MrsDoyle

@MrsDoyle@sh.itjust.works

Go on go on go on go on go on

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MrsDoyle,

Ugh high BP is the worst. I’m on two different BP meds, one of which has given me hideous cankles. I console myself that it’s better than having a stroke, but it sucks that I felt better before.

MrsDoyle,

What the doctor said that convinced me to take it seriously: you can recover really well from a heart attack and carry on with your life. If a stroke doesn’t kill you, the resulting brain damage will leave you with life-altering conditions, such paralysis of half your body, loss of speech (aphasia), trouble swallowing, memory issues, double vision… it’s quite a list. Losing my independence would be unbearable, so I take my meds and keep my cankles covered. :-)

MrsDoyle,

I grew up in NZ - we used to spray fake snow on the windows at Christmas and send cards with winter scenes, reindeer, robins, all that. On the day we’d have a big meal topped off with plum pudding. Bloody ridiculous.

MrsDoyle,

Consider this: a million seconds is 12 days. A billion seconds is 31 years. It really helps me understand just how obscenely wealthy these people are, how much money they are hoarding. They’re leeches.

MrsDoyle,

Only three bedrooms? No thanks.

MrsDoyle,

I had an ex boyfriend I’d stayed in touch with phone me to say he was now a Christian and part of his new-found faith was contacting people he’d treated badly in the past and apologising. So, he realised now that he had not been a good friend, and he was very sorry for any hurt he’d caused me. I accepted the apology and we chatted a bit.

A few weeks later he called again, this time to ask me to sign an affidavit affirming that he was a good person and had been a good friend to me. This was to support his effort to gain custody of a baby, who may or may not have been his, from his most recent ex, along with her two sons, who definitely weren’t. I said absolutely NOT and told him why. He hung up, and I haven’t heard from him since. Such a great friend, lol.

MrsDoyle,

Mariolatry!

That link is actually a pretty wild ride. Excerpt: “Father Jerome of Texo, of the Society of Jesus, rejoiced in the name of slave of Mary; and, as a mark of servitude, went often to visit her in some church dedicated in her honor. On reaching the church, he poured out abundant tears of tenderness and love for Mary; then prostrating, he licked and rubbed the pavement with his tongue and face, kissing it a thousand times, because it was the house of his beloved Lady”.

MrsDoyle,

What do you mean, no landscaping? There’s a potplant on every corner, a whole load of black plastic laid next to the decking, and a picnic table out on the lawn there. What more could you want?

MrsDoyle,

I recommend the Infinite Monkey Cage episode on Bees v Wasps, gives you more appreciation for wasps. (BBC Sounds)

MrsDoyle,

I do a bit too, after I was picking gooseberries and what I thought was some dead leaves turned to be a wasp nest the size and weight of a ping-pong ball. I thought it was empty but no! Out poured a couple of dozen furious (or terrified) wasps. Wasn’t stung, but aaaaiiiieeee!!!

MrsDoyle,

Old lady here - I was the first woman in my role in a couple of jobs back in the 80s and was accused of being a token plenty of times. Had to slog my way uphill through a mountain of sexist shit every single day while seeing men cruise along because they played golf with someone high up.

How is all this connected to this saga? (lemmy.whynotdrs.org)

My brain is about to explode. Went down the rabbit hole. Pretty deep down there. Someone from “another place” sent me over to this guy’s site who is either a freaking genius or absolutely insane. But damn does it start to make these tweets these psst couple of years start to mean something....

MrsDoyle,

It’s not “information”, it’s the ramblings of a person suffering some kind of psychosis, maybe paranoid schizophrenia. My advice is to turn off your computer and go for a walk in nature. The patterns you’ll see out there - trunks, branches, twigs - are real and wholesome. Take your shoes off and feel the earth even.

MrsDoyle,

Are you me? I used calorie counting to lose weight too, back in 2019, and since then have put most of it back on. Calories showed me my problem areas: portion control and snacking. Like you I’m active, and extra weight is literally a drag. But I can’t bear to go back to counting - I used an app, but even so it made for an unfortunate daily focus on food. I would think about food all the time. Now, though I’m heavier than I would like, I’m not obsessing on food.

