I think a wound, even a little scratch on your finger (that still bled a lot) deserves bonus points if it was inflicted by a baby herbivore.|
In very much related news, am back from going down south for the weekend. I did a number of interesting things, but the one that left a mark was helping feed a calf who is bucket-fed but very much wishes she wasn't. In her earnest yearning to suck on my fingers in the apparent conviction that they would be more satisfying than the bucket of milk I was holding for her, she managed to make a divot in my left ring finger with her baby herbivore grindy teeth.
Also, we went to see puppies. There is a labrador who, very very recently, had puppies.
They are tiny and snuffly and their eyes haven't opened yet and they make little squeaky squealy noises and one of them kept trying to wriggle elsewhere in the pile and getting it wrong and flipping over a sibling and rolling several inches away and having to try and snuffle his way back to the pile.
They are, unsurprisingly, aggressively cute.
so tiny so snuffly and squeaky and just a pile of so many puppies
Okay, I haven't managed to re-establish the reading-DW habit yet. Or... do it at all, really. But! Reconnecting with the interface, etc! So I shall now tell you about the Most Pathetic Injuries Ever, both of which I have suffered in the last week.|
First, my grievous stabbing. By which I meaen a splinter that was just so annoying in its tininess.
See, I'd noticed, suddenly, that when my left ring finger brushed against my middle finger, it sort of hurt. It was super-annoying, so I looked at my finger, and saw... nothing. But there was still pain!
Upon closer examination, I noticed a little dark spot. No, smaller than you're thinking. Like, look at a hair, end-on, right? About, oh, a quarter that size.
Looking at it side-on, I confirmed it was definitely a splinter of some kind, as it stuck out of the skin maaaybe 0.1mm.
I had to borrow velithya's tweezers to get it out, as they are newer and better than mine, because my tweezers don't apparently meet perfectly at the very very tip so it didn't stick out far enough for my tweezers to grip.
Epic poetry will be written about my suffering. Or would've been, except velithya out-suffered me by burning her fingers slightly the next day in a sleep-deprived moment of oops, so I had to out-stupid her injury, apparently, and I managed that HANDILY.
In that two days ago, while eating noodles for lunch, and reading, and also talking to Chas about something, I was a little distracted is the issue here is what I'm saying, I managed to sort of miss my mouth and stabbed myself in the lip with my fork. I didn't think much of it until after lunch when I felt like I had something on my lip and went to wipe it off and found dried blood crumbling away.
I currently look permanently like I have a little bit of chocolate ice cream or something on my chin/lower lip, but it's actually a little scab from where I stabbed myself with a fork, because I missed my mouth, and seriously, there's a reason the toddlers I know eat with plastic cutlery but I am thirty freaking four years old.
So that's my week in Pathetically Trivial Wounds That I Feel More Inclined To Complain About Than I Did About A Broken Leg.
I live with three other people. They all drink the same milk; I drink a different kind of milk, because the kind they drink triggers an allergy for me.|
There are some surprisingly well-hidden bonuses to drinking different milk. A few minutes ago, I came across one:
If you put some tablets you need to take in your mouth, and only then discover that your water bottle is, in fact, empty, and you head towards the kitchen but even at haste by the time you get there the tablets are starting to dissolve and fill your mouth with the taste of calcified sadness...
... you can grab the milk out of the fridge door and drink straight from the bottle without particular guilt if your milk isn't shared with anyone else.
Drawing humans, especially human faces, is hard. Crazy hard. It's all too easy to lurk in the uncanny valley, where it's close enough that you can see what it's supposed to be, and far enough away that it's still wrong.|
I've recently had a sharp upsurge in the quality of my drawings. Here's how:
A serious problem with teaching yourself to draw is that you can look at something you've drawn, know it's wrong, and yet struggle to work out where it's wrong. In the absence of an expert teacher, I've found a home solution.
Tracing paper - not for tracing the whole drawing, but just for being able to correct your lines.
Draw from a reference photo, for practice this way. Print the photo - a crappy black-and-white printout using my very cheap, not-meant-for-images-at-all laser printer has been more than adequate for my needs - and use tracing paper (or baking paper, or something like that, if you don't have any and don't want to get any) to go over it, marking all the lines and shapes out on that.
Then draw. When you've done some of your drawing, and you're at the frustrating point of "it looks wrong... somehow" you can lay the tracing paper over the drawing, and compare your lines to where they ought to be. Then edit, and correct, and learn, with something to tell you where your errors are.
Sooo, I'm waiting for a package.|
As of last night parcel tracking said it was in Sydney. Suddenly this morning it's in Perth and they attempted delivery before I woke up.
I went to the post office to get it.
No, wrong post office - it's not at the one a short walk from my house, it's at the one a LONG walk from my house, and it's a heavy parcel.
So I tried to fire up my scooter, which has a dead electrical system I haven't got fixed yet.
While struggling to get it going with the kick-start lever, I misjudged the kick, bruised my foot, and... tore a massive hole on the side of my shoe. The level just caught it on the point of the stitching, as far as I can tell.
I really like my shoes. They're awesome shoes. But one is now severely torn.
I have therapy in a little over an hour. Housemate.Dave has already said he'll give me a lift - I'm now planning to beg the poor man also to drive me to the post office so I can get my parcel dammit.
So, the gig stand I got yesterday came with a warning that, if used for ongoing holding of an electric guitar, risks burning the |polyurethane [edit:] nitro-cellulose lacquer [/edit] finish by reaction between the rubber and the finish.
So, I wrapped the rubber on the gig stand with paper tape I had in the house.
However, today I found that the paper had let glue through, which was marring my guitar.
CAN NOT BE BORNE.
So, I congratulated myself on my decision not to throw away some soft flannel pyjama pants that tore a few weeks ago, in case I needed rags. The guys at the guitar shop use pieces of cloth to protect the guitars. I cut pieces off one leg, and wrapped them around the supports. The tape is indeed tacky, and is holding it in place within reason, and I've got some safety pins (carefully placed to avoid touching the guitar ever) to hold them there as well, just so I don't have to worry about them falling off when I'm trying to put the guitar away.
A different piece of the soft cloth was also useful for polishing off the glue that was already on it.