Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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Like my brownhouse:
   avoiding slitting
Sunday, April 26 2009

The hot weather continued today, and I occasionally waded out into it to do my latest greenhouse project: filling the styrofoam-bottomed ditch south of the south wall with broken rock, most of it being the semi-loose shale I'd removed from the floor of the greenhouse during the winter. I also used plenty of round pebbles from the excavation of the ditch itself as well as shards of bluestone removed from the greenhouse well. Handling so many sharp-edged stones barehanded (as I did) could have proved catastrophic, but for whatever reason I avoided slitting open my fingers and gushing blood (as happened multiple times when removing this same rock from the greenhouse floor over the winter). Perhaps my fingers had toughened up during that period (like my feet do in the spring when I start walking barefoot). Or maybe the slight sensory numbness from cold conditions made me more vulnerable to injury, as leprosy does its victims. I should confess, though, that the cuticles of my fingers have all taken a beating. They are torn in multiple places, jammed full of inextricable dirt, and sore (though not distractingly so).


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