This evening's forging, a few testers for armour rings and some custom talismans. 50%success rate on forge welding the rings, I got the little ones too hot and they cracked.
The talismans are for @fennekart and I've almost got a simplified version of the logo done. I need to spend a weekend making tiny chisels!
Did some more testing on escape kits. I felt like my first round of tests didn't have enough damage to the roof decking. This time I went to town on the underside. I have some more testing to do and I'll post my results. #bailout#ropenerd
For the last two months I have been mostly off social media trying to finish this book. There is an art to not looking away. For the last two days I have mostly been ON social media, because there is an art, too, to looking away. We have nervous systems that can fully integrate only in small sips. I have learned this only as I have unfolded my grief like an accordion bellows, distraught by how many more folds there are than I expected. Struck by how, when you are alone on a mesa in the blowing snow, there is all the space in the world for grief. Trudging to the outhouse between bursts of it. Long dead sleeps. The injuries of the medical system are still fresh. The monster they have made me. The writer can move only at the speed of the body. I can’t write it without going through it— not the compressed version I have carried around all smashed inside me, safe enough to go about daily life, because I just had to keep GOING—but the unfolded version, so that I can even see what things are. It is not the book I thought I was writing, and it is so slow. I hope writing will be fun again someday. // Yesterday my friend Jenny received 127 pages that I am so very proud of. I fed them to the fire not just to spare a messy Earth Home the clutter, but that one set of pages might literally warm the space where the next will be birthed. That night I cried and cried as one friend’s baby entered a dangerous heart surgery and an acquaintance underwent the multiple lead extraction procedure I fear. Arthur Frank: “Human illness, even when lived as a quest, always returns to mourning. The boon is gaining the ability not to mourn for oneself, but for others.” //