The Monkey And The Plywood Violin

So, a while back, I got a G+ account, since it seems like a somewhat more tolerable alternative to Facebook, hideous real name policy aside. I have made two posts. Today, I made my first comment not on my immediate stream. It seems I find the interface intimidating and scary. While LJ, Dreamwidth, and to a certain extent Tumblr (which I'm still not sure about) give me the lonely but secure feeling of talking into a darkened room, Google+ feels more like having my notes confiscated and read in front of the class. Of course, I've wondered about just starting a standalone blog on my website; it's the most stable and under my control. I wouldn't have to worry about the service eating it as much. But getting readers that way is most difficult - even harder than on the fading skeleton that is LJ. So, for now, I suppose I will try to learn to use these foreign devices.

In other news, writing is going reasonably well, art is better than it has been in months, and I'm even sewing a little. moments_away found me an air conditioner on the lawn in front of my apartment, one better than I've been using. I am reminded of why I like living downtown. Our informal stuff recycling process is wonderful. The meat is still dropping weight (a term I use loosely, since the scale numbers are going down, but I'm not convinced anything real is happening) at an alarming rate. I fret over this, not because I am concerned about my health (numbers are still in the acceptable range), but because I feel like it's a trick and I am unwilling to trust it.

Made another pot of potato soup for the rest of the week last night. Also boiled up a new vat of laundry soap. My apartment still smells gently of citronella. There is little else of interest; I am thinking about buying a drafting table, but feeling guilty about it. I await a new shipment of bras with more eagerness than underwear should elicit. I have lost almost all my desire to bake.

Two to three more work units left to mine for week, unpleasant dentistry come Monday, and a trip to Waukegan tomorrow. Here's hoping you all have a good weekend!

A few days ago, we found a walnut tree on a walk through the park. However, it was growing on the bank, so the walnuts had all fallen to the path below. Today, I went down there and gathered an ammo bag full. I'll probably go back again. Brown will now be an optional fabric color, as well. I still have last year's bottle of ink, because I haven't been using it much.

I also found out where the lower bike path goes, or at least part of the way. You can climb a stairway back up the bank at Ogden and Farwell. People seem to run up and down it a bit. I am not so good - just going up once at a steady walk had me panting and miserable at the top. This is a sign that I need to do it again, ideally daily, until I no longer want to die. The prospect of gathering walnut hulls on the way may help me manage. There's also a huge amount of catnip planted alongside the road. It makes me wish I had a kitty to drug.

In other news, I am going to enact Mandatory Drawing time. I realized the other day that I've come to spend more time sewing than I do working on art. Some of this is because sewing requires very little brainpower when I do it by hand. However, some of it is because I've developed a series of art related neuroses that prevent me from just sitting down and do it. To the point that right before I was going to draw today, I felt an unbelievably strong urge to scour the apartment top to bottom. The cat waxeth.

The combination of thinking anything I make has to be good and increased standards for "good" mean that I have art paralysis. Today: one Blind Guardian album, two pages of sketches, including one picture of my hand, one poorly drawn sparrow, a rat, and a conventionally attractive black guy. I seriously need to work on my anatomy, though. I really don't know how men's upper bodies go together, and I'm pretty sketchy on the legs, too.

Err...I'm not sure where I was going. Ah, well. Once I've recovered from walkies, we shall have dinner, and then perhaps sewing and comics again.

My new apartment is on the ground floor, in the far back corner of the building. This means that my windows are blocked from the rest of the world by wooden fences, and there's a reasonable amount of green space and broken sidewalk between the two (four or five feet, give or take). From my computer, I can see outside fairly well, which results in me getting to watch the sparrows squabbling outside. There've also been plenty of squirrels, one small stray cat and a young rabbit.

A moment ago, I looked over to see a small masked face with a shiny black nose peering in at me through the window screen. I appear to also have a raccoon who's too young to know any better and can smell my cooking. Since there's a screen in the way and it can't get in, this just results in amusement for me. Who needs tv?

There would have been something about pickles, or victorian underthings here. However, I have a touch of the ague (or the ack) today. I'm okay for most activities that don't require a lot of mental focus, but not so hot on things that need attention and a good memory. All my writing ability is currently getting thrown the way of paying work. Therefore, you're going to get some additional walnutty observations.

1. Water to walnut ratio of previous post was wrong. I tried boiling a lot fewer hulls (enough to cover the bottom of the pan) in as much water as would fill the pot. This produces about the same amount of black goo per pot, but uses many fewer hulls. This means that I will be able to dye things brown for a very long time.

2. Hulls will eventually disintegrate. Cheesecloth needs to be applied to the ink before it will flow properly through a pen.