Storm repairs and a new toy.

I got a new tool a while back, but haven't had an opportunity to use it until now. I think it's called a Dremmel Trio. It's a router/sander/cutter, and I was keen to get routing. I had planned this to be a practice sign, but it turned out ok.

Cyclone Lusi had a bit of fun at my place. That's the carport covering all screwed up.

And that's my rotten fence. It had a very large wasps nest in the middle as it turns out. It's ok now because I did this.

No palings yet. Might use bamboo. At least it should be enough to keep the cows out when they get through the farmer's fences. I don't mind the cows, but they produce an incredible amount of shit, which isn't fun to stand in.

I've done all this in the past 24 hours, (including trip into Huntly to buy wood for fence) and also written a chapter of something of no consequence. I think this makes up for the weeks of procrastination. Well, no, not really. Maybe. Sort of.

Anniversary!

One year ago today I took possession of my little house. Much has occurred since then. I have to remind myself how far I've come, because lately things seem to have stalled. But it's only a matter of perception. You can't work tirelessly all the time! Life would be boring if you did.

Let's review;

The house has been re-leveled and partly re-piled. The garage has three new doors. I have a new back step, a vege garden, fruit trees, and outdoor furniture. A tree has been cut down. The bathroom walls have been insulated and re-lined. A working shower has been installed. The lounge has been undercoated and partly skimmed. The outside of the front door has been stripped, undercoated, puttied, and a glass panel replaced, and weather strip fitted.
Loads of other stuff has happened in the past year too. Some of it brilliant and some of it pretty awful, but that's life and we live it the best we can, and we work with what we've got. And what I've got is a great boyfriend, a wonderful family, and some pretty awesome friends. You know who you are.

Separation of Church and State.

Right then. I've had to start a separate blog for my fiction scribblings.

I couldn't figure out how to preserve formatting when I copy/paste to blogger, and space is very important to me. So I've got a Wordpress blog now.

Cease Upon The Midnight

No more interrupting Sockmonkey Orphanage with nonsensical ramblings.

Well, no more than usual, and no more combing through a bit of writing to insert paragraph breaks and line breaks. The orphanage returns to the realm of reality based drivel. YAY!

In house related news, I got a quote to get the roof re-ironed. OUCH. But family have kindly offered an inetrest-free loan to help me out. So I guess I'll be climbing a little further into the debt hole.
Still daydeaming about painting a mural on the garage doors.

Another bit of writing...(suicide references, guns, and Sherlock Holmes, I'm probably on a watchlist now)

* * * * *

I Will Follow

* * * * *

The smell of the gun is like a part of him. His fingers know it well. They make their own path.

Coherent thought is not required.

The gun is not dirty. It has seen no use since he last cleaned it. It is a ritual.

A meditation.

He knows the flesh this weapon has torn. The catalogue of lives it has cut short. He sees them.

They tick over in his dreams, like a stuttering film reel on the back of his eyelids.

The report of the muzzle wakes him, short of breath, with a cry in the darkness.

Except that's not what wakes him these days. When he can sleep at all.

It's the sensation that he's falling.

The sound of a body.

Meeting the pavement.

with force.

* * * * *

The flat is clean. As clean as it's going to get.

Plastic sheeting folded neatly in the draw next to his bed. Ready to be laid out.

Beneath them, his documents.

His good shoes are polished. His suit hangs on the back of the door.

He's not exactly sure why he bothered to get his hair cut.

His own thought process eludes him.

He lubricates the moving parts of the gun. It comes together again in his hands.

Like a slow explosion in reverse, until he is holding it in his hand again. Complete.

He brings the muzzle up to his temple, experimentally. Not loaded.

The metal is warm from handling. It leaves a trace of gun oil on his skin. He feels as though he is looking down that barrel at himself. Far away. Abstracted.

He places the gun on the table before him. Wipes fingers on the towel. Presses the heel of his hands to the dark circles beneath his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out.

Breathes in.

How many more breaths?

Somewhere, a phone is ringing.

* * * * *

“Hello Lestrade.”

“Is that you Mycroft? “

“Of course. Listen old chap, I think you should give John a call.”

