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I can see! I can... boy, you guys are ugly. - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
I can see! I can... boy, you guys are ugly.
The latest wrinkle in George's ongoing nervous breakdown just now was getting to the light-blue-screen stage of his booting-up process, giving me a responding cursor, and then sitting there going "...Erm, what bit comes next, again?" instead of proceeding to his desktop. Argh. I suspect this would be a vital clue to what's actually going on with him overall, if I could spare him to take him in...

Meanwhile, my own mental state has not been improved by the appearance over the weekend of a large wooden frame about 2' high around one of the former garden-plots out back; it currently contains a carefully-laid layer of dead leaves, a contractor-bucket, and a garden-trowel, but nothing resembling an actual Intent To Plant such as, say, mud. I have the horrible feeling that this is intended to be the finished product and it's some sort of a sandbox or corral for the children in the building, which if so has to be the most asininely selfish thing I've ever seen in my whole damn life, considering that only 3 of our 10 units have children of an applicable age to use something like that. Even if it is only an intermediate stage to an eventual raised-bed planting, I'd have to say it still represents a permanent, substantive, material change to a common-area of the building, and as such should have been signed off on by all of the owners first regardless of whether we're current on the association-fees, and if they ever bother to have another meeting that everyone's invited to and told about, Mum shall raise this point. With extreme prejudice. Because if it weren't for the fact that they have my email, nobody would ever attempt to contact this unit at all about anything, which is just shabby of them.

As to the garden itself, we spent the weekend budgeting out the part of Mum's tax-refund that we didn't spend on, oh, finally getting me new glasses (it's been fifteen years and as it turns out a whole diopter, which isn't so much a matter of not being able to read street-signs, as not being able to see street-signs), and it looks as if we can put together something that will meet all of the required conditions except not being a lurid shade of neon-green that the neighbors are just bloody well going to have to live with, for an amount that we can justify and cover out-of-pocket. (Because, y'know, we were going to spend a bit of that money to start demonstrating good-faith on catching up with the assessments, but at this point, fuck it, they can just go back to the end of the queue again.) So we should be good on that.

If I'm never seen again, therefore, I'm lying squashed somewhere under a sack of mud, swearing about my neighbors with my dying breath; meanwhile, meeksp has illustrated a scene from the previous Original Fiction Project, Liane's job-interview with Robling and his golem;

Liane's job interview, illustration by meeksp

Remember to tip your artist with comments. :) Whilst I'm waiting to make that garden-supplies run this weekend, I shall be working on the next installment of the current Original-Fiction Project, assuming George doesn't decide he really does need to be rushed back to the Mothership right now...

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meeksp From: meeksp Date: May 12th, 2011 04:37 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Thanks for the link!
In response to viewer comments, I'm going to be working some more on this image over the next couple of days, so if any other Tin Man fans out there want to see anything added or changed, please let me know! As always, both tips and feedback are much appreciated!
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