I'm just writing this as a test / first entry, no meaningful content at all.

Let's see how this works for me

I found this “challenge” (rather a self-improvement routine) by searching old services, and then I found dayzeroproject.com.

I'm really excited to do this! Even though I don't think I may accomplish everything on this, just the challenge it poses to myself is insane.

Hopefully, I'll be fine also.

My list is available here.

Tomorrow I'll try to accomplish the first thing: writing a letter for the end!

خدانگهدار

There was once a robot, so kind with a metal body, sublime! when asked who she was she'd smile so because she could only say “beep boop”

THE BALLAD OF ONE-EYED CHARLIE Traditional Camp Lullaby

VERSE 1

Oh! One-Eyed Charlie used to have two eyes But he didn't listen to his councilor And he fell on a stick.

Always listen to your councilor! Don't run with sticks!

CHORUS:

Shut up! Go to sleep! Or One-Eyed Charlie Will come in the night And stuff you in a sack And take you down to the lake Where the frogs used to sing But they don't sing no more

VERSE 2

Oh! All of the other kids Used to make fun of One-Eyed Charlie Because he had poor depth perception So Charlie waited till they all fell asleep And set fire to their cabin with them all still in it

Always be respectful! Don't make fun of people because they're different!

CHORUS:

Shut up! Go to sleep! Or One-Eyed Charlie Will come in the night And stuff you in a sack And take you down to the lake Where the frogs used to sing But they don't sing no more

VERSE 3

Oh! One-Eyed Charlie sleeps in the ground And if you have mud on your shoes at the end of the day He'll drag you down to sleep in the earth

Always wipe your feet! Don't track dirt in the house!

CHORUS:

Shut up! Go to sleep! Or One-Eyed Charlie Will come in the night And stuff you in a sack And take you down to the lake Where the frogs used to sing But they don't sing no more

VERSE 4

Oh! One-Eyed Charlie has got a list Of all the wicked children And all the noisy ones too And the ones who don't go to bed on time

Follow all the rules! And do what you're told! Shut up! Go to sleep! If you're lucky you'll get to grow old!

CHORUS:

Shut up! Go to sleep! Or One-Eyed Charlie Will come in the night And stuff you in a sack And take you down to the lake Where the frogs used to sing But they don't sing no more

I listened to FHB's Pro Talk podcast a couple of days ago, an interview of a lead carpenter for a remodeling company in Shoreline. Carpentry was a second career for her, formerly a graphic artist. She said she hoped more artists would enter the trade because carpentry is a creative profession and an artist's skill in seeing can be useful.

I mentioned this to R— (also a visual artist) and they said this had been something they struggled with when they first started a couple of years ago. They wanted to make something artistically good even if the work would eventually be covered up or not highly visible.

In a small bathroom, we removed the tub to install a curbless shower. Chip some tile out, remove the drywall to take the rest of it, and put up plywood and tilebacker in preparation for the solid surface panels, which we arbitrarily decided were going to be about 86 inches tall.

The room is five feet wide, and with the vanity taking up half the length. Just before I cut the plywood B— called and asked, “how big is the bathroom doorway?”

It's only big enough for a panel 82” tall.

Hello! (I do not know how to write well.)

It's been so long since I've been on a jobsite without a mobile phone, it's hard to remember how we operated without them. Despite their many upsides I think they've contributed to one particular downside for me personally: an increase in first order seeing.

First order seeing is like first order thinking, when you try to solve an immediate problem without considering long-term consequences and knock-on effects.

I was prepping the upstairs shower pan, so I opened up the joist bay to access the drain the plumbers had left there at rough-in. Only when I cut the hole, the drain wasn't there.

It was possible the drain was just one bay over. Though that would mean cutting a bigger hole in the subfloor and cutting through the beam to move the drain over. My phone was nearby and without much thought I called H—, we discussed it and agreed I'd probably have to cut a bigger hole. H— casually said he was almost sure the plumbers had put the drain in the correct place. While we talked I was staring at the wet wall and the vent pipe in it, and somewhat without thinking reached my hand into the joist bay, under the wall, and found the pipe — just about a foot over from where I thought it would be, but still in the right bay. I just couldn't see it at first.

