(A journal entry from June 11th, edited for publication.)


It turns out being constantly stimmed on my back makes me a catty bitch liable to meltdown frequently. This morning things got too much and I started being unreasonable at Isabelle, and yet managed to keep enough presence of mind to tell her that her taking control of the situation could remedy things quickly.

One of the objects of my unreasonableness was the kettle (and its not being filled up), and, in view of my having just filled it up — it’s like a 3 or 4 litre urn-type deal — she ordered me to go into the kitchen and watch it until it boiled.

The kettle has the decency to show the current temperature of its contents and a minute-granularity estimate of how long it’ll take until it’s boiled. Seeing that “14” on the display as I entered the room really added something to the experience.

It did the trick more perfectly than I could’ve anticipated.

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