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Surreal Mornings

Poor othercat is having what sounds like a very surreal morning. She is sitting across from me, so I get to overhear all the fun. It is certinly very fannishly amusing.

First there was the call for a Mr. James Potter. Even though he wasn't the zombie father of The Boy Who Lived, it still required the intervention of a supervisor. Next was a call to a Mr. Moody. Constant Vigilance!

After that, she went away from the computer for a few moments, and when she came back, the Master of Misinformation had taken her chair (leaving her seatless). She reclaimed it, so when he came back, he had to go to another area to get another chair (hopefully an unoccupied one).

Eventful, eh?
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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