“...”

“It would be in your best interest to do it sooner rather than later. Oh, say, in the next two minutes? Maybe pop round for a chat.”

“... … ... alright.”

“There's a good chap.”

* * * * *

END

* * * * *

John's gun is a Sig Sauer P226R. I watched a seemingly endless video on how to clean it. It looks quite sexy. The gun. Not the cleaning. I also read a fairly long theory on how he could possibly still have his service revolver. I'm probably on some kind of watchlist now.
P.S. - The riding whip Sherlock uses to beat corpses, is apparently the "Mark Todd Braided Leather Riding Whip" How about that? 

If this is all greek to you, then my little bit of writing probably made no sense to you either.
:-) So, to explain in a sentence; Mycroft has hidden camera's watching the flat that John and Sherlock used to share until Sherlock jumped off a building, and John was a bit unstable to start with, so....yeah.

Would you get your hair cut, if you were planning to shoot yourself in the head? These are the questions that haunt me at 2am lately. That and the motivation of cross-dressers.

Yes. I am working on a purely original work of my own, not just these little emotional exercises I set for myself. I have three character introductions so far, but I'm only happy with one of them. Might get around to posting that one day too.

Bit Of Writing. (Not house related for a change)

* * * * *
Somewhere Between.

* * * * *
It's not a loveseat.
Of course the term makes him uncomfortable. He wishes it had never been referred to as such.

It's just a two-seater sofa.

A two-seater, in front of the telly, in the small basement flat he shares.

It is, at least, comfortable. If small.

It's worn fabric has cradled other bodies, before theirs.
Sun faded, to the colour of a ghost's eyes. It's previous rich denim-blue, still visible under the cushions.

Wide arms for elbows and hands. Precarious cups of tea, never yet spilled.

It fills the space available, which isn't much. Almost seems dwarfed by the flat screen TV opposite, and the ottoman where they rest their feet and newspapers.

At first hesitant, they circled each other in this tiny space. Learning to gauge the exact presence of the other. Positions and angles of limbs. Reactions smoothing out.

Within days they had developed the rhythm. An easy dance. Pressing against each other in passing, The kitchenette their ballroom. Slippers and socks, their dancing shoes.

So quickly they slipped into each others pockets. Until small touches were the braille they used to read each others moods. Blind to the development of the secret language between them.

Evenings and lazy Sundays spent, thigh pressed to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. A hug without an embrace. Clinging to each other without realization, as they both navigate a world populated by ghosts.

Getting a bigger sofa, is never, ever, mentioned.

* * * * *

I'll be honest. It's a fan fic. But you will have to guess the fandom, and the characters if you are so inclined. I posted it because I thought it might just possibly work as a stand-alone piece? There are probably still a few lines that don't have the resonance they should, without a knowledge of character history. But, meh.

I've been spending long hours writing lately (though not in my blog!), and reading. The great thing, is that it doesn't cost any money. Which I am supposed to be saving to get the roof done. So, in a way, this is actually me working on the house! Bit anti-social though. Especially since this is the first piece I've let any of my friends even see.

Yeah, sorry about that.

January

It's a stormy sort of day in Pukemiro. The wind rushes up the valley, and you hear it roaring in the walnut trees before the gusts reach the house. So far only a few spots of rain have fallen. It's a nice excuse to stay inside, and a nice break from the hot muggyness.

Not a great deal of progress over the holidays. I've been busy with work and family. One half of the lounge got re-plastered and re-undercoated. Weeds have grown everywhere. Lawns are being constantly mowed, but I enjoy the exercise, I can't stand the gym, I need to be doing something productive if I'm expending my energy!

I haven't seen pukekos or turkeys for weeks now, although I've heard the pukekos in the night. The grass across the road has grown so long that the wind running through it looks like waves across a lake, except it's all a sort of golden syrup-y brown colour. Instead, I've had a family of quails visiting. In the morning three of them walk in single file down the road, calling to each other, and in the evening they walk back again, sometimes crossing the front lawn, and panicking when they lose sight of each other in my "weed strip". (That's a sloped piece of lawn right by the front fence that's too difficult/dangerous to mow. I've let the daisies and dandelions grow there because I don't know what to do about it.)

