Not intended for reading pleasure.
20150818 Tom Berta at ML's
•
Bring
copies of the sun to Ewald
•
send
that forward to Janet (find it)
•
üsend a birthday E-card to
Sara
•
make
cards for Sara (gift)
•
üexplain to Sara that I MEANT
to order gifts to arrive before she
left
•
Send
Scott that Marianne Moore quote.
"The cure for loneliness is solitude." I guess it means if you enjoy solitude, you
won't be lonely. I love solitude, but I
still get lonely. I need a nice balance
of long periods of solitude and deep togetherness.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015, 6:41 PM I am
sitting in Keith's car in the driveway.
We are supposed to meet Tom Berta at ML's at 7 PM, but Keith was
drinking beer and eating potato chips and to "go upstairs and get documentation"
and has not come out yet. If we're late,
it won't be my fault. I hope he doesn't
drive like a maniac. He likes to cut
things really close. ;-(
6:43 PM we're on our way, backing
out of the driveway.
It was a real rush job, because
earlier, we were over at Rolandale. My
good sweet husband was mowing that large lawn in the heat and pulling
"picker weeds" (thistles) while I was trying to work on Little Hog
Island.
I was thinking about Dana (in Little
Hog Island) and Juliet (in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society)
and how charming Juliet is and how everyone likes her. "No one" likes Dana, but I would
like for her to be as charming as Juliet and for some people to notice. Of course, Ross likes her. And Nan likes her. But think of ways for her to be cute and
charming, ways that would suit her personality and not be out of character.
8:33 PM We're over at ML's McKinnon house with Tom
Berta. I've been trimming bushes and
trees and weeds, but there was a TON of poison ivy, makes me nervous to be
wallowing in it, came in and washed my arms, but probably should do it again
when I get home. Not going to get much
done on LHI tonight.
Mark Mariotto came and hauled away 2
wheelbarrows full of the stuff that I'd trimmed and talked to me about his cat,
Boo, after boo Radley, and about how much they loved ML
Keith is finally signing all the
papers to sell this house. I like this
house.
In a way, I'll be sad to see it
go. In a way, it will be a relief. But of course, listing it doesn't mean it's
sold.
8:52 PM we still haven't left. I'm sitting in the car waiting for
Keith. It will be good for Keith to have
one less place to take care of. Here he comes. It's almost bedtime and I didn't get to work
on the section of LHI that needs my attention, or the character list etc for
tomorrow night at all this evening. It's
almost bedtime and we're still in Roseville and the sun hasn't quite set
yet.
Thursday, June 18, 2015, 12:58 PM I
am sitting in Brian Powers' waiting room for my 1:00 appointment. I was working on a poem the one about the
Murphy demon, just before I left to come, plus eating lunch, but did not finish
either the revision of the poem for tonight nor the lunch, I'd intended to eat
an avocado.
After I see Brian, I hope, weather
permitting, to walk at Per Park and then come home and shop for food and then
work on my poem some more. Keith may not
be able to have dinner with me. But I
thought the reading was at 6:30 but ML Liebler, who hosts it, has it down for 7
PM. K's appointment with Susko, which he
changed from the day when we had DSS and he had that Modern Insurance thing, is
at 4:20. I'm not sure either where it is
or how speedy they are. But maybe if I
make some food, he can have time to eat it.
Okay, well, it's after 1:00 now,
1:03 PM, and no Brian. That means I am
not late, but I don't want to wait too long because I have so much to do. I need to walk extra for the next three days
because I did not walk yesterday (was working on my novel all day.) I need to get ready for the reading tonight. Oh here's Brian.
2:12 PM, I am walking at Pier
Park. It is hot and breezy. The air is full of smells, heavy floral
smells, heavy dark unknown smells. The sky
is cloudy, birds are singing, blue flag and day lilies in flower, along with a
ton of other stuff. Two teenage boys
come up behind me. One has a flowered Hawaiian
shirt, one a T-shirt, the one with the Hawaiian shirt is carrying a huge
backpack. Out on the water, a distant
freighter, a nearby fisherman. The boys
are headed out on a dock. They were
talking cheerfully in their low teen boy voices, gentle with pleasure in their
friendship. Red-winged blackbird male
squawking and twittering his wings at me.
