Okay, so 4mm may not seem so big, but it is when it's a crystal trying to pass through the ureter. In fact it's only 1mm short of seriously talking about surgery. So yes, Steve has a kidney stone. I don't know who got it for me, but once I find out I'm going to send them a nice thank you beating.
The pain woke me up at around 5:30, after we didn't get in until after midnight the night before (visiting Mom). The pain gripped along my left back, right on top of the kidney. My first thought was I was having a reaction to Splenda (Mom likes to cook with Splenda now). After going to the bathroom, I was able to find a position where I wasn't in much pain and went back to sleep. Until around 6:30, when the pain woke me up again. This time I thought it was gas. The pain had increased, and felt a little like bloating. It took a little longer, but I found a position that didn't hurt so much and felt back asleep. Then it was 7 when the pain got me again. All this time I couldn't pass any gas or have a bowl movement. So I tried eating a little breakfast of mini-wheats, which usually helps me go to the bathroom, still thinking it was just a gas attack. Continue this cycle until 11 when I couldn't sleep any more, and I tried eating the left over fruit salad and let Bette know things just weren't working all that well. We tried some beano and looked to see if we had a left over enema from when Isis needed them. A little while later and the fruit salad came back up. And just when I thought that might help, the real pain began. The kind of pain that makes it hard to breath. Where you move, not because you want to, but on the vain hope that some position, somehow, would lessen it. Nothing did.
I've experienced pain before. Severe cramping diarrhea as a reaction to the metformin. Shattering my left fibula requiring 14 screws and a plate to put it back together, four surgeries to make it work. This one set a new pain level 10 for me. I could barely walk, had difficulty thinking. Bette suggested I try some of the local stores for an enema, ad that's when I let her know that I didn't think I could drive. I'm not sure she believed me. Then I told her I had thrown up the fruit salad. That's when she asked me if I wanted to go to the emergency room. Frankly, I didn't think I could make it. This was a little past noon.
So Bette drove me to the hospital through Memorial Day traffic, slow pokes and Amish buggies. Every jolt hurt worse than the last. I almost didn't make it. This was now almost eight hours after the attack had begun. They put me in a wheel chair before I fell down and rushed me back in to a room. I could barely open my eyes the pain was so great at this point. My only good part of this was I could feel them putting in the stint for the IV. If I could feel that pain, that I wasn't to bad off.
My Grandfather has appendicitis. They operated on him on his mother's kitchen table, removing his appendix, without anesthesia or sterilization. So, as the pain migrated to the front of my stomach, that was a possibility in my head.
When I explained the pain, where it was, how it started, what we tried, the emergency room quickly came to the diagnosis that I had kidney stones. Had I ever had them before? No. Family history? Not that I am aware of. Have you been able to urinate? Yes. Well, pee into this urinal. Umm, I can't right at the moment (well, with trying to force a bowl movement, I had pretty much expunged everything from me. Well, with the IV fully open, that wouldn't be a problem for long. And they added in a few extra niceties to help with pain and nausea.
The blood tests came back normal, except for kidney function, which was a bit high. Still no pee in the urinal, so off to the CAT scan for me. But first, would you like some morphine? Why, yes I would, thank you very much. The orderly wheels me down the hallway, and with the lightheadedness of the morphine, it's kinda fun watching the ceiling tiles skim by. But the orderly removes the urinal form the bed and leaves me there to wait my turn in line for the CAT. I start having images of me fountaining while in the machine. Joy. So for the past half hour I had been thinking of waterfalls, rivers rushing by, rain storms, etc. And now I have to hold it until I get back to the room. And still we wait for the room. Finally we make it in.
Have you ever been in a CAT scan? You have to stretch out, hands over head, and go through breathing exercises. Something not a lot of fun when you have to pee from nearly a full bag of ringers solution. Fortunately I make it though without springing a leak and am eventually wheeled back to the room, where I was finally able to use the urinal. And my pee is somewhat greenish yellow. That can't be good.