I came up to the house last week to find this little hedgehog asleep under my tomatoes. I have no idea how he got under the netting, as I could find no gaps! I didn't know if he was trapped, or how long he had been there, so I raised the netting and put a dish of water next to him. He just opened one eye at me and went back to sleep. When I went back in the evening he was gone, and the water was untouched. I haven't had slug bait down since I first planted everything, so he's welcome to feast on those slimey critters. I just wish I knew how he got in!

I picked up a BBQ plate from the op shop before christmas. It turns out to be just the right size for my gas burner, so now I have an indoor BBQ. Very handy when it's windy. I've been grilling the courgettes from the garden. One of them got away on me when I was away for a week and a half and turned into a marrow. I sliced it up and layered it with mince and pasta sauce, and cheese sauce. It took two bloody hours to cook! But it was delicious.

I've made this wall hanging to cover the strange bit of wall in the spare room where a doorway has been badly filled in. It's not proper door sized, so must have been a cupboard tacked on the the back of the house, back when it was a two-room miners shack. In the corner you can see the old wallpaper. The last owner must have painted around a cupboard that was there, but he demolished it before he left.

Dad mad me this lovely little chopping board for Christmas. Isn't it sweet? Mum always calls it "The little house". It doesn't seem that little to me. The rooms in this 1920's cottage are bigger than the room's in mum and dad's 1910's transitional villa in Auckland. But they have nine rooms, (and an awkward layout from when the house was two flats), where I have five rooms.

The pink dahlias are finally starting to bloom. I was beginning to wonder if I had killed them all off. I bought my china doll tree inside last week. It's been struggling outside since I bought it down here. I think it's the wind it doesn't like. It's perked up since it came inside. There are all these plants I want to grow, but I keep having to stop to consider if they can deal with frosts, and wind, and summer droughts. No drought this summer though, not yet anyway. There seems to have been rain every week since I planted the vege garden (yay!). Those water crystals I used seem to be working really well too. Much as I like the idea of an organic garden, right now it just wouldn't work, with me not being here all the time. I wish I could have chickens too.

One day.

December

Uses for a wallpaper sample book:
uhhhh... wallpaper? Suddenly the kitchen is much more bearable, and it's only up with blu tak so, whatever. I like it.

It's amazing what you find in a skip. Like these bed ends. Exactly what I needed! I'm just not sure how to attach the wooden side rails that I found in the inorganics. Errrr, requires more thinking. And also a trailer or something, because I can get them in the hatchback, but I can't close the boot! Arrrgh.

Naughty little Trademe purchase. A sewing machine from the same era the house was built. I was given a modern sewing machine, but it's kind of yuck to use. The whole thing shakes across the table with a plastic rattle and buzz, and the foot pedal slides across the floor underfoot. I'm used to Mum's old knee lever Bernina, which is on it's last legs. This Singer does straight stitch, and that's it. It doesn't even do reverse. And it's a joy to use.

I went to a giant demolition yard, and found some brackets for the pink sink! They cost $20 freakin' dollars. My $1 sink is now a $21 sink.

My Mum has weak elbows from old work related injuries. This makes it hard for her to lift things like 2 litre milk bottles. At her place she uses a milk jug. At mine, we now use an old milk bottle. I put a standard milk bottle top on it by cutting away part of the inside spiral so it just pops on and off.

Finally got around to getting some paint on the gib behind the shower. Well, actually, Mum did it. That's her, just finishing up the bottom corner. Suddenly it's starting to look like a real bathroom. From a certain angle.

These guys finally made the move. So far they have made it two whole weeks without being stolen. Gatepost gargoyles. I've also re-plastered another section of the lounge walls. Now it's half done. It was three quarters done when it was suddenly decided that I should do the piles. Then all the walls cracked along the joins. Now I have to do them all again. On the up side, I am getting much better at plastering.

Nights in Pukemiro are still blissfully cool. It's much easier to sleep without Auckland's crazy humidity. And sleep is what I'm going to do now. ZZzzzzzzzz