3 smaller boys are fishing off the
first overlook, maybe 9 years old, another boy and girl, apparently with them,
are in a chair relaxing, the boy in the chair, the girl leaning over him, all
of chattering away in their child voices.
Two more people fishing on the wrong side of the fence. More boys, maybe 10, 11 years old. (Is school out? Why are there so many kids? School may be out for the summer, it's June
18th, without a kid in school, I no longer pay attention. I should have photographed the three boys
back there. Two adults here,
fishing. Flutters of fishflies.
I charged my battery at Brian's
office. Battery for Fiona, the W3 stereo
camera. But it didn't occur to me to
photograph those kids.
There are more fish flies than there
were a week ago. A lot more.
Oh, fiddle, someone's in my
spot. Oh yay, they got up, so I can sit
there a minute.
I sit down with the fish flies. One lands on the back of my left hand and
stays there while I am typing. Its body
is slender, just under in inch long, maybe 1/16 of an inch in diameter. Now there is one my knee. The one on my hand is tan and the one on my
knee is black. The both orient
themselves with their heads up. I twist
my hand and the tan reorients constantly to remain head up. I try to gently place him on the fence, but
he (or she) flies off).
There are dead fish flies all over
the end of the pier where I am sitting.
Dang, I accidently stepped on a live
fishflie and it crunched underfoot with a ssssit sound. And another.
I am trying to be careful, but it is difficult. The first one I stepped on was by my foot when
I sat down and I tried and tried to avoid and ended up stepping on it
anyway.
A man with lots of white hair and a
beard is fiddling with the sail on a sailboat.
I try to photograph a small black
and yellow swallowtail on some purple flowers, but it is fluttering its wings
so fast and moving so quickly from one flower to the next that my camera won't
even focus fast enough.
I see an overweight woman dressed in
hot pink typing on her phone, texting probably, coming at an angle toward me as
I am writing on my Psion. A similar,
sort of mirrored activity.
((I am being so careful to not step on the
fishflies, but a large fat man is driving a golf cart down the pier willy nilly
mashing fishflies. He is the Harbor Master. He keeps coming up behind me in his nearly
silent machine and scaring me.)) (Copied from below)
There is some strange sea plane or
boat with wings approaching and now passing.
The fuselage is in the water, looks like it's half-drowned. Weird and sort of scary, and helicopter over
head. If this plane has pontoons, they
are completely submerged. It is
"flying" along the surface of the water with overhead
propellers. Making a bit of racket. Gliding toward the shore now. The one on the other side of this small bay.
Kids are playing on the beach. They are racing around, climbing the sand
pile, filling pails with water, digging holes at the shore, building
sandcastles. Their cheerful little
voices sound so happy.
A little boy, maybe seven or eight
years old, catches tiny minnows and pours them into a container. The container overflows and some of the
minnows are stranded on the land. He finds one, pops it into his pail and
it swims around, apparently unhurt. But the others are left stranded on the
sand as he wades out to catch more fish.
I hate to see things suffer.
The boy did not intend them
harm. But he doesn't see them as living
beings quite like himself as far as containing life-force and capable of
suffering. That is, he doesn't empathize
with them.
I am over at R'dale, 3:39 PM, was
thinking that I was going straight home, then to VM, then work on poems, BUT I
forgot about needing to get bird seed, dang.
I need to plant stuff, too, but it
will have to wait.
Wonder how many fishflies I drove
over—I don't think about them when I am driving.
So I drove over to R'dale to get
birdseed and there IS no birdseed!
;-( In NY, you can get it at the
grocery. Not here,
So I grab a handful of garlic scapes
and leave, mission failed. TIME
wasted! ;-(
4:09 PM At home, I discover that
Keith has come and gone. I didn't know
he was coming home. I am hungry and eat
an avocado and drink some chia milk.
Good communication skills can make a person more likable or lovable.
Friday, June 19, 2015, 5:22 PM I am
walking to Village Market, feeling tense and overwhelmed because it's so late
and I've accomplished so little.
