Bomb squad and stuff

Oh, hey, now I know we have a Wall-E. He blew up a random suitcase just beneath my window just now. I didn't even know we have a bomb squad in the city. Wouldn't think we had any bombs. It's not like there's ever any people in the streets. Granted, what we do have are a lot of remnant explosive devices from the wars, often either lying around or some retard brings them home from finding them in the woods or something. With some luck, they just blow themselves to bits, though from time to time a few houses also get dislocated. I've had several panic attacks in the past few days and now the General mentioned the military storehouse is just opposite of their new postal centre, with two gas-filling factories on each side of the rail track nearby and a gas-line right pass. 

Yes. I don't think I've been anxious quite enough. I need to get a little more anxious. With a fucking bomb robot blowing shit beneath my window. 

        I have to say, though, that my survival instinct is nill. I walked out into the street with Starbark and saw blockades of police and firefighter vehicles on each end of the street and heard someone shouting: Get back!! Get back!! and I just ignored them, as if, don't mind me, you do your thing, I'm just walking my dog. An officer stuffed me back into the house and forbade me from coming out awhile. How rude. What do bomb scares have to do with my evening doggy walk routine? Routines are important. They make one feel in control. 

Hehe, it's almost 11 in the eve and G is still sleeping, poor thing. I think if I don't do anything to wake him, he'll just sleep until morning - that man is fully able to catch up on his week's rest in one go. Tricky bit is, if I am TOO quiet, he'll stir, because he'll worry something's wrong. "What's happening? You're too quiet." So, comfortable, familiar ruckus and noises of me making paint well into the night is the way to go. The damn things are not drying, as it's raining all the time, but, y'know, some day :)) I saw a curious old set from my early days, of dark grays and bright reds, six or eight of them. I'm recreating that. 

Nutribullet

We've gone full healthy, ladies and gents, buying a cute little thing called Nutribullet - basically a smoothie maker, no fuss there. And then we shared a smoothie. The General is still vomiting and I've shat myself faster than that time I got an official mail from the city court (which turned out to just be a formal letter informing me I've inherited 27 bucks from dad.) Letters from the court that have benevolent content should have some cute stamp or a little bee sticker or something on them. You don't just send a formal court mail to someone without warning. That's just bad humanism. 

As I was saying: a human body is simply not designed to ingest half an apple, half a grapefruit and half a banana in one go. The culture shock of our regular diet was too much. We should have at least mixed in some cocoa powder or vanilla sugar or something. 

A hard lesson to learn. Introducing a healthy diet to your ... diet, is not as easy as it sounds. Oh, related topic, I've been watching a funny mortician's YT channel, learning about all kinds of terrible stories in a funny way. That should distract me from my usual existential anxiety and persistent dreams of my dead dad: sailors left to bang on walls of their sunken tomb ship for 16 days, or people who ate one another in awfully planned pioneering enterprises. Also plagues. And cremation scams. 

The General would kill me if he found out, but what does he know. He's passed out now in a fetal position, his perfect feet shivering slightly from under a blankie. Did I mention we promised to each drink half of a smoothie every day, together, cheering one another on?

Jackson's Hobbit dream.

Had a really, really good sex dream. Unusually good for my life lately, which is riddled with nightmares and nocturnal anxiety - as it is to be expected. And unusually coherent. I was fucking around in some caverns with Legolas and what's her name, that whiny ranger she Elf character, until we came across the Dwarves - then I joined them on whatever quest they were on this time. We were taken to Mirkwood and this was all fully POV - I was walking up to meet Thranduil with the rest of prisoner-guests of Thorin's company, fully overwhelmed by the guy's unnatural beauty and more than a little energised by how much of a self-assured pompous prick he was. thorough dinner, I kept insulting them and provoking them, as I normally do. Not that he was convinced - the king was more than certain anyone pretending to hate him is just secretly drawn to him. I made the mood flammable by telling everyone the true story of Azog's hatred of Durin folk, then offed to pee. I explored a little, with some of the younger Dwarves keeping an eye on me, as clearly the good vine did not ignore my better judgment. I found some sort of a mural map, which was the only non-carved bordering on artistic expression in the place, so I lingered, noting the totem basin from one of my stories, clearly marked. Thranduil cornered me, posing and mouthing off, and proceeded to fuck me any which way imaginable over half his house - and let me tell you, he's tall. In the dream I woke up while he caressed my hair, recognising the rings on his hand, but was so hungover, I did't even fully register who it was until he got up and I recognised the ever-flawless hair, caping most of his naked body. Then it dawned, my brain vomiting on itself. And the hangover was only a third of my horrific aches.

Really, an awesome dream. The sex was good, the music was good, things smelled nice, the food was good, good banter, consistent scenes, a feeling of excitement, confidence and adventure. I've not had that in my mind in soooo long. 

On a related subject, we planted the lavender saplings yesterday, It's freezing today, so that was the only plant of the lot fit to go in already - everything else will have to wait a month or so, and of course I'm restless. I have so many pretty things to plant!!

