Food, Kouryou-chan's art, Writing, Medicine, Religion

There really should be an icon for the mood 'conscious.'

Man, what a week. Work's been relatively boring as I managed to hit my deadline last Friday while the kernel team pushed back a week, meaning I've been spending most of my time this week dealing with trivial, aesthetic bugs. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.

At least the food's been good-- Sunday I made a great chili-- tons of onions and garlic, rinsed the beans in a colander (it's the juices in the cans that cause most intestinal distress), lean beef, some beef broth to compensate for the liquid lost. Kouryou-chan gave it a thumbs-up. I added cumin to add that "taste of high school" suggestion that, these days, is both hip and ironic, because it actually tastes better, especially when I substitute sherry for vinegar at the end for tartness. Monday, I made the usual: ravioli and home-made pasta sauce, the recipie for which I've posted earlier. Tuesday, Omaha made a delicious salmon with cranberry chutney topping... [sigh]. Life is good.

Kouryou-chan also drew her first discernable picture this week. I helped her through the steps... "a dot, here. A triangle, there. A curve, there," but in the end it was entirely her pencil on a blank sheet of paper that drew what is recognizably a teddy bear's head. Circles, lines, triangles-- anyone can learn to draw, so long as they can learn to see proportions consistently. And that just takes practice.

Also, my wrists have been more or less behaved. Wrote nearly 2,000 words yesterday in two different stories, each of which is interesting, but each in a different way: one is to get inside the head of a character who's dead but resurrected every day-- as if the day before never happened. The other is trying to write a first-contact story from the point of view of the contactees, who are humans "adapted" to their environment. I go see a physician today about the wrists.

I'm thinking about doing NanoWrimo again this year. I know that it was a disaster last year, but, y'know, hope springs eternal. I know I can do it. The question remains, will I have anything worth reviewing once I've written it?

( Religion in the news )

( Comments about Viagra. No, I haven't tried it yet myself. )

( An editorial about an editorial about Judge Roy Moore )

The Good Doctor's Advice.

"Stop writing."

That's what she said, the thin, thin-lipped physician sitting there in her office chair. The examination room was warm, almost too warm for someone dressed in the office drag I wore. And somehow, I tried to see it from her point of view. I'm sure she understood that writing was a hobby, that I could no more give it up than I could give up breathing or masturbation. Actually, I'm quite sure that if we were more comfortable with each other as patient and physician that she'd have asked me about that and recommended against it, too. She had dozens of patients. Many of them had the same problem I did. She knew that some of them could give it up, and some couldn't. She knew that I was one of the latter.

I was aghast. I'm sure the shock, the pain, the sheer impossibility of complying with her request was as visible on my face as the tattoo Poor impulse control might have been across my forehead.

"There's no noticeable weakness in your hands, which is good. You'll probably make a full recovery. You've done everything conservative you possibly can-- lowered your keyboard, optimized your mouse, gotten the footrest. But it sounds to me like you're in front of a computer far more than average. It's definitely typing-induced tendinitis-- you got that right the first time." I smiled, grateful to the gods of the Internet who brought me the initial diagnosis and the years of experience that let me separate wheat from chaff. "And I'm impressed with your keyboard layout. I've never heard of the Dvorak before. I'll definitely have to look into it for my other patients."

I made some comment about how it's hard to switch, especially after a lifetime of habit with QWERTY.

"Probably. But give up the freelance writing. That'll cause it to heal fastest. Other than giving up all typing-related duties, of course, which probably isn't an option right now." I shook my head. "I'll give you a wrist splint. Wear it in bed every night. That'll help. And use ibuprofen if it hurts."

I told her that I preferred aspirin. It's the best anti-inflammatory I know. "Try not to take too much, then. It's so hard on your stomach compared to the modern NSAIDs. Switch off with ibuprofen or naproxen if you can."

"If it doesn't get better in a month or two, come back. We'll have to talk to a surgeon. Not for surgery. But he can recommend courses of action that I can't."

I nodded, sheepishly, my equilibrium momentarily shocked at the word "surgeon," while she filled out the forms and had me sign for the wrist splint.

I don't know what I'm going to do. I really don't.

I can install xwrits. I can even give up mouse-heavy gaming.

But give up writing?