Well, the end result is yes, there's blood in the urine, and the CAT scan showed a 4mm kidney stone trying to work it's way down to the bladder. I had another boost of morphine, and visits from the PA and the doctor. The guy next door goes blue line, and they are able to bring him back. I feel a little stupid about being in the emergency room (the pain killers masking the memory of how bad the pain was). The nurse and the PA assure me that 3-5mm kidney stones can feel as bad (or worse) than child birth (at 5mm they start discussing surgery, at 4mm they said a second trip to the ER wasn't out of the realm of possibility). They set me up with a prescription for flomax (to help pee), ibuprofen to help open the ureter, and percoset for the pain, a filter I need to pee through and a specimen bottle to hold the stone , and a referral to a urologist to see if these stones are preventable (if I can capture it) and for follow up. We're back home six-hours later, finally able to have some food, wishing I had accepted that last morphine injection. So I take my meds and now I feel a bit goofy. I don't know if I'm going to be able to drive this way tomorrow.
So, for a while, Steve is going to be in pain. I'm sure there's a few hundred typos I didn't catch, but until I get my head back, that's the way it's gonna-haveta-be. I'm going to go for a lie down.
I had a much better post planned for Memorial Day, but I can't do that level of writing right at the moment. Sorry.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Deep into the night
Trying to catch up with all that other stuff I let go by in April and May and feeling itchy about not getting new words down. I think it's mostly because I've been burning the candle at both ends far too long and can't quite get my stride back. I feel the words rumbling there behind my daylight stunned consciousness. There's a wall of stubborn cellophane between the fingers and the flow.
And the pressure to publish again grows like a cancer in my brain. A cure of chemo and targeted radiation just out of reach. I distract myself like a drug addled oxycontin addict, powdering the markets and sniffing for faded highs. Using google like a heroin junkie uses methadone. Is there a Bette Ford clinic out there for users like us?
The work cruises across the the ocean of life in the same way an iceberg cruises the shipping lanes. Looks harmless enough from afar, almost serene with it's wind sculpted ridges, until you decide to tackle it. Then what's underneath rips your day open and sends you to the bottom, drowned in the cold unforgiving sea of responsibility. In the darkness of the waves beats the heart of the universe. That pounding in the ears, reminder of life going on.
So you learn how to breath water, eat salt, and swim with leviathan.
And the pressure to publish again grows like a cancer in my brain. A cure of chemo and targeted radiation just out of reach. I distract myself like a drug addled oxycontin addict, powdering the markets and sniffing for faded highs. Using google like a heroin junkie uses methadone. Is there a Bette Ford clinic out there for users like us?
The work cruises across the the ocean of life in the same way an iceberg cruises the shipping lanes. Looks harmless enough from afar, almost serene with it's wind sculpted ridges, until you decide to tackle it. Then what's underneath rips your day open and sends you to the bottom, drowned in the cold unforgiving sea of responsibility. In the darkness of the waves beats the heart of the universe. That pounding in the ears, reminder of life going on.
So you learn how to breath water, eat salt, and swim with leviathan.
Those fun personality tests
The Manga Geek (QLBM)
Quirky Liberal Beta Male
You scored 1 on Maleness, higher than 83% of your peers.
I have a penis. Gotcha.
You scored -4 on Normality, higher than 27% of your peers.
Well, I could have told you that.
You scored -1 on Tradition, higher than 22% of your peers.
Tradition, that's a song in Fiddler on the Roof, aint' it?
You scored 0 on Dominance, higher than 19% of your peers.
Okay, I don't see this at all. What do you think?
First of all, we can't help but notice that you spend an awful lot of time reading Hentei. Other than that though, you have a gentleness around women they find attractive. Seek out ones as quirky as you and you're golden.
Well, no, can't stand all that much of japanese cartoons. Hell, I get hives just thinking about Speed Racer. And that "gentleness" thing, I guess that's why Steve was the confessor of choice for most of my life.
You are more QUIRKY than NORMAL.
I mock normal. Really, I do. Normal is what uninteresting people are.
You are more LIBERAL than TRADITIONAL.
If by "traditional" you mean "mouth-breathing Bible thumper" then, yeah, I see your point here. Or compared to the "Puritan ideal" oh way sure. Those people were idiots. Their continuing existence (in modern mythology) is proof of the phrase, "God favors the insane."
You are more PASSIVE than DOMINANT.
Again, not seeing it. Maybe I misunderstood something. Or, if this is compared to someone in a leather mask and ass-less chaps or someone who berates their wife in public for a minor offense, well, you got me there, Sparky.
