“I think I need an antibiotic”
Cursory examination. Listened to my breathing. Looked up my nose.
“Where do you want the prescription sent?”
Salty like hot dogs (and tears). Sweet like marmalade (and life).
“I think I need an antibiotic”
Cursory examination. Listened to my breathing. Looked up my nose.
“Where do you want the prescription sent?”
The challenge: Do a line drawing of yourself.
I stare at the pencil-portrait from when I was seven.
I try to copy it.
…coughing-coughing-coughing…
Suffering from my first post-COVID cold
“Thank you for wearing a mask,”
my co-worker said
It’s the least I can do
Bereft of verdure
The snowscape spreads before me
White upon more white
I usually like snow
Today I long for blossom
#TankaTuesday
prompt-requires-synonyms-of-spring-and-green
Warning: I’m going to go way over my limit today.
I was going to cheat by asking ChatGPT to give me a profound quote of 23 words. What it gave me was 13 words and they weren’t terribly profound. I shouldn’t have been surprised — I mean, it’s not a person. What does artificial intelligence know about profundity? I thought that it would at least be able to count.
My oldest daughter had introduced me to ChatGPT on our road trip. For her work, it can be invaluable. It can summarize sections of Medicare policy that would take her hours to review. I played around with it and asked it about some local historical research I had been working on and it was less than helpful.
Over and over this evening I asked for 23 words. Not a single 23 word anything.
When I asked for funny, they were funny. Here are some of the best ones (word count in parentheses):
Finally, I asked it to count the words in a sentence. It couldn’t.
Here are two screen shots to illustrate my point
So I asked to show me how it arrived at 23 words in one of the sentences it had given me:
Does this make sense to you?
Helen said, “INTJs are good listeners until they make a judgment.”
I prayed, “Lord, let me be reluctant to lean into my J.”
As I was going to Virginny, I met a Mat who was quite skinny.
Upon each hand, he wore a mitt.
Upon each mitt, a mot* was writ.
Within each mot, there was a mutt.
Inside each mitt, a hand was put.
Met. Mat. Mitt-mot-mutt.
This may mean something; I know not what.
*My new word for the day — MOT (pronounced ˈmō ). It’s short for “Bon Mot” or a pithy saying.
Here’s a mot with a mutt in it:
A mutt is couture-it’s the only one like it in the world, made especially for you.
Isaac Mizrahi
I’m a little punchy after a long day of driving yesterday. I worked 5am – 11 am, then left my house a little after noon to drive to youngest-daughter’s college where I was meeting up with oldest-daughter who was driving with me to visit middle-daughter. Got that?
I think the sun was out when I left home. After collecting daughter #1, we drove off in the snow. “Winter Advisory” signs flashed at us all along I-81.
And I had opted to drive first. Ugh.
It was slushy sloppy slippery slow driving for about 4 hours. Shortly after she took over driving, the weather and the road cleared.
I dozed.
A lot.
We didn’t meet a single Mat, skinny or otherwise. (Side note: I really do know a Mat with one “t”) No mitts, no mots, no mutts. But that was the prompt given for Stream of Consciousness Saturday: mat/met/mitt/mot/mutt.
All I could think about was going to St. Ives.
For those of you not familiar with the St. Ives riddle, here it is:
Left the house at 4:50am
Went to work
Left early for a trip
Started driving around noon
Driving
Driving
Driving
Driving
Driving
Driving
The dieter says: Sweets are bad; I cannot have them ever.
The faster says: Sweets are good; I will not take them now.
A woman wished me “Happy Women’s Day” today.
Here’s my collage take(s) on Winslow Homer’s painting of a strong woman: Inside the Bar.
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