It started with insomnia last night,
which may have been caused by the reading last night. The reading went well and my poems were well-received,
but I had two pieces of pie, including one with pumpkin filling, which surely
had milk in it. It was small. QUITE small, but still. Anyway, whether it was the excitement, the
pie, some combination of those, or something else altogether, I slept poorly,
got up, too some Ambien. I'd prefer not
to do that. Take Ambien, or be awake
either. Then I slept until almost
ten. (Although I awoke numerous times
early, I felt groggy and drifted off.
I spent a bunch of time ordering
stuff on Amazon, presents for Sara for her birthday, birdseed for the bird, who
does waste a lot of food, swept some of it up and tossed it into the trash
because it was dirty, one new bra for me, a new chinstrap, etc. etc., and then
went on to Bank America to transfer the $$ to cover most of Sara's present (transferred
$100 of $114-something which included tax and a gift for Erin as well.)
I made myself two meals, which
considering how late I got up, was probably excessive, and fiddled with a new Photoshop
tutorial, which I should NOT have done at all, and wrote a new poem. About seeing my father in the mirror--I often
see my mother, too.
I'm at VM. It's a horrid grid-lock, obscene, should have
come early, Friday evenings are always bad.
5:47 PM I am on my way home, but
have a full backpack and a bag, so probably can't write (much).
6:28 PM Did I mention I wrote a poem earlier?
As I walked toward home, Keith came
out and peeked down the road too if I was coming. (I was, obviously, or wouldn't have seen
him.) He is making dinner and I am out
walking. I wanted to walk 45 minutes,
but I had to pee, and while I was peeing I had an idea for my poem and went and
wrote it down longhand. So, now I don't
have time to walk 45 minutes and will have to go out and walk again after
dinner, which I'd prefer not to do, since I have so much else I need to do.
Walking home from the store, I got
all sweatified, so I took off my outer short-sleeved shirt, the blue and grey
striped one which has become, not my favorite, which is the blue lizard shirt,
but my new favorite casual short-sleeved shirt.
The lizard shirt is slightly nicer.
Fits better, hangs better. But
anyway, I took off the shirt and now I am cold.
When walking home from Village, I had that heavy backpack pressed
against my back heating me up.
I guess it's substantially cooler
today than it has been, which is a good thing.
I'm not fond of the steamy heat we've been having.
I kept using Aamira, who has a
broken back, mended, but potentially fragile, and a small card, instead the
other two Psions which I meant to use first, with no broken back and large
cards.
I keep writing poems and painting
pictures when I should be doing other things.
I even tried out Photoshop tutorial, guess I said that, which was
interesting, but didn't work as well as I'd hoped.
I got out my phone, turned it on,
and wanted to send a brief email to Scott Cater, but I can't see the phone that
well in the brightness; its screen is now fairly scratched and the sun reflects
on the scratches and I went through the contacts twice. I couldn't find his address and gave up. I wanted to send him that Marianne Moore
quote. "The cure for loneliness is
solitude." I guess it means if you
enjoy solitude, you won't be lonely. I
love solitude, but I still get lonely. I
need a nice balance of long periods of solitude and deep togetherness.
8:47 PM I am out walking again,
trying to get my extra 15 minutes to make up 1/3 of the walking I missed
Wednesday when we had the Ewald novel group.
Some female person is thundering by
across the street with two blond old yeller dogs. A woman or a girl, can't tell, dunno why she
is making such a racket, it's like her shoes are too big for her and she can't
control them.
Keith told me that Beeai once though
he had Marfan's syndrome, which I looked up.
It is characterized by long arms and legs and long thin fingers and a
curved spine and a chest that caves in or sticks out. He does have long arms and legs, but his
hands are normal. Large and sexy, but no
long thin fingers. There was a list of
other characteristics, most of which did not fit. I'm relieved because they usually die young
of problems with the aorta. And a host
of other problems and I'd like to keep him.
Me, I am having bad hip pain
("fibromyalgia") and it's probably either from the pie last night or
the cheese spread this afternoon. And
the insomnia. I wish I could shake it.
I put my shirt back on, but I am
still cold.
We were going to make sauerkraut
tonight but it got too late. Keith is
already asleep on the couch.
Oops, I walked too far. I mean, I was going to turn back when my
watch said 40:30 and now it says 42:38, and considering the pain in my hip, the
lateness of the hour and the other things I have to do (and how COLD I am), no
point in extending the walk. It's not
like I'm exploring some fabulous new place.
