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It was sunny & hot by the time I made it to the garden yesterday. And then Claude showed up! Prize-winning chef and former Culinary Institute professor, raised on a farm in post-war Normandy, to me, Claude represents everything that's earthy & solid.



I weeded very happily for a couple of hours, sowed my lettuce seeds.

And then something weird happened. I got suddenly and violently ill, the kind of ill that it involves bathrooms, of which there aren't any at the garden.

No embarrassing accidents, but close call.

###

In fact, my usually robust health hasn't been all that robust lately. My lungs feel congested. I find myself getting somewhat winded when I exercise, I cough up fluid, and when I breathe out, I can feel how stiff my lungs are. Classic asthma symptoms. I hate the way inhalers make me feel, so I never use them; I just cough disgustingly.

I've been backburnering a fantasy that I have some sort of fatal but painless disease! Next time I visit my primary care provider, she'll take one look at me and say, "Patrizia, I'm afraid you're suffering from Amaranthinitis. There is no known cure, but here! Let me write you a script for unlimited quantities of morphine!"

I don't care if I cough.

I do care if I feel winded and weak.

But I probably wouldn't if I had unlimited quantities of morphine.

###

I'm still feeling kinda ill today, so I have tabled exercise plans. The day is sunny and bright, so I will lounge outside and read. The fabulous [personal profile] smokingboot sent me Hilary Mantel's memoir Giving Up the Ghost last Christmas; it promptly got lost in bedchamber rubble. Recently, though, I unearthed it again & began reading it.

The first two books of Mantel's Wollf Hall trilogy are among my favorite novels of all time. They have a distinctly mannered style that took me around 50 pages to get used to (50 pages during which I didn't like the novels at all), and I guess I was a little afraid that this mannered style was Mantel's voice—which works as a narrative style for novels set in medieval times because we have to assume that people living in those times thought very differently than contemporary people think. I wasn't sure, though, that it would work for a modern-day book.

Not to worry! Giving Up the Ghost does not use Wolf Hall as a style manual.

I'm also piqued because two separate subscribers to my substack told me my prose style reminds them of Hilary Mantel.

I don't agree, but I kinda, sorta see how they got the idea: I break the fourth wall in sort of the same way that Mantel does. In her prose and my prose, there is a very strong sense that the writer is talking to a specific someone (who is not necessarily you, gentle reader.)

###

And, of course, the AI video experiments continue.

Today, I animated the cat marginalia on a medieval manuscript:



I wouldn't say it works. Ideally, all the cats would chase the mice as the mice scamper off the page.

Is the limitation my clumsy prompt or the clumsy AI (NightCafe in this instance)?

Dunno, but I may try the same experiment in Sora tomorrow.
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Rained all day yesterday, so I didn't leave the house except for a couple of car trips for provisions (half & half, McDonald's quarter pounder with cheese—I actually like MickyD's though I limit my consumption to every couple of months because so-oo unhealthy!)

I felt kind of ill in a subthreshold way that was difficult to get a handle on. My asthma has been acting up. THC, it turns out, is an effective bronchodilator, which is good though even in small quantities, THC makes me loopy, which I don't like—although I dislike it less than the inhalers they actually prescribe.

I kept sneezing and my nose was running—so maybe some virus?

And my insides felt off. (Before the MickeyD's, smartass! 😀) Like if I thought about it very much, I'd feel nauseated.

Basically, I suppose, I just do not like days without sunshine.

When I finally assume complete dominion over the known Universe, I'm gonna make it so that it only rains at night.

###
I was gonna garden today, but it is raining again.

I still have to go over the bridge. Belinda invited me over for lunch, and she is planning an elaborate menu (since we haven't seen each other for six weeks or so), and I don't want to hurt her feelings.

Does seem ridiculous to me that my moods—and possibly my physical wellbeing—are so absolutely predicated around the weather, But they are!
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Dreamed I was giving a master class in an exxciting new augury method I had invented!