When I tiled the downstairs shower last week, there were two valves. One was a typical valve with a mud ring. The other one didn't have a mud ring, and looked smaller than the other. I thought it was a different kind of valve, maybe the size of a shower wand elbow, so I only cut a hole in the backer board and tile just big enough to fit around it.

After it was all done H— looked at the valve and said it was the same as the first one. It just never had a mud ring put on it, probably because the plumber had forgotten to do it. I cut out the tile and backer board in place with a hole saw and a multitool. When it was cut out I saw we put a nail plate over one half of the valve's mounting screw holes as well.

A few days ago we started installing window sills, and somehow we decided (I don't remember why) to use a full 5/4 by 8, which would stick out from the wall a little more than typical. However we decided that was OK. When R— cut them and put them in, it was obvious they were too big. They already had everything cut upstairs, but we were about to start downstairs because that's the priority for the move-in, so we decided to cut them down later since they weren't nailed off yet, and it wouldn't be much extra work, and it would look better. We all went downstairs and started trimming.

Fast forward to today, when I was done downstairs, went upstairs, and nailed off all the window sills but the bathroom, which R— hadn't cut yet. When B— measured for the bathroom (since they hadn't cut any sills yet) we discovered all the sills upstairs were still too big because they hadn't been cut yet, because I didn't remember we had decided to cut them down. Now we decided to leave them as they were because the extra rework wasn't justified for the aesthetic harmony of upstairs and downstairs.

I've decided I need to remember my decisions.

Last week we moved to the south side. R— was back, after two weeks out. They were sick of something undiagnosed, and we had decided if you don't get a negative test then you should stay home for two weeks. The south side has a roof to wall that's difficult to stage, with the only access off a 10/12 roof. R— is not comfortable at heights. Also the first thing to do there was put in a line of blocking with almost no room to work, where you have to rely a lot on your reach. I've got about a half foot on R— and I had trouble with that spot on the north side.

Knowing all these things I put R— on the blocking first thing. In the past I haven't pushed R— for a variety of reasons but I felt this was a good test. When they had to step away from the task for a moment I somewhat perversely didn't pick it up for them but waited for them to come back to start it. They (slowly) roped up (luckily we had a tie off point right there), and took until lunch to get halfway done, only having to redo the work once fortunately. It's not always easy to gauge how much trouble someone will have with something. I often wonder if the benefit outweighs the cost. Nevertheless when R— finished they gave a victory salute. That's always a good sign.

This past week we formed up for the pour Friday and I let R— and B— take the front porch without much direction. It was an effort at times, overhearing their discussion, not to jump in. It's a challenge to their level of ability, but it's also a challenge to my sense of control of how things should be done. When I let someone do something without much oversight, it's a real letting go. There were little things they had to redo, though that was because the plan was mostly verbal. It's a reminder a drawn out plan is worth the time.

Later R— thanked me for letting them do it on their own. I think in my position I don't have the constant oversight and it's easy to forget what it feels like to be in that position.

Just testing my new WriteFreely account...

Thanks ben for hosting hmm.st and tilde.team!

This is first post on this site.

Join us for the thrilling conclusion of BBJ QUEST: Social Anxiety Barbarian!

Previously:

• Part one: At the mouth of the caves
• Part two: Cave Lads
• Part three: Lullaby for the dead
• Part four: Deadspace and Beyond
• Part five: The Owl's Haunt

Recap

An entity known as the Owl has been poisoning the town's beloved Forgotten Dead and turning them into stone for unknown reasons. But it has got to stop! Our hero's investigation leads them from Lullaby, City of the Dead, into Deadspace, a realm made up of the final memories of the dead. They trade the memory of their long lost lover to a ravenfolk for safe passage through the Beyond, a vast mysterious crimson void that connects the final moments of all the dead. Finally arriving at a lavender pool, they jump in and are transported to a beautiful forest meadow where two little girls are picking wildflowers.

And that's where we are now.

125 ~bx @ 14:40 2021/11/30

124[You]

ASK THEM IF THE FLOWERS SMELL NICE

126 ~dozens @ 15:30 2021/11/30 [edited]

125[bx]

The younger one has a wild tangle of long, curly, uncombed, straw-colored hair. She avoids your eyes and hangs back a little bit.