I put some wretched stinky Voltaren
gel on my left hip and lower back. It
may be helping some, but it still hurts.
Saturday, June 20, 2015, 4:54 PM, I
am attempting to walk to Rolandale. I
only got a few steps from the door hip collapsed and it just collapsed again. I took Meloxicam and put Voltaren on it. But that doesn't stop it from giving out with
a terrible jolt of pain.
I was awake all night last night,
the whole entire night, no sleep at all.
I finally slept a little in the morning after 7, maybe 3 hours of
restless sleep. I feel wretched. There goes my hip again. I almost fell. I don't know that I can make it to R'dale and
back. That's 70 minutes on a good day,
and this is NOT a good day.
I ate cheese spread yesterday, not
sure if that's causing the problem. I
seem to be able to tolerate cheese sometimes, but not other times, so it's
unclear to me. I mean, I know it causes
asthma if it I have too much of it or have it too often. Also, I had white bread both at VM and for
dinner. And I've been eating chia seeds.
Do I need to eliminate the chia seeds?
I just don't know.
There goes my hip again. I stopped at the bench near Village
Market. I am genuinely unsure that I can
make it to Rolandale. I think I will
have to scuttle the mission. I will go
to VM instead. Then home again. Then decide what to do.
It's much hotter out that yahoo
indicated.
I did NOT eat any sugar yesterday,
but there was sugar in the meatloaf, so actually, I did have some for
breakfast.
So my hip collapsed 5 times between
home and VM, and now that I'm headed home again, it has not yet collapsed
again. Knock on wood. Still hurts, but makes me think I maybe could
have made it to R'dale after all. Or
not? Dang
I wanted to get EXTRA exercise today
to make up for missing on Wednesday, but I may end up getting less. WAHN! (Plus I feel terrible.)
Sunday, June 21, 2015, 4:48 PM
Sara's birthday and father's day. I'd
like to write a poem or piece for either Sara or my father or both, but dunno
if that will happen.
I am attempting again to walk to
Rolandale. Yesterday, I only walked 15
minutes and was already down 15 minutes, so now I am down an hour and a half. I'm still in pain, but not as bad as yesterday.
Yesterday, the temperature when I
went out was supposedly 72, but it was bot and steamy. Today, it's supposedly 81, but feels
cooler. I think it is less humid.
Keith and I made love last night, and
this morning he made me breakfast, read the paper (naked), had lunch, naked,
made love to me again, and we showered together. I love his being naked and I love making love
to and with him. But we don't accomplish
much. I mean, we accomplish nice loving
relaxing time together, which I think is important, but I worry about
deadlines, projects, downloading cameras, etc.
Keith is anxious to get the 5D card
cleared, because the pix are so huge. I
snapped at him because he keeps asking me about it and I just told him last night
that that I need to hook all the stuff up to Serena and hadn't done it yet and
the big spill (my fault) was going to delay the process, but he doesn't
listen. (Did he think I was downloading
cameras while we were sleeping or having sex or showering? If I hadn't hooked stuff up last night, how
would I have gotten it done? No time
today, for sure.
Of course, I am feeling guilty for
snapping at him and trying to find ways to assuage my conscience. Sigh.
I hate being cranky and I always seem to be cranky when I'm in pain,
another reason to eat and sleep right and avoid the computer, dammit, at
night. I wonder if I can get a real
computer that doesn't have a backlit screen? But bigger than the Psion.
(I just added crankiness and
reactiveness to my list of symptoms below.
When I eat right, I feel better!)
OMG, I tried to save this and it
said, folder not found, so I copied it and tried to open a new file and it said
folder not found, so I removed the card and reinserted it and was able to save
it. I hate it when things don't work
right.
Before I left, I checked the batter
power and it seemed to have plenty, so not sure what that glitch was all about.
So, I told myself I was NOT going to
take advantage of any more "opportunities" until I get the projects I
have already in progress in hand and under control.
And now I am considering breaking
that "promise" to myself and here is why:
((Break in train of thought to stop and scarf
down mulberries from first one and then another bush. I yanked some of these out at R'dale, but I
actually wouldn't mind having one along the fence line near the back. I'd also like to transplants some of the
bluebells and anemones from Moran to R'dale.
