Freeday 16 April 1999


Pic of the day: Am I really that transparent?

*wobble* Week gone already? They don't usually fly this fast. I've barely had time to visit Daggerfall all week. Uploading dozens and dozens of old pages to the Diary Farm is a slow process, mostly because Crosswind's servers are already slow. So I've spent unusually much time online, surfing around in Opera while uploading in IE. And on top of it all, I'm not sure how many other than the spambots are going to look through the stuff. Well, I've been reading quite a bit of back issues of Nova Notes, but then again they are interesting. And there's still probably one and a half year I've not seen yet.

Well, at least I don't do much harm that time.

My back still hurts slightly, it was pretty bad this morning after I helped a lady get her child-wagon out of the bus ... perambulator? Perambulator??? Come on. It's not every month I look up an unknown word in my Norwegian-English handbook, but this is ridiculous. I'm reading more English than Norwegian, I've been reading my way from the depths of the human soul to the boundaries of the universe, from the large intestine to black magic, and I've never ever seen this word. Perhaps English mothers don't roll their kids along in miniature carriages with wheels and a handle. Or perhaps it's a taboo in Anglo-Saxon culture. I've got a good memory, and if I'd ever seen or heard someone talk about their perambulator, I'd be sure to notice. Luckily the true name, child-wagon (literal translation from Norwegian) says it all.

Anyway, the femme had to get out of the bus with that wheeled carriage and the young people ran away (as would normally I, but the poor driver was otherwise occupied). So I twisted my muscles in a knot. (I've been loosening up through the day, though.) I come from the countryside where people sort of ... count. They're not just moving background. You help people, people help you, when need be. There's nobody else to do it than you, often enough. I'm getting more hardened with the years, but there's still a trace left, it seems.

Oh, I guess I blew my reward in Heaven by telling y'all about it. But if I come to Heaven at all, I guess I should be mighty happy even without whatever the going rate is for lifting medium heavy object for strangers. And if I don't get in there, I guess they won't send it after me where I go.

Peeve: Web diarists that tell their relatives and other people who know them to stay away. Come on already. Pt 1, this is sure to sucker them in if they ever find yous site. (Of course, this just might be the idea...) Pt 2, how many lives do we have? Living too many at the same time must be a cruel stress. I won't say "I am who I am" exactly, I also hide and paint a little, but I won't say things about you that I can't say to you. Unless I love you, at least. I seem unable to say that. Not that I need to, me being transparent and all.

Blasts from my past:
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