Eighth Contest!

But first, the results from the seventh contest:

GRAND WINNER

• A cat and a bucket of melted ice to use as protection from muggers. (Robin)

(Although don't you call 'melted ice' 'water'?)

So this contest is… a cover for my story!

Might as well, you know.

Don't look! A novel!

Fourteen chapters and an epilogue, available upon request NOW.

For the record, I hate it now.

Remember, any sort of comment at all is helpful.

one day in Semland...

I complimented a professor on his hat. (Bowler, looked like.) This was one of the professors that reminds me of Vati, a bit. He said, "Oh, what a sweet girl you are."

This was after a day of being asked if I was a Semwife.

It made me miss people who know me.

It also made me laugh.

Wordsworth

thinks he's a cat.

DREEM and also playing house

It was more of a nightmare, really. It's understandable.

Both the pastors were gone, which is already a bad start, but they didn't get a very good substitute. I only DREEMed the sermon, but while he was preaching he was also eating and he wouldn't stop. He tried to incorporate the food into his sermon, make it all symbolic, but it was all just a little awkward and weird.

Today we had a Voters' Meeting after church. Now, usually Mom holds a nursery for children four and under, but she wanted to attend the meeting (of course), so I took over. While we were playing house one of them insisted on playing the Mommy. Why?? When I was little, playing the baby was the glamorous part. That and playing the dog. (I played with my cousin, and we played "baby," or "dog-person," as we called them.) Whenever we played dog-person, Rachel insisted on being the dog. Oh, I got to be the dog sometimes, but mostly it was her, until I threw a fit and refused to be the person again, and she wheedled that this was the last time and next I could be the dog, and that happened over and over again. Then I got bored and started dying. (The person has to die three times before they're dead, in which case you have to switch.) Sometimes she'd try to save me, but I kept being the victim of shooting or screen doors or something.

Also we'd take shoelaces (extras, not from our shoes), tie them together and then around the waist (we weren't allowed to do it around the neck), and leave the dog tied to the piano bench while we ran errands. This was a very important part of the game.

the order in which I learn numbers in French

one
two
three
four
five
six
ten
hundred
thousand
seven
nine
eight

Wordsworth

(This is basically the same thing as on Nat's blog.) So... this is Wordsworth, Wordy, or occasionally Wordsy. He is adjusting well to his new name, his old being the rather boring Henry. I mean, Henry's a nice enough name for a person or a possum or something, but... anyway... If we'd gotten a dog that was all black or all white, 'Brown' would've been a consideration, partly for Nathaniel Hawthorne's Young Goodman Brown, and partly for dumb humor. We had 'Poe' on the list until I realized it sounded like 'No'. And he was almost 'Lovecraft,' but... obviously, 'Wordsworth' won. ('Byron' was there too.)

*cough* I have to eat something right now. I'll finish this later.

I present to you:

Mrs. Severely Sunburnt.

Happy New Year!

I got better. I'm still a little tired, but then again, when am I not?