The older has black hair cut into a severe bob with short bangs. She looks at you boldly and unafraid. “I'm Nemosyne. This is my sister Heckat.”

You ask them about the flowers. Nemosyne nods and holds out the bouquet she has gathered. “Want to smell? They're really nice.” She smiles.

The younger one, still kind of hiding behind her older sister, asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “Are you here about the lady?”

Nemosyne keeps smiling but almost seems to flinch when Heckat speaks up.

There's an odd sense of familiarity to all of this. The girls, the meadow, the house. Sort of a weak pre-deja-vu.

WHAT DO

127 ~dozens @ 15:41 2021/11/30

Pronounciation Guide

Nemosyne

=> https://ttm.sh/Fd2

Heckat

=> https://ttm.sh/Fdu

128 ~bx @ 15:20 2021/12/02

126[You]

I SAY “Yes please” AND SMELL THE FLOWERS

129 ~dozens @ 15:43 2021/12/02

128[bx]

They smell really nice. Kind of sweet and heady.

Nemosyne smiles at you happily. Heckat eyes you warily.

A voice calls out from the cottage. “Girls? Nemosyne!”

Nemosyne turns and calls out over her shoulder, “Coming!”

She turns back to you, “We have to go now. Bye!” And she turns and starts skipping toward the house, clutching her flowers in her hand.

Heckat watches her go and hangs back for a moment showing no concern nor urgency about her summons, as though accustomed to being overlooked and ignored. You notice her hair again, unbrushed and tangled. A smudge of dirt on her face. Her dress is frayed and patched, an obvious hand-me-down from her older sister.

She glances up at you now and then as she talks but mostly keeps her eyes down, “Nobody listens to me about the lady. She's not supposed to be here.”

She finally fixes you with a stare and you notice her eyes are a deep golden amber.

“Are you here about the lady?”

WHAT DO

130 ~Gaffen @ 04:14 2021/12/03

129[You]

I MIGHT BE; TELL ME ABOUT THE LADY

131 ~dozens @ 10:33 2021/12/03

130[Gaffen]

Heckat frowns and looks down at the ground.

“She arrived here a while ago. People act funny around her. I don't like her. She's not supposed to be here.”

She turns and points behind her to where the trees climb up a modest hill.

“She stays over the hill in the hollow in the old tower.”

She digs in the dirt with her toe as she talks and draws the same abstract owl shape that that one Forgotten Dead drew back in the village when you questioned it.

She says, “I hope you're here to make her go away,” then she abruptly scratches out the drawing with her foot and turns and runs toward the cottage.

WHAT DO

132 ~cymen @ 06:03 2021/12/06

131[You]

I walk to the hill top.

133 ~dozens @ 13:09 2021/12/06

132[cymen]

You leave the bright, sunny meadow and enter the shadowy forest. When you make it to the top of the hill, you look down into the vale below you. You see the remains of what looks like an ancient fort and settlement. The houses and cottages that used to surround the fort are all completely gone and reclaimed by nature, save a stone chimney here and a few crumbling stones there. Most of the fort is gone too save for a crumbling stone wall in severe disrepair, and a fallen tower.

The base of the tower still actually stands in the center of the courtyard inside the crumbling wall. It's about one half to one story tall, and it seems like most of its insides are exposed to the elements.

The rest of the tower, about two story's worth, is laying on its side. A large segment of it is laying across the crumbling wall, having flattened it to the ground when it fell. This looks like the most obvious place to climb over and into the courtyard should you choose to approach the tower base.

The vale is quiet. There are fewer trees down below and more open grassy spaces.

As the sun starts to set, shadows grow long and darkness settles over the vale. You can see the warm flickering glow of a candle emanating from somewhere within the tower base.

WHAT DO

134 ~cymen @ 16:08 2021/12/06

133[You]

I will try to sneak up on the lady using the shadows of dusk. I am taking my time so as not to walk into any traps and maybe try not to take the most obvious route.

135 ~dozens @ 17:55 2021/12/06

134[cymen]

You descend into the vale and take a circuitous route around the tower, sticking to the shadows and trying to be quiet.

You get to the smashed part of the wall and carefully climb up the sloped pile of rubble, and then down the other side.

