Sunday, 25 September 2016

The best thing ever

Bro and I used to be so close; best friends. A weird mix between buddy and parent, he's always been in a category of his own. Someone to rely on and look up to; a person who defined many of my concepts of right and wrong.

I grew up, he did too. He had it tough, I had some toughies of my own. We grew apart and gave up on each other and tried not to and had horrible fights. I think he's unhappy; I told him so three years ago and he disagreed. No facts came to change my mind, though.

The second best thing in my life - the first being husband - was taking coaching from Racheli. She taught me how to not be angry and hurt all the time, and the change is the most significant I've ever gone through. And today, after over 18 months of gentle prodding, a lot of patience so as to not apply pressure and about 3-4 sale speeches, brother finally went to Racheli.

And I hope this will make him happy; because then I might get my brother back, and maybe this time we'll be all patient and kind and caring with each other, and I can keep him forever

Saturday, 10 September 2016

England, 2016

This trip was simply wonderful. After six years of burrowing in thoughts like 'I'm too ashamed of being fat to be seen by my friends', 'hiking is too uncomfortable when you're fat and have a Schprizie' and 'I can't carry that backpack', it all went down the drain in a jolly flush of reality. The plane seat was comfortable; nobody said anything about my size; I walked for seven hours with a racksack and it was okay, if challenging on the feet; in short, I wasn't the cripple I felt like for the past six years. So many yays.

And now that that's out of the system, here's the nicer part: pictures.

The Shard

The Shard in London was built during 2013, and it has 72 floors and extravagance galore. The 31st floor hosts the most elegant, expensive restaurant I've ever been to, complete with French waiters who treat you perfectly nicely (I'm so grateful the fashion of snooty waiters is gone, that was always so awkward). They serve the crunchiest, sweetest peas ever for the meagre price of your kidney, steaks for 65 quid and exotic lavatories in which you can enjoy a booth entirely lined with blue mirrors on the inside (I've never been quite that intimate with my own knees, I swear), or urinals right by the full-wall window so you can do your deed and feel as if the produce is raining on London City. Amazing.
הטיול הזה היה נהדר. אחרי שש שנים של התחפרות בתפיסת "אני שמנה, אני מתביישת שהחברים שלי יראו אותי ככה", "לא נוח לטייל כשאת שמנה", "מה אעשה אם יכאב לי" ו"אני לא יכולה ללכת בקלות", כל זה עף מהחלון בלי ששמתי לב בכלל. המושב במטוס (בטיסת לואו קוסט, אגב) היה נוח; אף אחד לא העיר לי כלום; עשיתי שבע שעות ברגל בלונדון וסחבתי תיק כבד על הגב (לאן נעלם הכאב בחולייה ההיא בצוואר?), ולמרות שכפות הרגליים התלוננו, לא הייתי מוגבלת; לא הייתי הנכה למחצה שחשבתי שאני בשש השנים האחרונות. איזה שחרור.

ועכשיו, אחרי האקספוזיציה המתבקשת, החלק היפה - תמונות.

The Shard

בבניין לונדוני בן 72 קומות שהוקם בשנת 2013, בקומה ה-31, ישנה המסעדה הכי מפונפנת ויקרה שביקרתי בה. לכל המלצרים יש מבטא צרפתי, וכולם שירותיים להפליא ולגמרי בגובה העיניים (ואיזה כיף שהאופנה השתנתה, כי פעם מלצרים נפוחים היו הדבר וזה לא היה נעים בכלל). מגישים שם אפונה ירוקה טעימה ופריכה במחיר צנוע של כליה ממוצעת, סטייקים ב-350 שקל וצלחות עם מנות זעירות ומשביעות המעוטרות בפרחים חיים. בהנחה ששברתם שש תכניות חסכון כדי לאכול כאן, תוכלו ליהנות מנוף לונדון-מלמעלה שרואים רק במשחקי מחשב, ומחוויות כמו תא שירותים שכל קירותיו מראות כחולות (מעולם לא התוודעתי באינטימיות כזו לברכיים שלי), או לעמוד מול משתנה קבועה בקיר זכוכית ולהטיל מימיכם כמו אוליגרך היישר אל לונדון הצופה ממטה. 


