I'd pause a few times on the tops to spy if G is on the move yet, so as to plan him passing by while I am riding downwards, possibly on a curve: I wanted to imagine myself as fast and hot as Matrix's Trinity on a Suzuki Hayabusa. If he overtook me while I was on the up... Well, let's say there were joggers who were faster. Families with small children on kiddy bikes. An occasional pedestrian swan. My helmet looks like I'm just leaving a hockey match to go invade Normandy.

Oh, the one part which was not ideal is that we left the rope somewhere and I couldn't really hang my hammock where I wanted it, which resulted in me getting bitten by a bug while I napped in the low grass behind the shed. Not stung, mind. That bitch saw me obstructing it's merry way and saw it fit to literally bite my thigh. It was a small, harmless thing with little pincers, but it did get me up. I may have thrown it away a bit hard. Usually I am more polite when something tries to kill me.

First after a bit of lunch (no matter how much we try to tell the General's mum not to bother cooking), we turned some of the cut-down grass for it to dry. G brought out his tools and set to making hive separation plates with teeny tiny doors. They were adorable. I learned how to heat the little wire in the frame so that the wax sets in, to make a comb foundation. (Precise work. If you botch it, you cut the wax sheet into ribbons and that's it for it.) I only made five, G's mum did the rest, but she said to tell G I made all. I admitted it's impossible to lie to G, as he could instantly tell and besides, five was great for a first-timer. This somehow impressed her, that I was not willing to tell even a harmless lie. I really wonder what these people think of me. I hope they think I am a very curious creature. Who occasionally loses her temper and tries to strangle a zip code area.

Uu, they have kittens! And from a luckless cat, too. It's the poor cat who first lost her mum very early on (so early, that she tends to compulsively suckle on her own tit to compensate for the lack of mother's milk she suffered as a tiny thing), then fell somehow and managed to rip open her stomach and had to have been patched together. But oddly enough, she did manage to conceive, just not deliver. The first kitten suffocated, it was a mess, and the poor mom pleaded for help from humans, so they hurried to the wet and she needed a C-section. Four kittens! Three days old! Ooooh, I tend to pinch all their chubby tiny ears and paws and tails and kiss them all over. they look like dandelion bulbs anyway. The mom cat kept giving me warning looks to stop upsetting them, as then they wanted to suckle and she was exhausted and just wanted to sleep in the adjacent basket. I offed to talk to pigs and pet those. One is a real cuddle-fiend and loves being scratched and tickled. The other not so much. I was warned not to let that one reach my feet, as he may try to bite it. Tried to catch and pet some chickens, too, but those know me by now and run faster.

Ye, people probably think I'm retarded. Autistic, to be politically correct.

Last work well done was getting the hay together and getting it to the cellar of the barn: kids put it on the little waggon and threw it into the barn mid-section, G's mum then threw it to the roof section and I stuffed it to the side of the roof to make room. Never done that before, it's itchy work, but I loved it. I actually love that building. They have tools set aside, buried under decades of hay, which make me feel like I've missed history by THIS much. Tooks for getting wheat clean, tools for making rope, mills and presses, tools with their own names which I only know from Books and museums. G's mum would tell me she had little choice but to be a farm-woman, as they didn't want her to go to school so she wouldn't get any ideas, but I think she makes for a fantastic farm-keeper and she knows everything. It's not as often as she thinks, that someone just knows how to do everything. From fixing a tractor to making flawless pie, it's not a given. I said since knowing her, my mum is also trying to act as someone who can easily solve daily practical problems. Mine was raised to be a lady, meaning someone else will solve her problems for her, but it's so cute when she tells of her little achievements, like, today I managed to pour gasoline into the little carry-container! (Needed for the mowers. Something dad would do routinely, so she never even noticed it.)

