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Slice of life...

This is me right now: soggy with sweat from the Arizona heat, slightly grungy from same, with my hair half-covered by a blue scarf-with-holes thing, the other half bound up in a plastic claw off my neck. My computer speakers are pounding out music that I know I'll eventually bellydance to. There is incense burning, after a match that failed to work. Things are moving around in the apartment, and I'm determined that I'll get it clean and presentable tonight, so I won't have to do all that much Thursday or Friday or early Saturday morning.

... I'm now rocking out to some KFMDM via Mortal Kombat, and I heard "open source" instead of "open sores".

There are pictures hanging on my walls now: there's a set of them by the bed, and my ministry credentials and the certificate for cuttingrmfloor are up on the bit of wall above the computer desk. I'll probably move things around when I get more novel completion certificates and the like.

Instead of a trash can and a mess by the end of the kitchen, I've relocated a cruddy old shelf. New shelving will be going in where the old shelf used to be -- soon. Really soon.

In between cleaning, of course, I'm trying to clean out the inbox. Failing, of course, since it's at over 75 and counting, but at least I'm trying to stay on top of current events. And of course that brings me to the OkCupid message that hey, I have new messages! And. What. The. Fuck. Since when does a handful of communications off LJ and a subsequent Banning for Extraordinarily Creepy on LJ translate to "friends in real life"? I just don't get some of this stuff, I'm tellin' you.

Currently blasting: "Bizarre Love Triangle", the source for my name of the moment on LJ, "I see you falling". Incense is still going strong, prayers for friends in need are going up, old mail is getting sorted through, and now "Blood Wedding".

Sewing machine moved off dining room table and onto computer desk. There really is no good place for the sewing machine, and I know I must wind a bobbin with some good thread, do something safe with the bad thread, and mend a few things before the clothing situation goes supercritical.
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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