The goal of this trip was to meet Jack, who's the kind of online-friend turned best-friend - the kind that always makes me feel silly for not having met; I mean, we spend a million hours spilling our guts to each other for two years, how is it possible we've never seen each other for real? That doesn't work for me. I'm glad I came over, then, as was he - which also serves to fix the lingering trauma of that whole crappy Poland thing, six years ago. Yay.

Jack lives with his family in the ass-end of all ass-ends somewhere in Kent, which is wonderful; A countryside village complete with sheep, fields and a single pub, with the closest town being ten minutes by car. Their house is cozy, pretty, spacious, well kept, tastefully decorated and so harmonious I rather wished I could live in something like it all my life. I still do. It has a garden longer than the way from my home to the grocer's, complete with fairy statues and herbs and trellises and roses, with a tiny foresty path that looks like it should lead to Narnia. When I told Jack I didn't get why he'd spend hours in Lord of the Rings Online when he has that in his back garden he just shrugged. Honestly; even the little bench at the back of the garden seems to manifest everything I ever wanted in a fantasy world:


מטרת הטיול הייתה לפגוש את ג'ק, שהוא חבר טוב מהסוג שפוגשים אונליין, מבלים איתו אינספור שעות במשחקי מחשב ונהיים סופר-קרובים, ואז תוהים איך זה שלא נפגשנו פנים אל פנים בכלל. יש אנשים שזה לא אכפת להם, אבל לי זה לא מסתדר; ואני כל כך שמחה שנפגשנו. זו גם, איך לומר, חוויה מתקנת לכל עניין פולין המזורגג לפני שש שנים. 

ג'ק גר עם המשפחה בחור הכי חורי בקנט, ישוב כפרי מהסוג שיש בו כבשים ושדות ופאב יחיד, והעיר הקרובה גם היא חור, ומתקראת אשפורד. הבית שלהם כפרי, חמוד, מרווח, מטופח, ועם גינה של מאה מטר שנמתחת לתוך מעבר מיוער שנראה כאילו הוא מוביל לנרניה. בשלב הזה גערתי בג'ק שאני לא מבינה למה הוא מבלה שעות בשר הטבעות אונליין כשיש לו את כל זה בחצר האחורית, אבל ג'ק, בריטי שכמותו, משך בכתפיו הצנומות ואמר שזה לא אותו דבר. מבחינתי הספסל בגינה שלו היה כל עולמות הפנטסיה שאי פעם חיפשתי.

This ever-so-soft lighting, the misty gray of England, is so lovely to me. I'm ever tempted to cheat with Photoshop and remove it to get some better contrast and brighter colours, but I feel it would take away the mists-of-Avalon feel of it.

And if anyone forgot whose blog this is and hoped to avoid pornographic flower closeups, they're wrong. The simplest thing - the front window on their house - is such a splash of brilliant colours I honestly think it might have been the prettiest thing I saw on the trip.
התאורה הרכה-רכה הזו, האפרוריות המעורפלת של אנגליה, כל כך יפה בעיני. אני מתפתה לרמות עם פוטושופ ולסלק אותה לטובת חשיפה מיטבית וצבעים רווים, אבל זה גורע כל כך הרבה מתחושת המקום שבחרתי לוותר.

ואם מישהו שכח שזה הבלוג שלי וחשב שיתחמק מתקריבים פורנוגרפיים של פרחים, הוא טעה. הדבר הכי פשוט בעולם - החלון הקדמי בבית - נראה כמו פלא יפהפה בעיני, וגרם לי מאד להתגעגע לאמא, שהייתה אוהבת אותו כל כך. בלי להגזים, בעיני זה אולי הדבר הכי יפה שראיתי בטיול.


Jack is my lucky charm, and as such, having failed to find a hotel, it turned out I could lodge in his family's caravan. Jack's family fits perfectly with the image of their home: friendly, warm, kind, gentle, harmonious - and such is also their caravan, 30 minutes' drive from their place. It was so sweet I referred to it as "A palace in the Shire", and I still stand by it.

It's located in a caravan lot that's right on the cliffs by Falkenstone, where you can see the town on one side, and (perhaps) the blurry, mystic view of the shore of France on the other; suddely I understood every yearning sailor ever, looking at an unattainable shore and needing to go and explore it just for the sake of it. 


