Alternate Realities (Mal de mer)
It's the oddest day. A nice day, mind you, just odd.
For one thing, I'm not working, which mostly I always am, especially if it's Monday, as it is today. So that's weird.
For another thing, we've got visitors from afar, and while that's exciting and enjoyable, and we missed them something dreadful when they weren't here, which they weren't, not for years, it's still very odd.
The house with visitors becomes a different place. I cook different food. And all the guest beds get made up. And then there's all that talking. And then we need rests. The child came home in the middle of the rests, and instead of watching his hour of TV, he talked and talked and talked to one of the guests, who supposedly was resting downstairs, but I don't think she was.
And now they're upstairs playing Monopoly. She's going to bed early tonight, I'm telling you.
Then, at one point, everybody was napping or resting, in all the beds in the house, and I was alone, and I couldn't remember what I do when I've got time to myself.
Not a good sign. I must not have had any for a while.
I figured it out, eventually. Apparently I read.
But I was feeling like I'd stepped into an alternate reality, and things were happening but I didn't know what, and we were waiting for them to all come together, whatever they were, so we could find out what they meant.
I think this must be what Amber's Tudor Sims feel like.
Unlike the Sims who belong to other people, these Sims are not only at the mercy of human game-players, they are at the mercy of human game-players who are trying to force them to enact the most important bits of Tudor history.
And they are just not cooperating. They will not die off correctly, as I've mentioned before. So Amber's ended up with all of Henry VIII's queens alive at once, most with numerous progeny -- none would have actually had to die or get divorced, if they'd only produced children at this rate -- and to keep them where she can get to them easily, Amber's stuck them all in one house, where they apparently get along VERY well. REALLY well, in some cases, though they then appear to suffer Regret afterwards.* Also, Amber, who has other things to do (like print out the Knitting Tarot), forgot to give them a kitchen for, oh, the longest time, so Katharine Howard was eating out of the trash for a while.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't think things are going badly around here. We're not anywhere near the trash. But it was an odd afternoon.
Now I'll go upstairs and see if the rest of the humans got up from their naps and their Monopoly games. And if we have a kitchen.
********************
I can NOT remember what that French term for sadness-after-sex is. Absolute total block. (I'm sure this Means Something, but it's probably good.) Anybody help out here? Mal de mer? No... Ennui? No...
For one thing, I'm not working, which mostly I always am, especially if it's Monday, as it is today. So that's weird.
For another thing, we've got visitors from afar, and while that's exciting and enjoyable, and we missed them something dreadful when they weren't here, which they weren't, not for years, it's still very odd.
The house with visitors becomes a different place. I cook different food. And all the guest beds get made up. And then there's all that talking. And then we need rests. The child came home in the middle of the rests, and instead of watching his hour of TV, he talked and talked and talked to one of the guests, who supposedly was resting downstairs, but I don't think she was.
And now they're upstairs playing Monopoly. She's going to bed early tonight, I'm telling you.
Then, at one point, everybody was napping or resting, in all the beds in the house, and I was alone, and I couldn't remember what I do when I've got time to myself.
Not a good sign. I must not have had any for a while.
I figured it out, eventually. Apparently I read.
But I was feeling like I'd stepped into an alternate reality, and things were happening but I didn't know what, and we were waiting for them to all come together, whatever they were, so we could find out what they meant.
I think this must be what Amber's Tudor Sims feel like.
Unlike the Sims who belong to other people, these Sims are not only at the mercy of human game-players, they are at the mercy of human game-players who are trying to force them to enact the most important bits of Tudor history.
And they are just not cooperating. They will not die off correctly, as I've mentioned before. So Amber's ended up with all of Henry VIII's queens alive at once, most with numerous progeny -- none would have actually had to die or get divorced, if they'd only produced children at this rate -- and to keep them where she can get to them easily, Amber's stuck them all in one house, where they apparently get along VERY well. REALLY well, in some cases, though they then appear to suffer Regret afterwards.* Also, Amber, who has other things to do (like print out the Knitting Tarot), forgot to give them a kitchen for, oh, the longest time, so Katharine Howard was eating out of the trash for a while.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't think things are going badly around here. We're not anywhere near the trash. But it was an odd afternoon.
Now I'll go upstairs and see if the rest of the humans got up from their naps and their Monopoly games. And if we have a kitchen.
********************
I can NOT remember what that French term for sadness-after-sex is. Absolute total block. (I'm sure this Means Something, but it's probably good.) Anybody help out here? Mal de mer? No... Ennui? No...
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