When picking a date, consider: The Rarity (QTAF), The Renaissance Faire Wench (QLAF), The Librarian (QTBF), or The Emo Girl (QLBF).
Emo Girl? You've got to be kidding me. And who doesn't value the rare, librarian wench. You'd have to be nuts not to.
Well, all the cool kids were doing it so I thought I'd try it out. What Kinda Man/Woman Are You.
As the tag line says, "This test will analyze your personality, values, and interests based on a few easily misinterpreted questions. Then it will use this insufficent data to make biased and innacurate assumptions about you and offer you unsoliceted advice. Prepare to be labeled for life!" Well, I guess it lived up to the advertisement.
Quirky Liberal Beta Male
You scored 1 on Maleness, higher than 83% of your peers.
I have a penis. Gotcha.
You scored -4 on Normality, higher than 27% of your peers.
Well, I could have told you that.
You scored -1 on Tradition, higher than 22% of your peers.
Tradition, that's a song in Fiddler on the Roof, aint' it?
You scored 0 on Dominance, higher than 19% of your peers.
Okay, I don't see this at all. What do you think?
First of all, we can't help but notice that you spend an awful lot of time reading Hentei. Other than that though, you have a gentleness around women they find attractive. Seek out ones as quirky as you and you're golden.
Well, no, can't stand all that much of japanese cartoons. Hell, I get hives just thinking about Speed Racer. And that "gentleness" thing, I guess that's why Steve was the confessor of choice for most of my life.
You are more QUIRKY than NORMAL.
I mock normal. Really, I do. Normal is what uninteresting people are.
You are more LIBERAL than TRADITIONAL.
If by "traditional" you mean "mouth-breathing Bible thumper" then, yeah, I see your point here. Or compared to the "Puritan ideal" oh way sure. Those people were idiots. Their continuing existence (in modern mythology) is proof of the phrase, "God favors the insane."
You are more PASSIVE than DOMINANT.
Again, not seeing it. Maybe I misunderstood something. Or, if this is compared to someone in a leather mask and ass-less chaps or someone who berates their wife in public for a minor offense, well, you got me there, Sparky.
When picking a date, consider: The Rarity (QTAF), The Renaissance Faire Wench (QLAF), The Librarian (QTBF), or The Emo Girl (QLBF).
Emo Girl? You've got to be kidding me. And who doesn't value the rare, librarian wench. You'd have to be nuts not to.
Well, all the cool kids were doing it so I thought I'd try it out. What Kinda Man/Woman Are You.
As the tag line says, "This test will analyze your personality, values, and interests based on a few easily misinterpreted questions. Then it will use this insufficent data to make biased and innacurate assumptions about you and offer you unsoliceted advice. Prepare to be labeled for life!" Well, I guess it lived up to the advertisement.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The virtuous circle of fairy tales
Via Matt Stages linkage posts
There's a Guardian story about a scholar that denies fairy tales come from oral roots. As you know, Bob, I have more than a passing interest in fairy tales.
Now Dr. Ruth Bottigheimer is no piker in this argument (no, seriously, just do an Amazon search) but what I think we have here is a basic sandbox conversation. Some fairy tales do have their origin in printed material and specific story telling, even if those tales were sold as an "as told by" kind of fashion. To deny that many of what we consider modern fairy tales (ie. those that have been or could have been Disneyified) don't owe their "tradition" to the various publishing centers and groups (such as the Les Contes des Fées) of Europe is to be silly. And not all of those tales were of "oral descent." Many were fabricated out of bits and pieces of existing tales and brought together (Disney wasn't the first to take a idea as template and hang a story around it, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, you might want to read any of the Disney fairy tales in pre-Disney texts).
But then to take that idea and make a blanket statement to all fairy tales is also to be silly. You'd have to ignore the preponderance of evidence against it, such as ethnographical sources, tales that specifically go against the values of those who were publishing, older echoes of tales withing the tales that come down to us (this is like identifying books that no longer exist by the references made in books that still do exist), and the ongoing creation of fables and tales by the general population (although in this modern day of mass communication, cross talk between folk and media is inevitable, but just thirty years ago it was possible to make bright lines between the forms). I'll just note that I sometimes do posts about the modern myths we tell ourselves (like the internet is "instant").
