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:
   still warm enough to sleep in the greenhouse
Tuesday, November 1 2022
It was another humid, unusually warm day and fairly sleepy in the remote workplace, since most of my colleagues were out. Gretchen's voice had largely recovered from the laryngitis she'd had over the weekend, which meant she would have no trouble teaching her prison English class this evening.
At noon I drove to the Hannaford in Uptown (the "Ghettoford") to get groceries, which (it's become clear) I need to do regularly, as there are whole classes of groceries that Gretchen is not in the habit of getting. This includes breakfast cereal, something I only realized this past week. I've known for years that Gretchen almost never buys cans of beans and bread, but my shopping habits have accepted this as a core reality. The things Gretchen normally gets that I don't have to think about are fresh vegetables (with the exception of mushrooms, though some may not consider mushrooms vegetables), canned fruit, and baking supplies.
Today, of course, Gretchen and I mostly subsisted on leftover chili.

This evening while Gretchen was off teaching her prison course, I briefly considered going into the forest to gather some firewood. But I knew I didn't have the energy for an activity I know to be exhausting, especially since I haven't done it in something like 22 months and none of the necessary muscles are sufficiently developed. So instead I climbed into bed and watched YouTube videos, which made me feel a little pathetic. Then Oscar showed up and started treading on my belly, and didn't want to deal with that. This was how I ended up in the greenhouse for the night. It was warm enough to sleep down there without running any heat.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?221101

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