Happenstance, thy name is coincidence
Oct. 15th, 2010 05:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceNot many weeks ago at all, I asked on someone's LJ (tho' I disremember whose) whether anyone had used diabetes in a classic secondary-world fantasy setting.
Well, Guy Gavriel Kay has, in Under Heaven. Roshan has the sugar sickness, and it matters.
In other news, I just cried off the Sarah Waters gig tonight. I was meaning to go, I tried to go; I got fifty yards down the street and was spitting blood again. So I am home to rest some more. And read some more, and maybe watch a movie.
In other other news, apparently surgical interventions give me an appetite. In hospital, I ate and ate (and still lost weight, but that's another matter); a friend amuses himself utterly by telling how he found me enthusing over plastic-wrapped hospital cake, when I was still so full of morphine I have no memory of it whatsoever.
Right now eating is problematic, so I'm not doing that so much, but I am drinking tea and tea and tea. Watch Buffy? Make tea. Read GGK? Make more tea. Anyone would think I were a cliche Englishman or something.
In other other other news, I knew this was coming, so I made chicken stock for soup. It is probably the best chicken stock in the world, ever. I made it with two "hard chickens", which my Asian foodstore cornershop will sell me for three-fifty the pair. These are old tough tasty birds, and I will try them in a coq au vin, but these I only wanted for the stock. So I simmered 'em to rags; which means of course that I have a whole lot of raggy chicken-flesh in the fridge, with neither texture nor flavour worth the speaking of.
Y'know what? The boys don't care. It's chicken. They think they're in kitty heaven; they get chicken for the asking! Every time I go near the kitchen! It's like being in hospital, they can eat and eat and eat...
Well, Guy Gavriel Kay has, in Under Heaven. Roshan has the sugar sickness, and it matters.
In other news, I just cried off the Sarah Waters gig tonight. I was meaning to go, I tried to go; I got fifty yards down the street and was spitting blood again. So I am home to rest some more. And read some more, and maybe watch a movie.
In other other news, apparently surgical interventions give me an appetite. In hospital, I ate and ate (and still lost weight, but that's another matter); a friend amuses himself utterly by telling how he found me enthusing over plastic-wrapped hospital cake, when I was still so full of morphine I have no memory of it whatsoever.
Right now eating is problematic, so I'm not doing that so much, but I am drinking tea and tea and tea. Watch Buffy? Make tea. Read GGK? Make more tea. Anyone would think I were a cliche Englishman or something.
In other other other news, I knew this was coming, so I made chicken stock for soup. It is probably the best chicken stock in the world, ever. I made it with two "hard chickens", which my Asian foodstore cornershop will sell me for three-fifty the pair. These are old tough tasty birds, and I will try them in a coq au vin, but these I only wanted for the stock. So I simmered 'em to rags; which means of course that I have a whole lot of raggy chicken-flesh in the fridge, with neither texture nor flavour worth the speaking of.
Y'know what? The boys don't care. It's chicken. They think they're in kitty heaven; they get chicken for the asking! Every time I go near the kitchen! It's like being in hospital, they can eat and eat and eat...