Now, of course, I could be making the argument that the elderly gentleman did after having it explained to him in detail that there were no little people in the TV and how TV worked when he replied, "Okay, I understand, but there still must be some little people in there." However I think I'm on pretty solid ground. Heck, there's a show that (somewhat) is devoted to these things called "Mythbusters" (when they're not specifically doing "movie myths"). Urban legends are just a form of folk tale.
And here is where knowing about other disiplines comes into play. Classical music (actually Romantic or Barroque) also has some ties into "folk" music. The composers lived in a world surrounded by live music, not all of which was "composed for the stage." They took the melodies they heard and wrapped them into thier compositions. Which would be heard by the common people, who would then wrap them into their own folk music. It's a cycle that feeds itself.
When we write, we have history. We've been reading, listening, soaking up all that makes humanity for however many years, and all that comes back out on the page. You can't stop the signal. It's the common baseline, the archetype of life and existance. So to take one side and say an author writes including only what they've read is to be silly. You can't turn off all the conversations you've had since you were a child, all those come into play when you write dialog. Everything you've seen if grist for the visual mill of story. And once it's out there on the page, and somebody reads it, their world is changed. The words give frames and meanings to things. It's a self-feeding cycle. Our brains are wired this way.
So to weedle out where one starts and the other ends is to travel the mobius strips that are our lives. Each one will end up with proof their concept is right and the other side is wrong. And their booth looking at the same side, but talking about different things. Although the use the same language, which is our frame on life, so we think we're talking about the same thing.
There's a Guardian story about a scholar that denies fairy tales come from oral roots. As you know, Bob, I have more than a passing interest in fairy tales.
Now Dr. Ruth Bottigheimer is no piker in this argument (no, seriously, just do an Amazon search) but what I think we have here is a basic sandbox conversation. Some fairy tales do have their origin in printed material and specific story telling, even if those tales were sold as an "as told by" kind of fashion. To deny that many of what we consider modern fairy tales (ie. those that have been or could have been Disneyified) don't owe their "tradition" to the various publishing centers and groups (such as the Les Contes des Fées) of Europe is to be silly. And not all of those tales were of "oral descent." Many were fabricated out of bits and pieces of existing tales and brought together (Disney wasn't the first to take a idea as template and hang a story around it, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, you might want to read any of the Disney fairy tales in pre-Disney texts).
But then to take that idea and make a blanket statement to all fairy tales is also to be silly. You'd have to ignore the preponderance of evidence against it, such as ethnographical sources, tales that specifically go against the values of those who were publishing, older echoes of tales withing the tales that come down to us (this is like identifying books that no longer exist by the references made in books that still do exist), and the ongoing creation of fables and tales by the general population (although in this modern day of mass communication, cross talk between folk and media is inevitable, but just thirty years ago it was possible to make bright lines between the forms). I'll just note that I sometimes do posts about the modern myths we tell ourselves (like the internet is "instant").
Now, of course, I could be making the argument that the elderly gentleman did after having it explained to him in detail that there were no little people in the TV and how TV worked when he replied, "Okay, I understand, but there still must be some little people in there." However I think I'm on pretty solid ground. Heck, there's a show that (somewhat) is devoted to these things called "Mythbusters" (when they're not specifically doing "movie myths"). Urban legends are just a form of folk tale.
And here is where knowing about other disiplines comes into play. Classical music (actually Romantic or Barroque) also has some ties into "folk" music. The composers lived in a world surrounded by live music, not all of which was "composed for the stage." They took the melodies they heard and wrapped them into thier compositions. Which would be heard by the common people, who would then wrap them into their own folk music. It's a cycle that feeds itself.
When we write, we have history. We've been reading, listening, soaking up all that makes humanity for however many years, and all that comes back out on the page. You can't stop the signal. It's the common baseline, the archetype of life and existance. So to take one side and say an author writes including only what they've read is to be silly. You can't turn off all the conversations you've had since you were a child, all those come into play when you write dialog. Everything you've seen if grist for the visual mill of story. And once it's out there on the page, and somebody reads it, their world is changed. The words give frames and meanings to things. It's a self-feeding cycle. Our brains are wired this way.
So to weedle out where one starts and the other ends is to travel the mobius strips that are our lives. Each one will end up with proof their concept is right and the other side is wrong. And their booth looking at the same side, but talking about different things. Although the use the same language, which is our frame on life, so we think we're talking about the same thing.
