Iris’ SDCC Diary - 03.05
I have decided in the interest of science to keep an ongoing list of my bumps, bruises, sprains, spills, and breakages. Thus I have developed a clumsification scale so that each incident can be properly measured on the approximate pain I feel at the time:
Ouch.
Just Give Me a Minute...
Oh, Hera, That Hurt!
Medic!
Don't Go Into the Light.
My hope is that I will eventually reach a point wherein the midst of an "incident," I can just shout out a number and thus save my breath for holding against the agony. I had the chance to practice using my new scale tonight as I tried to navigate my way through the house on crutches. I called out a series of "1's" while I bumped my way down the hall from my bedroom to the kitchen. When I got there, dad asked if I was all right, and I told him I was just trying out my new scale. "Oh, good," he said, "I was afraid you'd finally gone binary on us." I told him that if I didn't think I would spend the next 15 minutes on the floor yelling "Four!" I would hit him with one of my crutches. He laughed, kissed me on the top of my head, and slid open the door to the back porch. He closed the door behind me and flicked on the trail of dim blue-green lights that outlined the path to the "observatory" he built for me.
My dad is the kind of monster that keeps his eye more on the earth beneath his feet than on the stars above his head, but he is an amazing engineer, and he built my observatory with a roof that opens, and the whole thing rotates 360°, so my telescope never has to move. He's not much of a "tell you that he loves you" kind of monster, but he shows it all the time. Tonight I rotated my observatory so that I could see a star called Aldebaran. It's an orange giant and forms one of the eyes in the constellation Taurus-the bull. As I was focusing in, two meteors crashed into each other sending glowing fragments across the night sky like fireworks. If I were the kind of ghoul that looked for omens, I might think this was a sign. Hah! As if...
