Chunky

Dreadful air, with fog, so that I thought, waiting for the light to turn in at work, "How'd I get to Beijing?" I was not the only one to have this thought, it seemed the consensus impression. Yes, I had turned off the engine, knowing I had a good minute or so to wait through the whole light cycle.

Somewhat better by the time I got home, a bit of wind drew away some of the chunky poison.

Both of us are congested, mildly nauseated, sandy-eyed and vaguely unwell. Moby has mostly taken to the hotpad chair. Eleanor baith, blythe and bonny as ever.

Got to show this to the hand surgeon I worked with today, she was fascinated. A jeweler born without fingers. I imagine if I knew her personally, I would come not to notice the difference. As I often don't notice missing fingers, although I sort of do. Notice, then it becomes normal. As my father's missing finger seemed strange only in that I only thought of it occasionally. One of those things I never minded in the least. Although after he lost another half finger, I began to wonder how much inattention and carelessness had to do with his injuries.

I do see injuries, even old ones. Often, part of me sees it, and marks it 'irrelevant' and moves on. Even quite obvious oddities.