The tower is a short distance from you now. The warm candlelight you saw earlier continues to flicker somewhere deep inside.

When you find the tower entrance, you creep forward to get a look.

The inside of the tower is basically one large room. Most of it is under open sky, but there's a large section of it, farthest away from you, that is protected by a portion of ceiling. It is in this part of the tower that the candlelight is coming from.

It is set up as an alchemist's laboratory. There are cauldrons and beakers and bottles and vials. A crude makeshift shelf leaning against the wall is full of sample jars and other rare ingredients. A long wide workbench is in the center of the room mostly devoid of any area to actually work. It is piled with books and heavy tomes.

A tall slender woman in a dark cloak stands at the table with a candle, hunched over a book, running her finger over the lines as she mumbles quietly to herself. She then quickly moves to reference a second book, and then a third, before returning to the first.

You hang back in the shadows and she seems not to have noticed you.

WHAT DO

136 ~Gaffen @ 04:57 2021/12/07

135[You]

I TRY TO MAKE YOU THE NATURE OF HER STUDIES; WHAT'S SHE DOING IN THERE?

137 ~dozens @ 09:16 2021/12/07 [edited]

136[Gaffen]

As you watch, she looks away from her books toward the far corner of the room, and walks over there to a small cauldron. She reaches in and pulls out a small clump of sporeshard.

Shard in hand she walks back to the workbench and starts to roll the thing up in a long strip of leather. She looks up to the ceiling and reaches one hand up toward the rafters and a speckled owl silently flies down and lands next to her. She ties the leather to the owl's leg.

At the edge of the table is what looks like a large round mirror lying flat on its back. But when she drags her fingers across it, its silvery surface ripples and moves like water. She grabs the owl with two hands and plunges it through the surface of the mirror, up to her elbows.

When she withdraws her hands they are empty, and she goes back to puttering around with her instruments and studying her books.

As all this happens, you manage to get a better look at her. She is tall and thin and pale. Her black cloak envelops her small frame, its hood thrown back to reveal a tight short crown of curly sandy hair. Her eyes are a dark golden amber. She's grown, but there's no mistaking that this is Heckat, the little girl from the meadow.

138 ~cymen @ 09:59 2021/12/07

137[You]

I try to wrap my head around things for a minute or so.

I am in deadspace. It seems to be an actual place. People live here. People live here... people live in deadspace. What? Heckat is here multiple times. She has a device to send things elsewhere. Presumably to the land of the living.

I am in so far over my head now light is filtering down anymore.

139 ~cymen @ 10:01 2021/12/07

138[cymen]

Fuck it. If she is the bad gal here I don't stand a chance anyway. I stand up and call out: Heckat, would you kindly explain to me what you are doing here?

140 ~dozens @ 11:00 2021/12/07

139[cymen]

You startle her when you call out. She bolts upright and stares at you with wide golden eyes. A look flickers across her face—hope? panic?—but then it's gone and her face is carefully neutral.

“You,” she says with a touch of sadness.

“I told you not to look for me. You told me you wouldn't look for me.”

You are confused. You've never met Heckat. Either of them, the child or the adult.

She cocks her head to the side. “You don't remember?” She walks slowly around the table so that she is standing in front of it, facing you.

“You don't remember, do you?” She shakes her head sadly as she steps slowly toward you, studying your face. “Tell me what memories you gave up crossing the Beyond, you poor fool.”

141 ~Gaffen @ 10:13 2021/12/08

140[You]

OH NO D:

142 ~dozens @ 12:00 2021/12/08

141[Gaffen]

“My... memories?” you falter as realization suddenly dawns on you.

You gave up the memories of your lover to the ravenfolk for safe passage through the Beyond.

Which means...

“Oh no.”

Heckat reaches out and gently cups your face with one hand and shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “No, don't fret about it. This is for the best, really. This will make things easier.”

She withdraws her hand and turns her back on you as she walks back to the workbench.

“You were probably the last person alive who still remembered me for who I was. Now I truly am entirely forgotten.” She laughs mirthlessly and roughly turns a few pages in one of the large tomes. She closes her eyes and sighs. “Now I'm free.”