We got another offer on ML's
house.
Anyway, as I was saying, And now I
am considering breaking that "promise" to myself and here is why: Some women's publishing group is looking for
YA stories to publish, 6,000 words and they want stuff from women about
underserved minorities, and I thought my story about Acacia and Jelly might
work. I need to look into what they
do. I'd have to temporarily stop working
on Little Hog Island, or work on it less, because working on the short version
of Acacia's and Jelly's story would take a lot of time. I would have to severely cut it. I need to find out what the rewards are, if
any, and what the venue is like and then look at all the things I have on my
plate. One thing is the Moleskine,
Mike's which is still not done, as well Frankie goes to France, the Pinery,
Italy, Clark, etc and Welcome Home Alden and New kid in the woods (Alden) and
Cormorant Castel Alden and Frankie version) and Japanese woodblock class and I
could go on and on and on, and that's not counting the garden at R'dale and
downloading the pix and ML and time with K and meeting with BP and the Ewald
group, who wants my to stick with LHI.
Also, Acacia has to do something
important so the story is not just Jelly's story. Acacia is the one who thinks of painting the
wild edibles recognition and direction as "street art". But she needs something more. Something heroic. Maybe she saves Jelly from the creepy guy or
from the wild dogs or both (consecutively, somehow at the same time. Saves them both, then stops Rodolfo from
bothering Jelly. Can she take a page
from The Girl who played with fire and CUT Rodolfo just above the genitalia and
then tell him she'll come back cut off his balls and that isn't enough, cut off
his Dick? She has to leave after the
first rescue, then remember why she was going there and go back and find Rodolfo
with his pants around his ankles hovering over Jelly. Jelly is considering being gay after the
abuse and Acacia tells her she's not interested in her as a sex partner, she
doesn't think, but will love her and be her friend, no matter what.
That's in the short version, but it
could be in the long version, too.
I stopped to eat mulberries and also
had to stop and fiddle with the Psion several times, so I am running late.
K was going to come to R'dale after 45 minutes, but if he does, he won't
find me there.
IF I could work on Jelly and
Acacia's short version story on the Psion while walking, it would not take much
time from my other projects, most of which, with the exception of Little Hog
Island, can't be done while walking.
I need a title for the short
version. "Saving Grace?"
"Dandelion Dinner?" "Burdock Breakfast?" OK, so I'm going to temporarily, anyway, call
it Burdock Breakfast. 6,000 words is
35-40 minutes. A little less than 3
times as long as the pieces I normally bring to Ewald. That’s NOT very long, and at the same time,
long. It will be difficult to choose
what to put in and what to leave out. IF
I do it. I am obviously leaning toward
doing it.
I hope the mulberries don't make me
sick. I just ate three more. And then, a minute later, another. I keep passing mulberry bushes (trees).
5:45 I've arrived at R'dale. Took me almost an hour to get here, but I
stopped several times.
Harvested Garlic scapes and the
first zucchini! Yellow squash &
tomatoes coming!
* * * * EJ end journal
* * * * symptoms
I want to restart the elimination
diet, but I am not sure how far back I need to go to restart it.
Here are the symptoms I wish to
eliminate:
•
obesity
•
insomnia
•
"Fibromyalgia"
pain.
•
collapsing
hips
•
itchy
skin, especially at night
•
brain
fog, extreme forgetfulness
•
crankiness,
reactiveness
•
constipation
and/or diarrhea
I feel fairly certain that diet
affects these things, because they were all much improved when I was on that
elimination diet, plus I was losing weight.
Eliminate SUGAR, Dairy, white flour, and probably gluten to start with.
The other thing is the
computer. When I couldn't sleep, meaning
I already had a problem to begin with,[1] I got on the computer
because I have a lot to do on the computer, but they say that light from the
computer interferes with sleep. So I
need to stay off the computer, say after 8:30 or so, or maybe even
earlier. It does seem to help. So my getting on the computer last night to
try to accomplish something may have further contributed to the problem. And lack of sleep exacerbates the fibromyalgia
pain.