אחרי הרבה חיפושי מלון הסתבר שלהורים של ג'ק יש קרוואן שהוא בעצם דירה קטנה, מאובזרת יותר טוב מהבית שלי, מטופחת, מעוצבת, כפרית ומתוקה כל כך שקראתי לה "הארמון בפלך" (פלך, כמו של הוביטים, כן? לא אביזר טוויה). חניון הקרוואנים גם הוא נקי, שקט, מטופח ויפה, ובהפתעה גמורה, הוא חמש דקות מהים - יותר נכון, חמש דקות מהצוקים הפסיכיים שצונחים לתוך הים; מצד אחד נשקפת העיירה פולקסטון, ומהשני, מעבר לצוקים בהירים (שכמה קילומטרים צפונה נהיים הצוקים הלבנים של דובר), אפשר לפזול לעבר הים, מעבר לתעלה, ולראות את החוף המטושטש של צרפת. פתאום הבנתי את הדחף של כל ספני ההיסטוריה להפליג אל חוף מרוחק ובלתי מושג, ולחקור אותו. 

אם מסתכלים ממש טוב, אפשר לראות את תוואי החוף הנגדי

זו מסילת הרכבת מצרפת לאנגליה שם למטה

I've never seen England in the sun, and I've never been able to walk around sleeveless before. Remember I felt like a cripple? Two hours of walking on the cliff's edge, bathing in sun and quiet, green grass and uneven ground, I felt more healthy and lively and not-cripply than I have in years.

Half a mile or so to the north I found a clearing with grass and benches, each with a plaque dedicating it to a loved one. I took photos of them all, but they feel to personal to be posted here; instead, here's some lichen, because that's totally exotic for me. Besides, plant textures and close ups are always a guilty pleasure.
אף פעם לא ראיתי את אנגליה בשמש, ובאף טיול קודם לא יכולתי להתהלך בה בשרוול קצר. זוכרים שהרגשתי נכה? אז אחרי שעתיים של הליכה לאורך שפת הצוק, בשמש נהדרת וכשאני מוקפת בשקט, בירוק ובקרקע בלתי מאוזנת בעליל, היו לי כמה תובנות חדשות בנושא; והרגשתי יותר בריאה וחיונית משהרגשתי שנים.

קצת צפונה, על שפת המצוק, הייתה מדשאה רחבה ובה ששה ספסלים משקיפים לים, כל אחד עם הקדשה לאדם אהוב. הספסל האחרון היה ישן הרבה יותר מהאחרים, וצמחו עליו חזזיות בשפע, מהסוג שאנגלים יקראו לו 'לכלוך' ואני קוראת לו 'דברים מתוך ספרי פנטסיה'. צילמתי גם את ההקדשות, אבל נדמה לי שהן פרטיות ונוגעות ללב מכדי שאדביק אותך כאן.

I'm fairly sure no European nor Brit feels excited by a field with trampled weeds, but for me it's all exotics and I loved every moment. Besides, blue skies! In England! The moment must be documented for posterity.

I found this sign on the way back; it certainly delivers the point.
אני בטוחה שאף אירופאי לא יתרגש משדה בור עם עשבים מעוכים, אבל עבורי זה אקזוטי ומרגש, ונהניתי מאד להתהלך שם. לבד מזאת, שמיים כחולים! באנגליה! חובה לתעד את הרגע.

בדרך חזרה נתקלתי בשלט על ארון חשמל, שלא מותיר מקום לספק.

The caravan lot is very quiet; most of the caravans are empty, but some have people living in them regularly, and one of them (an elderly chap armed with a dog and that charming mix of patronizing friendliness I'm starting to associate with countryside Brits) showed me around a bit. There's garden gnomes and flint gravel, enough flowers to make Ferdinand weep with bliss, and some rosemary and lavender bushes I failed to photograph because they were guarded by very territorial hornets. The compensation, of course, was flower close ups and missing mom ever so much.
החניון שקט מאד; מרבית הקרוונים ריקים, אבל יש כאלה שאנשים מתגוררים בהם דרך קבע, ואחד מהם (קשיש בריטי חמוש בכלבלב ובאותה מזיגה של התנשאות ולבביות הנפוצה אצל אנשי הכפר, מסתבר) הדריך אותי קצת מסביב. יש המון פסלוני פיות וגמדוני גינה, מספיק פרחים צבעוניים כדי לגרום לפרדיננד להתמסטל לשבוע, וכמה ערוגות רוזמרין ולבנדר שלא הצלחתי לצלם כי תמיד חגו סביבן דבּוּרים טריטוריאליים. בחיי שניסיתי, שלושה ימים, אבל במלחמת המבטים בינינו הם נצחו; בתור פיצוי, כמובן, צילמתי פרחים וערגתי אל אמא נוגות.