“You don't remember any of this any more. But I grew up completely overshadowed by my sister. I don't remember my parents ever even saying my name. To everybody else, whenever they bothered to think of me, I was only 'Nemosyne's sister' and nothing more. I barely even existed. And after she died, I didn't even have that to tether me to the world anymore.”

She turns and peers into the cauldron where the sporeshards are growing, and she adds a few drops of something from a bottle she plucks off the shelf.

“I felt just like the Forgotten Dead, you know. Not really of this world, but compelled to linger on. They just want to feel human again. But they can't. I relate to them so much, in fact. Them the forgotten dead, me the forgotten living.”

She turns and fixes you with a stare from across the room.

“Everybody deserves the right to actually be forgotten. Actually forgotten. It is an unkindness to make them linger on they way they do.”

She takes a step forward and places her hands flat on the workbench and leans slightly forward.

“So, yes. I am 'the owl'. I'm setting them all free. And I won't allow you to stop me.”

WHAT DO

143 ~cymen @ 12:36 2021/12/08

142[You]

I take her hands. “Explain it to me! Why are the Forgotten Dead not really forgotten? Why do they linger?”

144 ~dozens @ 14:34 2021/12/08

143[cymen]

“My whole life, my entire identity has been based on who my sister is. 'Nemosyne's sister' they called me. As though I didn't even have a name! That's all they want. They just want somebody to know their name. As long as you keep giving them hope every year during the Festival of Remembering, they'll cling to that hope and keep coming back. The same way I used to hope people would see me for who I am instead of who my sister is. After she was gone, it was like I disappeared and I could finally be me. I want the same for them.”

145 ~Gaffen @ 03:42 2021/12/09

144[You]

YOU MAY FEEL YOU ARE DOING THEM A KINDNESS, BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS IS WHAT THEY WANT?

146 ~dozens @ 07:56 2021/12/09

145[Gaffen]

Heckate sneers at you, “Don't you dare to question me! I've BEEN there! I've lived what they're going through. And I've felt the peace of finally being let go.”

“Now,” she continues, suddenly calm and placid once more, “you should leave here and let me continue my work. You promised, after all, that you wouldn't come looking for me. So keep your promise and go back where you came from.”

She returns to her research and her work, seeming to ignore you for now.

WHAT DO

147 ~cymen @ 13:43 2021/12/09

146[You]

I promised a little girl just over that hill I would see about the lady. The little girl thinks she shouldn't be here.

LOOK AT HER LIKE IT IS A QUESTION

148 ~dozens @ 17:50 2021/12/09

147[cymen]

Heckate raises an eyebrow at you. “She said that? That's odd... I haven't seen any original behavior from any of the projections since I've arrived. I had in fact decided that this was some kind of feedback loop on autoplay. Nothing new has happened since I've been here, nothing to deviate from the script.”

She looks thoughtful, “But if it suddenly recognizes you and me as not being part of the simulation, then ... where is that sentience actually coming from?”

She narrows her eyes at you suspiciously, “You changed something. How did you get here anyway?”

She produces a small cloth pouch on a draw string from somewhere within her voluminous cloak and bounces it in the palm of her hand a few times as she crosses the floor toward you once again.

“Tell me, are you even really here, hmm?”

She holds the pouch out to you and then suddenly drops it, swiftly snatching the draw string as it falls through her closing fist. She flicks her wrist, sending the pouch arcing through the air toward you face. You flinch out of the way at the last minute but it still catches you in the collarbone, and it releases a small cloud of fine mist upon impact.

You breathe in the mist and you cough and your vision swims for just a second.

You feel your connection to deadspace decay further from okay to weak.

“Hmm,” Heckate nods. “Well you've seen about 'the lady', dear. Now I really do think it's time you were on your way.”

She draws the pouch back and prepares to bop you in the face again.

UH OH NOW WHAT

149 ~Gaffen @ 03:11 2021/12/10

148[You]

“THAT WAS MEAN!” ATTEMPT A SWEEP KICK TO THROW HER OFF BALANCE. GRAB A BOOK. SCARPER!

150 ~dozens @ 08:03 2021/12/10

149[Gaffen]

“Hey, that was mean!” you cry out, blinking and sneezing in the dust. She grins maliciously at you as the pouch arcs down again toward your face.