G still won't allow me to buy a goat. He's smart enough not to fall for the 'can I borrow 50 bucks and the car for two hours?' again. 

I've dreaded visiting gran  for her 100th birthday soiree for days - been more miserable and anxious than usual for it. The General's shift got switched, so I was all on my own - the visit from a few days ago left me sobbing again. It's just an all-across soul-wrenching business - she's vicious, mean, belittling, insulting, threatening and saying truly horrible, horrible things. Not if anyone else is around, just if I am. So I worried this will be a continuance of last week's ugly visit. 

            Monday started awful anyway, I'm enjoying PMS and I wanted to buy some flowers in a local grocery store - the line for which was over 50 people, this of course resulted in a stampede, everyone grabbing plants they wanted to gift for Women's day - a holiday I resent almost as much as Valentine's - which, as it turns out, cost five times as much as their plants usually cost. This deflated me entirely and I fought my way out of the store, over people pushing in. I just cried on the way home.

             Then someone threw out of the gyms all of my Pokemon. 

             Soul decay, I tell you. Just shitty times all around.

             I woke too early again, restless, and had to wait until 6am to go out (hora legalis), just kinda wandering about. The General kept sending me texts, happy stuff, promising a book if I'm good. (My spoon-carving book arrived.) Once I saw some shithead threw out my Pokies again, I grabbed the heavy bag of plants I eventually purchased and crossed town to recuperate. But once I arrived at the retirement home, the whole event was lovely! They did gran's hair, dressed her nicely, gave her a lovely bouquet, lots of people from the floor came, staff, caretakers, the director lady and they brought a huge yummy cake and drinks. Don't think gran recognised me, but she did seem to enjoy the attention, at least for a little while. I know she only wanted my mum to come, which would never happen, and I don't blame mum, not anymore. It may come back to bite her at some point, but not my zoo, not my monkey. They are adults. 

           Well, that came and went and the rest was a sunny day. My tummy aches and I feel exhausted and depressed, which is my three days a month of feeling just the worst. I worry about everything, envy everything, hate everything, panic and cry all the time and all in all continue to drown in despair. That should pass tomorrow. Tomorrow we take my fifty or sixty bought saplings and plant honey herbs all over the estate. I even bought some meadow seeds, but I don't know yet how to throw those - do I just throw them so birds eat and poop them, or so I need to burry and water them? The soil on our land is basically stone and powder. Grapevines were the only thing genuinely happy there, besides some vicious wild weed. I should probably buy a book on medicinal herbs, if I plan to grow so many. There was an old churchy dude who wrote a great book on the subject, need that. The General's ear is acting up - if only I would remember where I planted a houseleek I once bought for mum ages ago, as I prefer non-blooming plants. Mind, I have one in the kitchen and am still not sure if it's plastic or not. How do I ask it that politely? 

It's been super sunny but freakishly cold last few days, which we've been spending taking out terrace after terrace of the old vineyard, getting ready to replace some of the grapevines with honey plants - namely anything which grows on shitty soil in harsh winters and even harsher summers. We'll probably need a water cistern to help with irrigation for when droughts hit. But I've been shopping for thyme, lavender, rosemary and so on for a while now, so we'll have all these karst-savvy herbs and occasionally some very bloomy tree. Mum saw I bought a star magnolia and grabbed it for herself :D

The General offered to make pizzas today, and the poor sod is always so worried about making food - he's an excellent cook - he'll stress to no end, even though he buys enough ingredients for a restaurant and one can totally fuss about anything they could ever possibly desire: I personally like thicker, gummier dough of a Margarita base, added brie, poultry ham, mozzarella, garlic in olive oil, spices, prosciutto, a spoon of sour cream and a pinch of horseradish. 

Needless to say, although he bought the wrong flour, it came out perhaps even better than the classic white base. But then the round tray didn't fit into my mum's oven, and that was so oily it literally kept catching fire - smoking up the house, which no-one but him found out of the ordinary. He forgets what a weird trail it is, cooking in someone else's kitchen. In the meanwhile, in the next room, we were stuffing our faces. His is the only pizza I eat. It was his best so far. 

I've walked uphill twice these days, as the car as full of plants and tools, and as it can happen when it's really cold, my legs really hurt. Of course then we worked all day and ate like nuts and by the time we returned home, we were just out of it. It can get so warm in the sun you strip down to your T shirt, then the wind blows from the mountains and you remember it's minus 2. Also, I've been waking up at five, eager to have a few hours for myself to carve. Not that I can feel my fingers anymore. LOTS to learn. Half the time I don't even know if I am holding the knives correctly or I've just managed to pick the hardest damn wood imaginable.

Almost made another spoon today, but I made it a little too fine and the General broke it five seconds after offering to sand down the last bulky bit. 

I have to figure out which part to leave for last, so I can a) hold it safely and b) get to it when all the other ends are done.