At the Flea Market
- Finding some nice toys for the Superlon [nearly ready].
- Keeping my jacket on my arm.
- Having a conversation with an another customer.
Lady customer: I saw that first.
Lady customer: The jacket. I saw it first.
Me: No, it's mine.
Lady customer: I saw it. I want it.
Me: No, it really is mine. I'm wearing it. I have bought it already from the shop. It is not for sale.
- The greedy Lady customer don't believe me.
- She is pushing me towards the table.
- I'm hitting my leg.
Ouch. [But I still own my own jacket.]
Coming out from the shop
The setting: a slippery uphill [still snowing here].
- Carrying two huge shopping bags, one handbag, one canvas bag (15 books inside) and a packet of dog food (10 kg).
[I'm not a weightlifter-lady with a moustache. I'm just.. erm ...strong. ]
- Falling down.
- The dog food is flying in the air.
- Hitting my tail to the asphalt.
The setting: a home in the 4th floor. No lift.
- Carrying up everything previously mentioned and two fighting kids.
- My leg is hurting.
- My tail is hurting.
- My throat is hurting
- My eyes are dripping.
- Having a fever.
- Having a ravenlike voice again.
In the kitchen
- Boiling some potatoes.
- The odd, naughty potatoes don't get boiled.
- Offering Mr. Fox some nonboiled potatoes.
- Having a massive scene by myself.
- Shouting: Boil your own potatoes!
I'm going to the bed now.
About posthumanism - I’m reading Katherine Hayles’s How We Became Posthuman (which Blogger turns into *“Postman”*, which is nice, and sexist), and came across this on Twitter a...
5 days ago