The latter two made me miss her especially. That soft shade between blue and purple, the dew, the green buds melting into their mature colour - mom would have loved it here so much. For Israeli me, accustomed to sweaty, dusty, yelling-bathed streets, this perfect pastorality is inconceivable.

Then I went spider-hunting. I've this odd love-hate relationship with small spiders (I think it's because I try to prove to myself I'm not scared of them) - and Poland rather cemented that, when the spiders treated me better than the person I came to visit. I couldn't photograph the local spiders as they're too small, but at least there's this proof of their being around:

שני הצילומים האחרונים גרמו לי להתגעגע אליה במיוחד. משהו בצבע הרך הזה, בין סגול לכחול, בעלים הטלולים, בניצנים הירוקים המתגוונים לצבע הבוגר שלהם - אמא הייתה כל כך נהנית להיות כאן. עבורי הישראלית, עם הרחובות המיוזעים והצעקות, הפסטורליה הזו פשוט לא מתקבלת על הדעת.

את סוף ההליכה ביליתי בנסיון למצוא עכבישים. יש לי סיפור אהבה-שנאה עם עכבישים מאז פולין, שם הם היו חברה טובה יותר מהאדם שבאתי לבקר, ומלבד זאת הם היו בדיוק בגודל המושלם - נוח לצילום, אבל לא גדול מספיק כדי להיות מגעיל או מפחיד. האיזור הכפרי של אנגליה לא סיפק לי דוגמנים מהסוג הזה; בקראוון דווקא מצאתי די הרבה, אבל הם היו זעירים מכדי שיצולמו, ואולי מוטב שכך. על כל פנים, לפחות יש הוכחה אחת שהם בסביבה:

And so I spent two days. I hiked alone; I hiked with Jack; I hiked with two tourists from Sweden and with the local and his dog; I encountered rabbits, ponies and even a fox, and I spent a full day in the living room just chatting with Jack as the sky melted from blue to gray to black, because the room was cozy and the friendship even cozier. 
ככה עברו יומיים. טיילתי בסביבה לבד; טיילתי בסביבה עם ג'ק; טיילתי בסביבה עם שתי תיירות משוודיה ועם המקומי עם הכלב; ראיתי ארנבונים, סוסי פוני ואפילו שועל אחד; והעברתי יום שלם בסלון בשיחה עם ג'ק, כשהשמיים מתחלפי מכחול לאפור ולשחור בחוץ, ואנו ספונים בנוחיות החמימה של הקראוון. ארמון בפלך, זוכרים?

On the third day Papa-Jack dropped us in the Chatham Historic Dockyard; Gillinham, being industrial and of mixed architecture, reminded me there's more to England than cosmopolitan London and perfectly picturesque Kent; the dockyard was lovely and I've a million photos of that 19th century ship and the WWII destroyer, but those, just like the Natural History Museum we visited the following day, deserve a post of their own.

And one last photo, the misty cherry on top: just the view from the caravan's door on the last day, which was just as foggy, rainy and chilly as one would expect from a trip in England; and I stood barefoot at the door with a hand reached out into the fine drizzle, with a big happy smile on my face, and it was, like this whole trip, perfect.
ביום השלישי פאפא-ג'ק הקפיץ אותנו למספנה הישנה של ג'ילינגהאם (שהיא בעצמה עיר תעשייתית וכעורה שהזכירה לי שאנגליה פנים רבות לה, יותר מאשר לונדון הקוסמופוליטית ואיזור הכפר הפסטורלי), ובה ראינו ספינה מהמאה ה-19 ומשחתת ממלחמת העולם השניה; וביום הרביעי והאחרון היינו בלונדון במוזיאון הטבע, שהארכיטקטורה שלו אפילו יותר מוצלחת מהמיצגים - אבל לשני אלה מגיעה רשומה משל עצמם, ודומני שהנוכחית כבר עברה את המכסה בכל מקרה.

תמונה אחרונה לקינוח - המראה מדלת הקראוון ביום האחרון, שהיה ערפילי וגשום ולח וכל מה שכולנו מצפים מבריטניה. כי אם לא נירטב וניילל על מזג האוויר, איך נקיים מצוות טיול באנגליה כהלכתו?

