Another momentary life shift, another realization of how much time can pass, and a reminder to start noting things down again. Round and round the cycle goes.

New Home Yet Unnamed
As of January, I’ve left The Dome and moved down to a more central rental in the ‘burbs. So less ants, turkeys, goats, and cows to greet me on the drive home, less mountain scenery and windy dirt roads. Sniff. However, there is at least a thriving lemon tree and plenty of flowers and greenery blooming in the backyard of the new homestead. This is the boon of living in an area once covered in orchards that should not be overlooked: even the boring landscape of surburbia provides a gardener’s paradise where everyone can take stabs (with shovels in dirt, of course) at the art of growing stuff. I’ve only kicked at dirt sulkily and plucked and gobbled up stuff midgrowth, but, hey, I need to focus my creative energies.

Oh, getting back to the house, totally worth mention is the built-in spout in the kitchen that pours instant steamed water for tea! Oh my god! Ice cubes dispensing on the one side, steamed water on the other: as a friends says, it’s like I’m living in the future. Well! I’d expect no less from living in the Silicon Valley.

The Price of Free Time
At present, I’ve found myself at a pause between job contracts–something that always causes a customary if not totally irrational amount of freaking out until I let myself recognize that, well, I also have opportunity to relax and pick up neglected projects again–so there’ve been cookies baked, sketches started, and a testing of ten minute face mask products from my cabinet that I had never tried or remembered trying in a very long time.

Woe is me for having this newfound opportunity to recreationally apply beautifying substances of questionable properties onto my skin! Within the less than ten minutes that the stuff’s been on my face (the stuff being sulfur based), my eyes are moved to endless tears, the snot is flowing, and all I can do is wait out the lingering ocular pain after washing everything off. Yes, the bottle stated “Avoid contact with eyes,” but clearly I am too out of practice to mind such practical instructions. I now type these possibly final words before I become completely stricken with blindness.

Fail Storm
Eyesight regained. Related to blindness:

Epic Braille! It’d be nice if the braille on the sign also spelled out the same thing. I have checked, and it does not.

The same line of thought also led me to this blog which I’m sure has been around for ages, but since I chuckled while scrolling through people’s comments and the snowball of FAILs possible from a single failed FAIL post, I’ll give it a good linking.

Evil Eye
Finally: In trying to remember my contact prescription, I had to look up what O.D. and O.S. stood for. I find out that O.S. refers to the left eye… the ocular sinister. Ho ho! What vile visions swirl within that orb? Man, left hands, left eyes. It’s the side of the devil, you know.

So, if you notice any missing fruit or flowers in your frontyard, it’s only your fault for building your house on that side of my path.