Things I kinda knew about myself
(groked from Eric Reynolds' LJ)
Your results:
You are Jean-Luc Picard
Jean-Luc Picard 75%
Leonard McCoy (Bones) 70%
Geordi LaForge 70%
James T. Kirk (Captain) 65%
Mr. Sulu 65%
Worf 65%
An Expendable Character (Redshirt) 65%
Will Riker 60%
Spock 57%
Beverly Crusher 55%
Deanna Troi 55%
Data 48%
Mr. Scott 45%
Uhura 40%
Chekov 35%
A lover of Shakespeare and other fine literature. You have a decisive mind and a firm hand in dealing with others.
Click here to take the "Which Star Trek character am I?" quiz...
Although the high affinity for generic red-shirt has me worried.
Your results:
You are Jean-Luc Picard
Jean-Luc Picard 75%
Leonard McCoy (Bones) 70%
Geordi LaForge 70%
James T. Kirk (Captain) 65%
Mr. Sulu 65%
Worf 65%
An Expendable Character (Redshirt) 65%
Will Riker 60%
Spock 57%
Beverly Crusher 55%
Deanna Troi 55%
Data 48%
Mr. Scott 45%
Uhura 40%
Chekov 35%
A lover of Shakespeare and other fine literature. You have a decisive mind and a firm hand in dealing with others.
Click here to take the "Which Star Trek character am I?" quiz...
Although the high affinity for generic red-shirt has me worried.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
It's the 400th anniversary of the publication of Shakespeare's sonnets.
If you can't be a ham and do Hamlet
They will not give a damn or a damlet
Just recite an occasional sonnet
And your lap'll have honey upon it
If you can't be a ham and do Hamlet
They will not give a damn or a damlet
Just recite an occasional sonnet
And your lap'll have honey upon it
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Hail Atlantis!
Way up next to the Hubble, where I wanna be, she may be.
In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, go read. And before the gnashing of teeth happens five years from now, we installed the last of the parts we had for the Hubble. Even if we have a launch vehicle to go repair her, this is our last trip to Hubble. She's on borrowed time from here out. And, yes, there is a replacement planned. The Web may not make as spectacular images as the Hubble, but it will be a more scientific instrument.
So while we have both, hail Atlantis. Hail Hubble. Safe journey.
And since it's somewhat related, a video of galactic-core rise (groked from Jay Lake's link salad).
In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, go read. And before the gnashing of teeth happens five years from now, we installed the last of the parts we had for the Hubble. Even if we have a launch vehicle to go repair her, this is our last trip to Hubble. She's on borrowed time from here out. And, yes, there is a replacement planned. The Web may not make as spectacular images as the Hubble, but it will be a more scientific instrument.
So while we have both, hail Atlantis. Hail Hubble. Safe journey.
And since it's somewhat related, a video of galactic-core rise (groked from Jay Lake's link salad).
Monday, May 18, 2009
Submissions
Now that I'm home I was able to get my submissions back in order. The flash piece Prince Wanted is off to OSC Intergalactic Medicine Show. A History of Lightning is in the inbox at Shimmer. And the poem "Rag-a-Bag" is off to Chizine, since they're probably going to buy "Scrimshaw Man." Maybe lightning will strike twice there. Good luck little stories and poem, make Daddy proud.
Monday Saddling Up
Steve got a new toy today! It's a Dyson DC07.
I've lusted after these babies since I read the Dyson story in an industrial design magazine ten-years ago. It may seem strange that a boy would lust after a vacuum cleaner, but these things are very cool. They are also very high-tech pieces of kit. They are what other bagless vacuums want to be when they grow up. The DV07 is one of his older models, but they still manufacture it. I bought a refurb, which is about the only way I could afford one. Their price point has kept me from purchasing one the last two times I've needed to buy a vacuum.
The last one I bought was a Royal/Dirt Devil. I used to have a Big Red Machine, which were excellent little vaccums, well designed and well built. But they no longer make them, which is a pity because what they are making now aren't near the quality of design, manufacture, and use. Which is a sad statement. At the end we were replacing the belt every third of fourth time we used it, and it started leaking grease. Never mind the clogging filters, the annoying way of dumping the thing out, duct taping the hose back together, and that how they designed the power cord lead it to being chewed to hell. I've re-taped the thing, well, I forget how many times. At least five.