Anyway. G will still be asleep awhile, catching up on it. His fourteen-hour shifts may sound a good idea on paper, but they are a killer. (He had plans to go hunting. Right. You have to get up at 3:30 to go hunting. He's still halfway to a coma at 7:30.) We have to go check the baby hives later and then back to G's parents' to finish the separation plates. I overheard his dad saying he had another hive set aside for G, but I think that was the swarm I was supposed to get, before C19 distracted our intentions. No matter. I'd love to have another family, even if it is in just a regular hive. They're collecting like crazy. Akacia is about to start any day now. That is by far the best honey. Well, except for chestnut. And maybe rosemary. Any Mediterranean flavour. But a great honey.

Would you adam-and-eve it. 200 out of my 1500 ordered pans have arrived. Four ... months ... later ...

G's loving insult #684

Me: "You move your elbow over your face when you fall asleep."
G: "I know. It wakes me up when all the blood's drained from my arm, it's cold and I need to move it. Then I turn over to check on you, cover your chubby kidney, roll your pond-lily out of the puddle and shoo away all the frogs you are likely to snore in."

*The lardy kidney is real, and he does - pulls my blankie over that part, as it tends to be the coldest part of me. Pond-lily is supposed to be my head. Fact is, I drool like a hydrant, especially if I eat or drink anything before we pass out. There really is a gooey pond underneath my face rather often. It would make sense it attracts the local frogs. And I do snore. Even when face-down, apparently. It's a rare and precious talent. 

I should really stop going on Facebook. I ... ye ...

There are people in my town, or country, who are protesting the government (in general, not any specific sense) by riding their pushbikes around the street, making a little bit of noise with their honks and bells. Just once. Every few days. Like ... I have no idea what they want, and if you ask on Facebook whom they propose the government be replaced with - you know, the WHOLE government, like it's just one person - they tell you to go fuck yourself and that you are the problem... Mind, the government we had two months ago capitulated under this one we have now and it's the exact same corrupt shit it always is. We change them once every few months and really nothing changes. If you don't watch the news you don't even notice. We never had one people would actually like, but all in all, it's a bunch of politicians - what's to like? They made sure only 100 people died in the pandemic and stole a bunch of money. That's literally their only job. Keep people alive and steal money. 

     Imagine having someone not agree with you and in an exclamation of that disagreement hop on a bike and ride around town ringing their bell. 

     Ye. 

     But I'm the problem. 

     

Uu, I had a dream I went to a posh adult theatre! I was rich and very tall and thin and dressed in these cool black stockings and skirt and the concierge took me to my seat, which was in a row of three, like a private viewing. Originally I went with two men, but we got separated, though of course, the theatre was full of men (few women) and the well-dressed guy in the seat besides mine asked right away if I came for this to be a full hands-on experience. I gestured 'let's slow down, let's see where this takes us'. Though horny, obviously, aroused by a well-produced movie on the screen (black and white), I wasn't rightly interested in an orgy with strangers: you can have that any time, but good porn is something to be critically invested it. 

       (Could be this dream was the result of me wondering last night whether to watch a new Netflix show Hollywood or the sequel to Hot Girls Wanted in which a classier, more high-budget female-directed porn was talked about. Let's not forget the channels I subscribe to on Pornhub are primarily those well-shot. I like nothing if not a well made, well-acted, well-scripted, higher budget high definition tale of lust in an elegant environment. Basically, movies done by people who think fucking is beautiful.) 

Tre Kronor

On this day some palace somewhere burnt down.

This is what they built in its place within a year. Good job.

Visiting gran and reading police statistics

Visiting gran today was actually a joyride. Normally it isn't, it's a shit fest of emotional blackmail, accusations and trying to make one another feel worse. Since she's gone almost entirely senile and unable to register surroundings, gran has begun to appreciate the help she's getting from the staff in the nursing home and can be rather pleasant. She is a few months shy of a century.

