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").


decay & ruin
Biosphere II
dead malls
Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   fentanyl scare
Monday, January 1 2018

Just because it was a new year did not mean we had new weather. If anything, this morning was even more brutal than the too many leading up to it. Since it was a holiday, though, Gretchen and I made a french press of coffee and Gretchen also toasted up some cranny-rich Trader Joes crumpets (with vegan butter pooling in those crannies). Later, we dined on leftover homemade pizza. The only place that was fully comfortable was the recuperation fort, though one does eventually grow weary of sitting flat on a soft surface with ones legs sticking straight out in front. (I'm not flexible enough to sit comfortably any other way on a low surface.)
Sarah the Vegan would be coming over to visit Neville, so it seemed prudent to finally take some action about the rectangle of adhesive sticking to the base of Neville's spine, where a fentanyl patch had been. I used some paint thinner, and it softened up a little, but all I could really do was smear it around and get some stuck to my fingers. Isopropyl alcohol wasn't any better.
Eventually I went up to the laboratory to do some work (mostly in PHP and Javascript), and during that time Sarah the Vegan arrived. I joined everybody in the cramped recuperation fort for a time, but then I started feeling kind of weird, perhaps from the fentanyl I'd been exposed to in that adhesive I'd removed from Neville. When I didn't know how bad things would get, I was actually rather worried. Fentanyl is an incredibly powerful drug, the plutonium of narcotics, and I'd probably forced it into solution with that paint thinner and then absorbed it through my skin. But eventually the moment passed, and I went on cheerfully with my day.
Meanwhile, the tenant in our rental unit on Brewster Street had called to complain about no water in the bathroom, a situation almost certainly caused by the unusual cold. At first I thought the pipes might be freezing in the wall of the house, but then it turned out that the water lines go from the basement to the second floor via visible pipes in the living room. The only option left was them freezing in the basement. We suggested the tenant put a space heater at the bottom of the basement stairs and wait to see if the water started working. Within a couple hours, it did.

Tonight I actually slept upstairs in the bed, while Gretchen took a turn sleeping with the dogs in the recuperation fort. Normally I'd be the one to sleep there, since I can sleep pretty much anywhere. But tomorrow morning I'd have to go to Brewster Street to spray foam places where bitter cold outside air was finding its way into its basement.

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