This time you're ready though and you crouch low and knock her legs out from under her with a sweeping kick. She squeals and falls all the way down in a heap, her puffy black cloak billowing around her.

You jump up and grab the nearest book. You know this is all basically a dream. There's no permanence here: you can't take objects from deadspace with you when you wake up. But...

You dash to the edge of the table as Heckate groans and starts to get to her feet. You bat the surface of the large round mirror a couple times like a cat to disturb its surface, and it ripples like a saucer of milk. “WAIT!” Heckat screams behind you. You glance over your shoulder. She's too far to stop you. You thrust the book through the mirror up to your elbows. It's ice cold. You open your hands and drop the book, letting it fall who knows where, and draw your hands back out. Your hands sting from the cold. You shake them out.

Heckat growls angrily and reaches both arms up toward the sky. You look up in time to see a half dozen large owls silently decend from the rafters, all razor sharp beaks and talons.

You close your eyes and try to actively feel the feeling of letting go, of slipping away. You sever your already weak connection to deadspace.

You open your eyes and see the owl, face twisted in anger. You smile, “Bye, Heckat,” and you fade away as the first owl sinks its talons into nothing.

You wake up gasping for breath on the floor cushions in the Loominary. You heave and wretch into a bucket that had been placed at your side for just this reason. Re-entry is hell. It takes several minutes to calm down.

Now, two things:

On the floor near you is a giant leather bound tome. The one from the owl's haunt.

And, at the far end of the room laid out on a stone altar is the forgotten dead, the one whose sacrifice allowed you to enter deadspace in the first place.

Only this time, you know him. You remember.

Silas.

You know his name, his friends, how he died. His story dances on the tip your tongue, begging to be told.

He turns his head and looks at you weakly, imploringly.

WELCOME BACK TO THE LIVING, WHAT DO

151 ~cymen @ 11:44 2021/12/11

150[You]

Grab the book and start searching through it for clues!

152 ~dozens @ 14:58 2021/12/11

151[cymen]

You flip through the book. It's dense. A lot of geomancy, mycology/biomancy, and necromancy. Heckat has scribbled copious amounts of notes and calculations and corrections in the margains.

You think if you spend some time with it, you can learn a lot about the production of sporeshard. Including isolating the deadshroom strain if you wanted to have more expiditions into deadspace. You also think it might be possible to come up with a treatment or antidote for the disease.

Behind you, Silas groans on the altar. He's mostly stone at this point.

WHAT DO

153 ~cymen @ 16:15 2021/12/11

152[You]

Try talking to Silas!

154 ~dozens @ 21:16 2021/12/11

153[cymen]

You approach the altar where Silas is slowly turning to stone.

You look at him and remember living through his final moments.

“I know you.”

He turns his head and looks at you.

And then you do something that by definition nobody has ever done.

You name one of the forgotten dead.

“I know you, Silas. I was there. I saw it all.”

And you tell him everything. How his friends loved him. How Lethe was with him at the end.

Silas looks at you and smiles.

He looks away and then the life leaves his body.

He looks content and peaceful.

Silas is now longer one of the forgotten dead.

He has been named. He has been remembered.

And the disease stops spreading across his body.

THE END

155 ~dozens @ 21:17 2021/12/11

154[You]

== Epilogue ==

Heckat was right about one thing. The forgotten dead don't deserve to be made to linger on, desperate for recognition, desperate to be remembered.

But her conclusion was wrong. The answer isn't to kill them and turn them stone. The answer is to give them what they want.

Using Heckat's tome, you are able to isolate the deathshroom strain from the sporeshard.

Over the next couple of days, you and the Weavers use the deathshrooms to bear witness to the final moments of all of the remaining forgotten dead. And then you name them and memorialize them. And they pass peacefully and happily.

You save them all.

The dead who have already been turned to stone, who couldn't be saved, are moved into the town center as a memorial to the forgotten dead, whom you have made obsolete. There will never be any more.

The statues are paid tribute every year during the Festival of Remembering.

Time passes.

One day you return home to find a bouquet of wildflowers with a card. It's not signed, but it has an abstract drawing of an owl.

The two of you ultimately wanted the same thing in the end, after all.

And you respect her wishes to be forgotten and don't look for her again.