      They allow for visitation since two days ago and they called me yesterday if I would like to make an appointment. The General is still skeptic towards the wisdom of this - he is still preoccupied with a dread that he infects someone (being a postal worker) - but he was entirely needlessly worried. The whole thing went like visiting someone in prison or a highly sanitised facility! (There was an incident in the country where almost the entire retirement home was infected due to poor ethics of a medical worker). We stood outside and the main nurse tried to signal me, but I didn't make eye contact, so then my phone rings and she's waving at me and she asks us to come around to where the garden entrance is within the compound. We find the glass garden pavilion and another nurse puts the back of a phone to the window, with a number on it. Granny is in the wheelchair, covered in blankies and mask and can't really see much, but the other nurse is sort of interpreting. We make phone contact through the window, having us on speakers on both sides. We chat a little, she asks for some chocolate and if we had a birthday celebration for my parents and how we are all doing. Just a little bit, but it was very nice. We thank the nurses, they all wave and we leave. Actually really sweet. And clever!

In the meanwhile, I've entertained myself with reading police report for 2019. I do that every year and then try to guess the stories behind it. Example. We've had 51 wrongful deaths last year, among which the worst seems a hit on a woman by a contract killer, but almost a dozen cases were medical malpractice or an employer filed against for failing to secure workers - like death by electrocution or construction accident. There were about half a dozen suggested suicide, mostly of elders. The rest were usually robberies gone wrong, a couple of ODs, some unspecified (traffic collisions?)... All in all, very curious and if I was bored enough, I'd love to check which of these were ultimately decided to be murders. Among the sexual crimes, a third was to do with prostitution and underage kids. Some male. That is as far as I got reading it. Some crimes against wildlife and nature were also listed. Some fake marriages. One abuse of a national symbol. Lots of hotel mismanagement. Sadly a lot of mistreatment of the disabled. I'll go check arson and use of a firearm as well. After lunch. 

Riots and stuff, in theory

The other day I was in a car with this young idealist creature, super hot, really naive. Or, not really naive, just ... how do you call someone who has no experience but great passionate opinions? Not sure. Anyway. He tried to convince me that we live in a police state where it's just about time cops start shooting at protestors. Now, not only can I not remember the last time cops shot ANYONE, I can't recall the last time we had any kind of protest. Three, four years maybe? It was just workers standing in plastic covers in the rain. Yes, there is always about ten people yelling at the senate building, complaining at the government, but we change our government like, every year, so nobody knows what they are complaining about. I assume they're just bored and wanna be on TV. Oh, and last year the postal workers were on strike, but that just meant they went to work and actively didn't do anything for 24 hours. 

First, I tried to explain that not even when I was in the army did anyone have the right to order me to kill anybody. Not NATO, not anyone. In case of an actual conflict, defend, yes. But execute? Are you joking? Fuck no. Nobody in this country killed anyone in a long time, not even in the army. As for the police ... I tried to explain - he would not listen at this point, he was just yelling and trying to sell me anarchism and vigilantism - that there are riot-trained units for a reason. That if people expect riots to turn violent, they won't just go all shocked and unprepared and full defence mode, and open fire on civilians. Maybe in Turkey or North Korea or any other country ruled by a fat Joffrey Baratheon, where they need extremely few excuses, but we simply do not exist in a violent country. Riot police are equipped and trained to crowd-control and minimise the happenstance in terms of damage to people and property. They use water canons, rubber ammo, batons and gas. Which, like I say, has not happened in my lifetime except once where it turned out those of the rioters who did turn violent were actually paid to be there by the guy who wanted to prove how violent we are. It didn't work. The boy argued if someone throws a Molotov at a cop, they will shoot him. I argued if that happens, it is likely they will move, use non-lethal ammo and get the guy later, when he's calmed down from his acid trip and make him pay for the mess he made.  

People who throw Molotov cocktails at cops around here aren't doing it to elevate and/or liberate unfair society. It's people who like throwing Molotov cocktails. They usually wait for the photographers to be ready for the money shot, too. 

Okay, gotsta admit, as FFVII memes go, that one IS pretty funny ...

Ifrain

Okay, so I have a fleshed-out character which is strong enough to carry an entire story, but I have no way to use it. It doesn't quite fit in the actual world - though I would love to make her Israeli, as I find their women to be amazingly good looking - and it doesn't quite fit in a fictional world, because it's too realistic .. It does not fit at all in my universe, no matter how much I would love to have characters like that. Alas, in my stories, everyone who is not a complete emo loser instantly sounds like a Mary Sue. 