* * * * end symptoms
* * * * LHI BS
I was thinking about Dana (in Little Hog Island) and Juliet (in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie
Society) and how charming Juliet is and how everyone likes her. "No one" likes Dana, but I would
like for her to be as charming as Juliet and for some people to notice. Of course, Ross likes her. And Nan likes her. But think of ways for her to be cute and
charming, ways that would suit her personality and not be out of character.
'' To-do, LHI
I have, in Castle Wars, Sissy and Claude LeFevre laughing until they cry. Keith and I laugh a lot. Dana is so serious. Lighten up a little (when appropriate.
Thursday, June 18, 2:22 PM I was
mentioning about that I wanted to make Dana likable. Likable and loving, somewhat charming and
charismatic, but not so much as to be unrealistic. She has to have faults!
What are the characteristics of
people I like best?
1) They are friendly and cheerful,
positive and upbeat. FUN. Grounded, earthy, and yet, philosophical and
thoughtful. ((The fishfly on my knee is tickling me, but when I try to move it,
it flies off in the wind.)) I do not
prefer people who are sole interested in fun, like some teenage boys
(Graham?) ((Speaking of teenage boys,
the two I saw earlier now drive a boat out "to sea" (into the open
lake from the Pier) with two other boys and all the girls sunning on the pier
scream. Now a little moth lands on my
hand, looks like the kind that infest flour and I shake it off onto the
pier.)) The design on the fishfly wings
is like intricate lace. OK, so in my
book, a likable person is friendly, cheerful, somewhat upbeat and positive, but
at the same time balance fun with being responsible and keeping ones word. ((This is one of Keith's flaws, he says he'll
do things and then he doesn't, not because he wouldn't, but because he
forgets. He runs at the mouth with good
intentions and fails to follow through. I am making Ross too much like myself. I should give him some of Keith's flaws. Like a failure to follow through. Or rather, a partial failure to follow
through and a lack of understanding as to why this might upsetting. I mean in the beginning, he's paying more
attention, because he's interested in Dana.
But he needs to make some small promises and then NOT follow
through. Dana doesn't do this, but she
has to other faults.
Ross is responsible and follows
through on urgent and important promises, but makes many small ones (MANY small
ones) that he doesn't follow through on.
(He has to have some flaws, and this is one of them).
But we were talking about
characteristics that make someone likable, not unlikable. Keith is likable. Everyone likes him. The grandchildren, especially Rachel, like
him a lot and he has lots of friends who like him and keep in touch with him
(40 years). Why? He's likable, but in what ways? He's fairly cheerful, even though doesn't
smile as often or obviously as other people.
He's friendly and talkative with people he knows. He like to please people he cares about. At the same time, he's usually fairly
honest. (Sometimes to a fault). He’s curious, engaged.
2) Likeable characteristics: Honest and trustworthy, but gently so
(usually), that is, gently honest (except when brutal honesty is really called
for, which isn't too often). The kind of
person you can trust. TRUST. (I've finally gotten so I can almost trust
Keith. By which I mean, I trust him not
to intentionally hurt me, that is, not to be abusive.) I guess that there are many kinds of trust,
because I do NOT entirely trust him to 1) drive safely and reasonably and 2) to
carry through on small and even some big promises. (He doesn't engage his mind when he engages
his mouth). (If Ross is going to SHOW
this fault, it has to have a genuine negative impact on Dana in large and small
ways, and she can use Le Petite Prince's fox to illustrate her dismay. ((I am covered with fish flies. The one on my hand now is yellow.))) ((I have
two on my left legs, blowing in the steady breeze, but hanging on.)) ((I think fish flies are a lake phenomenon,
not one Dana and Ross would have in Maine.))
((I successfully move one of the yellow ones onto the bench, because I want
to get up and move on.)) ((I take off my
shirt because it's HOT, even with the wind.))
((Then I move another one.))
So I likeable lovable
person has a constellation of positive traits that outweighs their negative
traits. And some negative traits can be
more acceptable and lovable than others.
Back to Juliet. Everyone describes her as being likable. She interacts in a positive friendly manner
and CARES about people. And people like
her. How can I make Dana appear to care
about people? She DOES care about
people, but I need to show that more clearly, maybe.
Empathy. One of the characteristics of a likable
person is to have a degree of empathy.