Wednesday, 31 August 2016

Fat school, lesson #07: Follow your dreams

Fat school is really teaching me tons of very interesting stuff; I'm not sure I'll lose weight from it, but I'm certainly happy to have taken that class. While in the first lesson we focused on the physical (what food makes you addicted and hungry, hormones and such), the rest is very much dealing with the emotional and mental states that keep us fat.

(On a sidenote: since I started, the mysterious abdominal pain who's been screwing up my life since 2011 has dropped by 50%, both in volume and frequency; so weight or not, if you're in chronic pain, ditching sugar and gluten might do you wonders).

All that said - lesson #07, a week ago, was about stopping waiting for life to happen and going and living. I've been cooped up in this house for almost six years, and when prodded about what my dream is (barring 'going outside and not feeling like a pathetic loser') I gave it a good thought and realized it was simple: I want to meet my friends.

Years ago, it would have been Neville and Switz; later it was Caesar, and with all of them, the friendship melted before I got to see them, which is weird, because you spend so many hours a week with a person, it's odd to think you won't ever have met them face to face; it's almost inconceivable, for me.

So that's my dream; not to miss out on the current close friend I have abroad, being Lucky.

So I got plane tickets for tomorrow, and I'm going to England.

I'm scared of being embarrassed on the plane because I'm fat; of seeing husband's family and enduring their mockery because I'm fat; of walking about and chafing, because I'm fat. And being fat is why I didn't go all those years, and fuck it, I'm going now. And I was more scared than excited, but it sort of switched now.

So I'll be back in a week.


Tuesday, 16 August 2016

Life without a job is fantastically peaceful for me - a regular day veers between blender, Warcraft and preparing food, while housework sort of happens without me noticing while I move around the house; having to go to class once a week somehow changes that, and alongside homework and a bit of social life, my life suddenly feels hectic. It's 'hectic' in the same way that a singe sheep invasion is on a deserted farm, but for me, with what I'm used to, it's still not half as relaxed.

So there's school and we're learning cool stuff about how our body works with food, and it's a lot of mental training (much moreso than the question what to eat and when); then a friend dropped by the other day and was depressed and said she hadn't tended to her house for a while so we went over there and I got to clean and arrange some - she said at some point, stunned, 'You're enjoying this,' and I beamed; how can I explain that feeling of purification, of healing, of setting-things-right that I get when I take a mess and make it orderly? It feels like fixing the world. It was awesome, no little thanks to the fact I knew this was really make her feel better - but the downside is, of course, that 115 kgs isn't anything a human foot is supposed to bear for six hours, so I ended up limping my way home like a duck and dreaming of when this will no longer be the case. Still, a very satisfying, busy day; and today was school, and tomorrow I get to babysit (!!) Noog's baby, who is less than three months old, and for a couple of hours I'll get a taste of what it is to tend to a baby, which, I admit, terrifies me. Gods above, I hope she doesn't end up crying, because then I'll just panic. I'll probably end up reading Lovecraft to her to put her to sleep or something.

With all that going on, less time for Warcraft or serious Blender or spending time with Lucky or Lotro, (yeah yeah, I know, the pain which is my life) which is weird, but will likely make me appreciate it all the more when I get to it. And school only has four weeks left, and after that I'll get my deserted-farm life back and will be far more relaxed and friendly. Perhaps even enough to offer to watch over the baby again. 

Friday, 12 August 2016

Never Left Alone 2016

We meet once a year now, because life, and reasons, and my weight; but he comes about a month or two after my birthday with the annual music collection he'd made me - it's the 13th year, now - and we listen to it, and revel in how awesome it was to grow up and get rid of all the teenage angst, and I say, as ever, that those collections are a portrait of his personality each year anew; and I love seeing (hearing) them grow less troubled, more touching, more with a tongue in cheek when it comes to drama, and always compelling.

And always him; with the peach-and-cream shade of the skin on his hands, long fingers, long jaw, subtle changes from year to year; his skin grows thinner, I notice - papery, almost, and the subtle shades of peach and pink are more noticeable. More hair on arms, less weight on everywhere, better dressed, always neat. I remember the prickly person he was, and revel at the tenderer father he is, and at his love for his wife and wonder at his kids. And every year in the last songs our hands touch and we smile, and I always get tearful; some because the music is lovely, but mostly because he is. Today I pulled him up to dance on the last minute, then hugged him and said thank you, and I know he knows how touched I am by this annual tradition, but still I wish I could convey it more.

