It's official

I am "griping about my medication" years old. After suddenly puffing up like a bufo toad, I have  given up naproxen and salt and also food, just to cover my bases. Deal with it, shitty knee.

Body parts are the kind of problems where if you ignore them, they will eventually go away. I’ve got it  sorted.

Heading out for evening walk

Coming home

Dept of good news: everyone had gone snorkeling with dolphins when I got home from work, so I had an empty house and time to paint. I decided to paint another horcrux. This was a good idea.

Cursed object #2: the skinwalker knife. This is the very knife dropped under our bedroom window by the dark figure staring in at us for three nights, before shooting his brother in law, getting mired in the mud, and eventually taking his own head off with a shotgun. I leave that last bit out when I tell the story to kids.

It doesn't feel bad handling the knife. It doesn't give off creepy vibrations or a menacing aura - it has always been just a battered old knife. It feels like a thing that wasn't, a broken thread that led somewhere bad.

I have feelings about it, though.