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a different kind of string theory

It doesn’t look like much yet, because I’ve been too gross to focus on embroidery. I might try some today. But here is a start:

Soft and cuddly head of death.

I am starting out with basic felted designs, and then I’m going to embroider details on top. This one’s going to be a sugar skull. It’s my very first, so it’s wonky, but you have to start somewhere.

Oh, and look at this. On the back of whatever you’ve felted, there is a fuzzy shadow image. That’s how you know the fibers have meshed, and it’s pretty in its own right.

Eek, it's a ghost!

In other news, even though I was really trying not to throw out what I’d written, I reread my first couple chapters, and I found it had no momentum. The conflict I’d managed to generate was too obviously generated by me– the author’s fingerprints were everywhere. But I haven’t really tossed it. Whole chunks of it will probably survive unscathed. I am merely starting the story somewhere else, actually at a point of conflict, instead of leading up to it. Instead of trying to lead up to why Person X wants to knock off the detective, I’m simply starting out with Person X trying to knock off the detective. Duh. So simple. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?

I am really hoping that once I’m done with this book, the next one won’t take so freaking long to figure out.

In other news, I’ve found out that my husband’s family talks about me when I’m not there. Apparently, I need to eat more locally produced honey so that I won’t get allergies, so that I won’t catch a cold, and then the cold won’t turn into bronchitis as it invariably does. The problem with this idea is that I rarely get allergies, so. . . However, my mom rents out part of one of her properties to some local beekeepers (L. calls them Chill Apiarist Bros) and they are going to give her a year’s worth of honey. She doesn’t go through a lot of it, so she’s going to give us a half a year’s worth of honey. I wonder how much that actually is, because I use a lot of it. Honey in yogurt is a gift from the Gods. Especially if there are blueberries involved.

Another theory was that I’m Vitamin D deficient. L. got some massively high dosage supplements, and I’m a little afraid to take them. I once poisoned myself with Zinc, so I’m a little bit wary of high dosage supplements. I think I’d rather get my Vitamin D from the sun, thank you. I’ll go outside, then flip myself over like a chicken cutlet. Or I’ll pretend like I’m in a TB sanitarium, or solarium, or whatever.

And L. has a theory that I eat too many carbs and sugars, and allergies from those things are somehow causing me to get sick. Yeah. Good luck trying to pry a sick girl from her toast and popsicles, okay?

I’ve got two theories of my own, though. Theory number one is that I’m the mother of a little petri dish who goes to school with a few hundred other little petri dishes. And if you are a parent, you know that this means you are going to get sneezed upon, besnotted, and licked by your kid/petri dish. L. is not home as much, to get licked and besnotted, and sometimes I think that when he gets totally blotto, the alcohol kills off whatever trace pathogens that may have landed on him. I don’t get blotto, so mine just stay on me and flourish. That’s my number one theory.

Theory number two is my past medical history. I’ve got asthma and all my colds have had the tendency to go bronchial. One of my earliest memories is getting X-rays at Valley Children’s Hospital, but how would my husband’s well-meaning family know that? And ever since I had pneumonia two years ago, my colds have turned nasty even faster than before.

So there it is. If I’d been able to go to lunch with my family yesterday, I could have told them that I don’t have allergies, and I already eat tons of honey and am about to eat more, and that I’ve always been a sickly pain the you know what. I’ve just realized why I’m irked, really. Nobody brought me leftovers.


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