I put the Dyson puppy together and did a trial run. First impressions are it's about half the noise level of other vacuums we've owned, and it picks up pretty well. It's a little awkward to use the tools, but that's an acceptable trade off. I love that when upright the beater bar doesn't turn. The hose looks better constructed, and it has an excellent feel to it. So far I think I made a good choice.
I've lusted after these babies since I read the Dyson story in an industrial design magazine ten-years ago. It may seem strange that a boy would lust after a vacuum cleaner, but these things are very cool. They are also very high-tech pieces of kit. They are what other bagless vacuums want to be when they grow up. The DV07 is one of his older models, but they still manufacture it. I bought a refurb, which is about the only way I could afford one. Their price point has kept me from purchasing one the last two times I've needed to buy a vacuum.
The last one I bought was a Royal/Dirt Devil. I used to have a Big Red Machine, which were excellent little vaccums, well designed and well built. But they no longer make them, which is a pity because what they are making now aren't near the quality of design, manufacture, and use. Which is a sad statement. At the end we were replacing the belt every third of fourth time we used it, and it started leaking grease. Never mind the clogging filters, the annoying way of dumping the thing out, duct taping the hose back together, and that how they designed the power cord lead it to being chewed to hell. I've re-taped the thing, well, I forget how many times. At least five.
I put the Dyson puppy together and did a trial run. First impressions are it's about half the noise level of other vacuums we've owned, and it picks up pretty well. It's a little awkward to use the tools, but that's an acceptable trade off. I love that when upright the beater bar doesn't turn. The hose looks better constructed, and it has an excellent feel to it. So far I think I made a good choice.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Soon to be on the road again
Wrapping up thing in the workshop. Car is packed (except for me and the laptop). Hopefully the drive will be only around six hours long today, as I got up early and couldn't fall back asleep, even though I'm tired.
And then, tomorrow, the day job. Which I haven't talked about too much. As (some of) you know, Bob, my first college major was computer programming (including working in computer labs as a work study program). Then I ran away from that (my choice to leave) and thought I had put myself far from those maddening shores.
(Insert universe's evil laugh here) (or a coyote barking, it sounds the same in my head)
Then came the desktop revolution and while I've done some board work, most of my professional life has been centered around working on and with the computer. Well, that wasn't so bad. Macromedia Director was okay with scripting, because I was being the cool multi-media artists. Then came the Web Revolution, which meant learning HTML. Okay, it's a tagged page description tool, sorta like postscript, so I can handle it. Then was Javascript and Java. That's when the squick factor returned. CSS, Flash, and XML and my discomfort levels went back up. And soon we're to acquire a new tool at work that I feel will involve, not heavy programing, but more deeper and complex scripting.
Other people are haunted by ghosts, I'm haunted by computer programming.
But, I can do it, it pays, and it allows me to do the other things I want to do. Sure, it's bartering with soul-taking stakes, but I think I can do it. I've played that game of chicken before, I think I know when to swerve before we hit the soul-sucking crash.
And, damn it, I just realized why the trickster had been so silent lately. Bastard.
And then, tomorrow, the day job. Which I haven't talked about too much. As (some of) you know, Bob, my first college major was computer programming (including working in computer labs as a work study program). Then I ran away from that (my choice to leave) and thought I had put myself far from those maddening shores.
(Insert universe's evil laugh here) (or a coyote barking, it sounds the same in my head)
Then came the desktop revolution and while I've done some board work, most of my professional life has been centered around working on and with the computer. Well, that wasn't so bad. Macromedia Director was okay with scripting, because I was being the cool multi-media artists. Then came the Web Revolution, which meant learning HTML. Okay, it's a tagged page description tool, sorta like postscript, so I can handle it. Then was Javascript and Java. That's when the squick factor returned. CSS, Flash, and XML and my discomfort levels went back up. And soon we're to acquire a new tool at work that I feel will involve, not heavy programing, but more deeper and complex scripting.
Other people are haunted by ghosts, I'm haunted by computer programming.
But, I can do it, it pays, and it allows me to do the other things I want to do. Sure, it's bartering with soul-taking stakes, but I think I can do it. I've played that game of chicken before, I think I know when to swerve before we hit the soul-sucking crash.
And, damn it, I just realized why the trickster had been so silent lately. Bastard.
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