Think, dum bum. Think. 

PS The Geeneral has another one for the annals: "You are like a tiny sneeze trying to break out when one has diarrhoea." 

Calculating chaos and calculating control

I've not looked at all into this yet, though I probably will unless something distracts me (visiting brother's grave :/ ), but I've been fascinated by the thought of someone thinking they can actually be in control lately. To me, that is an entirely alien concept, an almost humorous abstract. I'll explain why. And why it is not.

First of, I don't believe in control, at all. Trying to control anything is a fool's errand, exhausting and a path to disillusion. It can be faked in small snippets, like if you arrange your existence very carefully and coldly, and in very small manageable bites: what you will wear, eat, do, how you will look, talk, fuck, where you will go and what you will gather there. Iron routine and very brief adjustment periods. People who can act like that are very professional and extremely collected. Think cruel CEOs or professional soldiers or some such. But those tend to have uncomfortable vents and can snap rather catastrophically, either burn out or end up strangling a hooker.

     Now, a lesser version of this is living a non-complicated life and not being overly emotional. The General does that - he makes the most of a predictable routine, he switches off completely when he is off work and his enjoyments are comfortable and non-invested. Almost at any time he is able to think through a challenge and will not be thrown by unusual obstacles. Except on rare occasions, during which his reaction has to be nipped in the bud, or it will throw him completely. But these are tiny things. Very private things. Like that time he was without a driver's licence for four hours. It was hilarious how upset he was and trying not to show it. Probably, because it was easily solvable, trivial problem, his psyche opted for an exaggerated response. He would never (re)act like that if someone was injured or something was truly the matter. Let's not forget we are talking about a man who carried a box of (possible) anthrax away from his coworkers so as to protect them or a man who immediately medically assisted a colleague who got his hand ungloved by a truck latch.

    Me, on the other hand, am a completely and utterly surrendered to the circumstances, have no idea what will happen tomorrow,  have two dozen interchanging interests and for every problem or situation which arises, my reaction is hysterical, tantrum-y and making a mess three times worse by making it about myself. That is just how it is. You do not call me in to smooth things over. You call me in to kick the bucket and see what floats up or splashes over while someone else does the fixing. 

During G's third year studies, one of the classes was Risk Assessment. It's a cash camel for private detectives who aren't characters in noir crime novels. Safety engineers are very sought after. Even just to create an algorithm to calculate all the elements would be awesome. Because there are just SO many idiotic things to think about when telling people how to avert damage. On paper, it's as easy as any engineering. IRL, it's a blender and often a complete goo comes out. 

     A classroom example we discussed was a party at a night club. As per rules, any gathering of more than 50 people requires a qualified bouncer, a camera and exit doors which open outwards. There have been cases of people dying crushed or fire starting and people panicking because the windows didn't open properly or someone tore off the handle and doors got stuck, or stairs were made of an iron grid and women in high heels would fall running down and get hurt by moving crowd ... and so on. Extinguisher instructions weren't clear. Air vents were obstructed by a speaker. There are A LOT of moving parts, but someone with a good nose for things going wrong is able to sign under a good plan to avoid most dark scenarios. 

      Just saying someone thinking in risk management terms would make for an interesting character. I can hardly imagine someone like it, though. Chaos easily. Chaos ranger ... somewhat. But an agent of control and order? That sounds like an angel begging to be buggered by a catastrophe. Which is a complete cliche before I even begin. 

Rainy May 1st

Aww, no marching band this year :/

Usually at 6 am sharp a band will (starting RIGHT under our window as we live in the main street) wake the city up by impossibly loud and enthusiastic march, alas.) Not only is it raining for the first time this spring, although the quarantine has been loosely lifted, social distancing is still in play. I heard a little bit of music, but by the ... sound of it, moving as fast as it did, it was a speaker on top of a car. 

Not quite the same.

Not that I am complaining. We need the rain. We have skinny drones because they've been forced to fly out and get water.