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The living room has so many feathers scattered over it, it looks like a rooster was murdered. (Actually, a murdered rooster would have left about a hundred times as many feathers, and more blood and guts, but it looks like a rooster had a really close escape. And I know it was a rooster, because it's the pointy and shiny hackle and saddle feathers.) The cats have been cheerfully trying to disembowel their little ball-with-feathers toy. There were three of them. shammash raided the shopping bag and started playing with them when they were still in the package. I decided to give it to them then, and stored the other two (per the helpful hints on the package) in the catnip jar.

I have washed dishes. I have found breakfast/lunch. I have not sought out batteries. I have not vacuumed. I have been reading good classic fanfic. I have decided that if I ever am published, and some of my favorite scenes get snipped out per editorial decree, I shall make myself a sockpuppet account and put up the fanfic up somewhere where it will be appreciated. And yes, I shall have it betaed first. Honestly, I think that's an appropriate compromise. Even if it's not a sockpuppet, even if it's just a random hard-to-find corner of the author's site, cut scenes put up as fanfic, cut scenes that are still good... One can fanfic one's own work, yes?

It's a nice and peaceful holiday. No one's shouting outside, which is a nice change.

The other night, some complete twit left broken glass all over the space where we usually park Sis's car. Argh. Twits.
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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