My method: Look at the results of the 10 most popular Google searches for any single day, and you'll be able to figure out what happens tomorrow!

This is because the collective unconcious is quite good at prognostication, but being an unconscious, can't synthesize its prophecies into linear terms.

But if you can tap into the source of the Nile (so to speak), you can make those linear predictions.

###

I was so intrigued by this dream that immediately upon awakening, I tracked down the 10 trending Google search terms worldwide for April 22, 2025:

1. suits la harvey specter
2. bbc
3. bgmi
4. google news
5. most runs in ipl
6. digvesh rathi
7. cuet pg answer key 2025
8. iftikhar ahmed
9. porel
10. abp news

Nope, nope, nope, nope.

None of the breadcrumbs to Tomorrowland lead through there.

###

Meanwhile, I felt kinda physically out of it all day yesterday.

My hips ached, which I attributed to overdoing the weights on the hip adductor Nautilus machine and thereby straining either my adductor longus, adductor brevis, adductor magnus, gracilis, or all of the above.

But also, I felt really winded and barely lasted 30 minutes into my spinning routine.

I was coughing a lot & wheezing, so allergies? The pollen from those tree flowers is lethal.

Then Black Chicken baulked when I scooped her up to carry back into her coop, which I do every evening just before sunset since I am so anxious that some predator is gonna get her. Icky has not made good on his promise to acquire some companions for her—Icky not making good on a promise? What a surprise!—but she seems to have adapted to being an Only Chicken and hangs out under the back porch all day long.

Usually, I can lure her back to the coop by scattering tasty corn tortilla morsels in front of her. But yesterday, she wanted to stay out, so I picked her up—and got scratched up in the process.

Scratches aren't painful & I hydrogen-peroxided & bacitracin-ed the hell out of them.

Still. I had to eat an entire bag of Peppridge Farms Orange Chocolate Milano cookies for their medicinal properties.

###

Today, I feel much stronger.

It's a gorgeous day. I have a shitload of Remuneration to do, having shirked yesterday.

But in the late afternoon, I intend to get out.
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In my dream, I wrote four perfect sentences. They just came magically into my head.

Wow! the dream me thought. I better write these down before I forget them.

And I did write them down—in the dream.

But when I awakened, I had totally forgotten them.

###

On Tuesday, I came down with a cold. Non-stop snoozles, runny nose, inability to focus. I gave up on useful work, and napped on & off, and read.

That vanquished the cold but then yesterday, driving home from TaxBwana, I was infected with a melancholy so deep I burst into tears & kept crying on & off the rest of the day.

Don't ask me what that was about because I couldn't tell you.

My two TaxBwana clients hadn't made that much of an emotional dent except that they were both old—the one, a 90-year old woman, sharp as a tack & physically vital, living on the remains of an ancestral apple orchard her family had owned for more that 100 years; the other, a retired NYC cop.

"Wait!" I said to the cop. "You used to commute from New Paltz every day to the Bronx?"

He had!

Maybe the 90-year-old lady had made me sad because maybe I was seeing the beginnings of cognitive decline in her: She was very flustered, and had only brought in pages 7 through 11 of one form that I needed to see Page 1 of. But hey! It was a mistake that many people far younger than her can—and do!—make & having taxes done is nervewracking for most people.

Anyway, I was sad, sad, sad, when I got home though that didn't stop me from doing useful work.

This morning I woke up with a right-sided backache that won't stop me from doing useful work but may stop me from going to the gym.

I can't figure out why my back would ache. On Monday, I actually did heavy exercise designed to phuck up one's back, & I was fine; yesterday, I did nothing. The ways of the aging body are mysterious!

###

It is bitterly, bitterly cold out. Temps barely brush freezing! But bright & sunny, and the angle of the sun is higher in the sky, which means the sun actually sheds some warmth.

The local meadows and pastures are still frozen beneath enormous plates of white ice that shine like polished glass. And likely to remain so for the next few days.

It is an eerie sight:

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