Wrote this a few days ago. I got the phrase "I have of late been wondering..." stuck in my head at work and when I got home I just got out a notebook and this happened. It makes me feel a little better about this story, it's very personable and lacks the "BLEEP-BLOOP-I-AM-WRITING-A-STEAMPUNK-NOVEL" roboticism of the other parts I've attempted. Is roboticism a word?
Anyway.
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April 7th, 18--
I have of late been wondering about what others do with their time. In the novels I read, ladies are always concerned with the gentlemen that surround them, and whispering to each other in general languor seems to be the order of the day. I know Uncle procures these for me as a way of keeping connected to society as a whole, but it does make me want to shout at them sometimes. It seems a strange world indeed where a Ms. N can forever be soliciting the attentions of Mr. H, thought she really prefers Mr. P, but is attempting to save Mr. H from the attentions of the scheming Mrs. B, a widow that wants Mr. H's large fortune, and meanwhile my uncle is telling stories around the table of men getting their arms crushed by boulders or being flung up into the air, to fall from great heights and become unintentional bombs to their fellows below. I cannot reconcile it. What on Earth is the point of getting a husband if he is to be sent off to the front to be crushed by boulders?
But perhaps the fault lies with me. I cannot see the point in getting a husband in any case.
Mr. Pimms blew a gasket today! It was quite funny, actually, since 'blowing a gasket' is coming into vogue as a means of saying 'had a fit of temper,' and that is exactly what he was doing. I was attempting that trick of James' where he raises three clods of earth and twirls them in a circle over his head, only I was doing it with much bigger rocks. I thought James would be impressed, but he and Mr. Pimms came rushing down the hillside as if being chased by a pack of wild dogs. (If wild dogs could harm Mr. Pimms, of course.) James waved the rocks aside (it still irks me that he control my sendings and I cannot do the same to him. I must ask Uncle how this works) and started shouting about the rocks being so big that they'd crush my head if I lost control. Mr. Pimms was agreeing, waggling his newly articulate finger at me, when he suddenly he rocked violently to one side and there was a 'sproing'ing noise as several small somethings were ejected from his hip juncture.
Ever practical, James ran for the parts while I got a shoulder under Mr. Pimms. I asked what had happened, and James replied, "He threw a gasket," absentmindedly. Then we looked at each other and just started howling. Mr. Pimms was not amused and started shaking his finger at me again, but that only compounded it until James was rolling on the packed earth of the arena floor and I was hunched over, trying to support Mr. Pimms and hold my aching stomach at the same time.
Whereupon Uncle entered and gave us a fierce scolding for not bringing poor Pimms to the workshop immediately. I felt guilty for laughing then, but Mr. Pimms tipped his hat to me when we got him settled on Uncle's work table, so I do not feel so bad. James says Mr. Pimms would be a crashing bore if he were human but I am choosing to ignore him. At least Mr. Pimms will have tea parties with me and pretended to be the Queen when I was trying to figure out how the curtsy to royalty was different from the normal one.
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It sounds a bit generic but I sensed Franny's true voice a few times. This is her at about twelve, I think, since she's still a bit childish but her immense sensibility is starting to show through.
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