People's empathy is situationally variable. That is, the same person can be very
empathetic (and sympathetic) in some situations and totally oblivious in others
(crack, there goes another fish fly!
Sorry, God.))
I think am almost overly empathetic
in some situations and have discovered myself to be utterly lacking in others.
OK, so Dana and Ross are both
empathetic and somewhat sympathetic, Dana more so than Ross in most situations,
Ross as much so or more in others (think of specifics, here!)
Ross might call Dana a
"bleeding heart," say about the stranded minnows.
I think maybe people tend to
empathize most in areas where they themselves have suffered. This is theory, I'm not sure it's true, but
is seems so.
Keith is fairly unsympathetic about
my suffering, when I have bad fibro.
Sometimes, he can sympathize, but mostly, not--he ignores me and my
suffering.
I think women in general tend to be
more empathetic and sympathetic than men, but of course, that varies from
individual to individual, and there is an overlap. And of course, it varies by mood and
situation.
My insomnia and fibromyalgia tend to
make me cranky, and that makes me less lovable (or seems to). That can be one of Dana's adults as
well. I need to show these faults. ((There goes that airplane thing. Grinding away over the water, wonder if it
will fly.))
Complaining is a flaw, one of
Dana's. What is the opposite of
complaining? Praising, gratitude?
Good communication skills can make a
person more likable or lovable. Or bad
ones can make a person less lovable or likable.
Communication skills are essential to a good relationship. How can I show both successful and
unsuccessful communication skills? I
have a problem when writing, because I always (at least almost always) know
what everyone is trying to say.
I did have Dana forget that Ross was
coming to repair Nan's steps and stay out with the terns all day when she could
have been with him. I need to maybe have
him forget something before that and realize, for the hundredth time, that she
is fallible too, and needs to be accepting and forgiving of other people's
shortcomings and human foibles.
Dana needs to seem pushy about
asking questions in the beginning and then later explain to everyone that she
has no intention of blowing people in--but she tries to do with Nan and Nan
reminds her that she's promised Frank Krol to share what she learns. Does Krol want to blow people in? Maybe Dana can extract a promise From Frank Krol
to let sleeping dogs lie?
We need to know Frank Krol's
intentions.
I have an idea about Garrett, about
Glenn's telling Garrett he had reason to be concerned. Suppose Garrett was, for some reason in the
boat or otherwise with Glenn when Glenn inadvertently killed Yonnie? Suppose Glenn, being fundamentally honest,
intended to turn himself in and Garrett, being fundamentally cowardly, talked
him out of it for fear that he would also be implicated, even though he, in
fact, did nothing? Now Glenn is afraid
that his accident will look more like murder because he hid it, and doesn't
want Dana poking around for that reason and also because he thinks Ami killed
Billy Owens, in part because she left immediately after his death.
And because he "saw her do
it!" Only it was Ani.
Another of Ross's faults is that he
falls asleep too easily and too often.
Dana's fault is that this annoys her when she wants his attention.
* * * *
end LHI
* * * * begin Burdock Breakfast.
Also, Acacia has to do
something important so the story is not just Jelly's story. Acacia is the one who thinks of painting the
wild edibles recognition and direction as "street art". But she needs something more. Something heroic. Maybe she saves Jelly from the creepy guy or
from the wild dogs or both (consecutively, somehow at the same time. Saves them both, then stops Rodolfo from
bothering Jelly. Can she take a page
from The Girl who played with fire and CUT Rodolfo just above the genitalia and
then tell him she'll come back cut off his balls and that isn't enough, cut off
his dick? She takes a nick out of his
throat near his jugular just to be sure he gets the point. Literally.
(How does she overpower him? Just
with the knife?) She has to leave after
the first rescue, then remember why she was going there and go back and find Rodolfo
with his pants around his ankles hovering over Jelly. Jelly is considering being gay after the
abuse and Acacia tells her she's not interested in her as a sex partner, she
doesn't think, though she’s a little uncertain, but will love her and be her
friend, no matter what. They try
kissing, but Acacia isn’t sure she likes it.
Or, likes it, but has visions of kissing Lkjh instead.
Acacia has a switchblade. Peregrine gave it to her and taught her to
use it.
[1]
Sometimes, my problem is that there is something I need or want to get done and
worrying about it is keeping me from sleeping!
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