One day I'll find the musician who will compose, sing and record a poem I'll right as a thank you for this. I've known the name since year #3: Love, Loss, Life, Longing - it was written with a permanent marker on my mirror for years, in the former apartment. Until then, I can only hope he understands.

For the first time since I remember I gave him a song back and was actually present to see his reaction, which was, perhaps, the best part. It was Sting's The Last Ship, of course, my favourite song (and album) this year; and he listened to it all, eyes closed and a smile slowly growing wider on his face, and seeing him like this was... a rare delight, better than so many things I thought the peak of wonder. This surpassed them all, and the image of that smile,  I hope I'll remember it as well as the music; would that I could record it in a similar way.

And he's right; it's been 13 years of those collections going with me through good and bad, Israel and Poland, Warcraft and Lotro, painting and Blender; I am Never Left Alone.

And I'm so touched and grateful. 

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

I'm writing less because multi-excitement has never been my strong suit - that is, when I get addicted to something, it's usually one thing at a time; right now I'm drowning in three awesomes, and am somehow too consumed with that to write.

Awesome number one is of course Blender, my bestie, my darling, my saviour and my joy; turns out that all I need to do instead of emotional eating is clean models in Blender. Tah happy.

Awesome number two is what I meanly call FAT SCHOOL, which, whether will get me to lose weight or not, is so interesting it's already worth it. I'm learning so much fascinating stuff it makes my head explode.

Awesome number three is being excited about Warcraft again, not because there's an expansion coming out in three weeks, but because the guild's inched closer to what I want in roleplaying; that's really, probably, the funmost of the Three Awesomes.

Anyway, I'll be back to Blender; I should totally gash out about stuff I learnt in fat school because it blows my mind out, but not when I'm in the middle of making a picture of a night elf breathing life into a flower. Priorities.

Sunday, 31 July 2016

Blender junk I do when I need a break

Blender is my OCD heaven; whenever I'm down, or miffed, or need to chill out, I open a random model and start cleaning it up, or trying to tweak it, or experimenting with stuff I don't know how to do. It's very relaxing, and while the results are hardly gallery matter, its possibly the funmost part of playing with the program.

So yesterday I decided I wanted to make a pirate's coat. It was much easier than I'd expected, and most of the work was texturing, which I bullshitted my way through with a mouse because I don't want to touch my cursed Cintiq - oh, sic transit - but at least it communicates the general idea.

And seeing as my go-to female character is Lucky's character, I immediately did this to test and see if it looks okay in a render, with a quote from him I'm very fond of:

Next, we have my attempts at making youth and kids, because the WoW model are single-age, single-build. I've long tried to make younger people, but was punching above my weight (which is, really, the definition of my entire Blender career) - but I've gained some tools which make this look less like a complete creepy failure, and more like a work in progress. The drive for making this one was the fact that Jake's geeking about 3D and wow art with me felt so nice, I was overtaken by the urge to make a scene he once described with his character as a kid. That was ten years ago, but the image stuck with me.

First attempt was a fail, mainly because he turned out about 18 and her 12, and they're supposed to be much younger.

Second one was better, but then I got lazy (or rather, taken by commissions for people who paid and therefore rightly expect me to handle their order rather than toy with nostalgia) - but I learnt SO MUCH doing that - like <blenderTechTalk> HOW TO PERMANENTLY APPLY RESHAPING OF THE MESH DONE WITH A BONE</blenderTechTalk> which I know doesn't sound like much, but totally had me bouncing around the room with excitement. Ah, bliss.

Besides, the pose and composition of this one work better than what's normal for my pictures, so I'm happy. I might go back to it one day, if only because seeing those ridiculously muscled arms on a 14 years old makes me cringe, and one day I might actually stop hating my Cintiq and can be arsed to fix that wonky texture (and dude what's going on with the two different textures on her shoes sheesh).

Anyway, discovering how to do stuff is probably the best part of it, if one counts out client reactions and chatting with geeking out with Jake, so I'm happy. But I should really stop dawdling here and go back to that fire mage commission... right after I finish that Epic Battle of the Pelennor Fields with Lucky... oh, decisions, decisions.