Do you have similar issues? If so, how do you counter them? Do you use an app for counting?

Congratulations anyway, and I look forward to reading about your victory lap!! Onward and downward, lol.

MrsDoyle,

I eat most when I’m relaxed, sadly. I absolutely love food, especially savoury things, and I’m a decent cook. I lost weight ahead of knee surgery, to aid recovery - and it really did help. I used myfitnesspal too, though it sort of hurts to look at now, after the backsliding. I’ll check out loseit, thanks. Most recently I tried intermittent fasting, where you eat only between 8am and 8pm for example, but boy that did not work for me!

MrsDoyle,

“Artesian touches of the era …”

Well well well.

MrsDoyle,

My theory is that you fell asleep on the plane and dreamt this whole story. You should write up the screenplay and get that movie made. Better yet, make it a movie within a movie, about someone haunted by a movie they vaguely remember having seen on a plane, but it turns out it was all a dream. So they write up the screenplay and get the movie made…

MrsDoyle,

I remember liking Adaptation, but I can’t recall a single other thing about it. Was there a houseplant on the poster maybe?

MrsDoyle,

The Lady of Shalott (1832) BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON Part I

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro’ the field the road runs by To many-tower’d Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily The green-sheathed daffodilly Tremble in the water chilly Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly, O’er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening whispers, ’ ‘Tis the fairy, Lady of Shalott.’

The little isle is all inrail’d With a rose-fence, and overtrail’d With roses: by the marge unhail’d The shallop flitteth silken sail’d, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparelled, The Lady of Shalott.

Part II

No time hath she to sport and play: A charmed web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, Reflecting tower’d Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower’d Camelot: And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror’s magic sights, For often thro’ the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; ‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves, And flam’d upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon’d baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn’d like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro’ the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d; On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow’d His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash’d into the crystal mirror, ‘Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:’ Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro’ the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look’d down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack’d from side to side; ‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower’d Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp’d with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix’d on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— She look’d down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos’d the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken’d wholly, And her smooth face sharpen’d slowly, Turn’d to tower’d Camelot: For ere she reach’d upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower’d Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.

They cross’d themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. ‘The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, The Lady of Shalott.’

Gorgeous painting, but it’s always bothered me that that tapestry is dragging in the water. Tsk.

MrsDoyle,

In the UK there’s a series called Race Across the World, which seems like what you’d enjoy. Pairs of people compete in a loooong race in which they have a limited budget & have to work along the way to fund their travel. It’s enthralling seeing people’s different strategies, and how their relationships develop, especially the parent/child combos. The next season is Morocco to Norway, that should be a blast!

en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Race_Across_the_World

MrsDoyle,

It looks and acts fine for me on Android. Perfectly legible. I’m always in light mode though, I find dark harder to read.

MrsDoyle,

Mmmmm, oca. Also in New Zealand… kūmara.

MrsDoyle,

I’d like to apply to be your sister-in-law please.

What a wonderful table, and I admire the amount of care and thought you put in to the construction.

MrsDoyle,

I didn’t delete my comments, they’re welcome to keep that pile of rubbish. (Though the black swan story did get a bit of traction, even a vague death threat!)

Fuck spez.

What can a person replace tv shows, movies, and other zombie-brain entertainment with? How can attention span be improved?

As part of my endless and possibly futile quest to be a less pathetic version of myself, I’ve embarked on a campaign to stop watching TV and movies. For me it’s low hanging fruit - some people really love movies, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I watched something that I truly enjoyed. It’s just something to...

MrsDoyle,

How about learning a skill? I spend a stupid amount of time knitting, especially in the winter. I like knitting socks in particular - learning different techniques is absorbing, the variety of sock yarns is wonderful, they’re something small you can carry around, and you end up with warm feet. Plus they make nice gifts.

And the knitting community is amazing. Ravelry.com has stacks of free patterns, forums etc etc. People post their projects, so you can see what things look like in different colourways. I started out knitting cotton dishcloths to get the hang of it.

If you get stumped on anything there is almost always a YouTube video of a kindly Canadian lady showing you how it’s done.

MrsDoyle,

Same in Dunedin!

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