My poor brain keeps getting whacked by stuff. I suppose this is “getting old.”
Stderr
All the unbuffered error messages
My poor brain keeps getting whacked by stuff. I suppose this is “getting old.”
[Warning: Long. Also “me, me me me”]
I was in the kitchen, stitching up the leather cover for Hannah’s Puuko knife, and I was just having trouble doing it. The belt loop I designed included some cross-stitched loops that butted together, and I kept getting things tangled. I felt hot, frustrated, and a bit dizzy.
This one’s a bit embarrassing.
I’ve had a strong suggestion that there should be an open thread here, so this is it.
I usually don’t set comments to close at any particular time, so I’ll loosely monitor this thread in semi-perpetuity and we’ll see if we ever need another one.
Well, that certainly was interesting. I started to realize how some people can fetishize purging – it’s a very “control freak” sort of thing and it really makes you/helps you realize that your body is just a weird machine that responds to very simple control signals (e.g.: moisture level in bowels, peristalsis, etc.)
I’m going to be uncharacteristically open about something that has emotional weight for me. But, because it’s important to me, I need to have this conversation with you.
Just a quick update about how my leg is doing.
It’s pretty much impossible to bend around and take a picture of the back of your own leg. I am familiar with mirrors and gimbals and whatnot, but there’s never one around, when you need it.
I had a pretty bleah Sunday. I actually wrote a pretty good grumpy screed about voting, but then Verizon (motto: “shitty networking, but expensive!”) and my browser conspired to lose it.
I suspect this is the same in most states in the US, right now: you go through a maze of websites and eventually sign up to get the COVID-19 vaccine, perhaps getting a text message to verify that you can be reached.