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More manic dorm room, less disaster area.

The shelves are now fully assembled. I always tend to under-estimate the amount of physical effort that goes into screwing together items made out of natural wood, especially items that have very approximate guide-holes drilled. I had a bit of a time getting the two shelf units stacked, too, as there was maybe a 2mm misalignment on one leg. The BFI method got it to work, though, so all is good.

I got a humidifier at Target the other day, and the thing works beautifully. It has a "medicine goes here" hole for medicine that can be sent up in the steam. And it is steam (or at least warm water vapor). I took one look at it and thought of those doohickies that involve a dish, a heat source, water, and then scented oil floating on the water. It's not as intense as one of those, I think, but it's certainly a start in a similar direction.

Read Fire and Hemlock all the way through. There are reasons Diana Wynne Jones is on my buy-on-sight list. Hooray for Borderlands-the-bookstore!

Discovered another person who enhances that way I have of slipping into Otherness. As the others on the short-list of people who I wind up displacing myself around are valued colleagues in one way or another, this is a good thing. It's very bizarre, and akin to the creative process, to just have these words dumped into the head and be -- well, it's not so much a compulsion to say them, as it is the Knowledge that the words were given into my care for a reason, and that reason is to give them to the addressed party. So I say them unless I feel that my judgment in the situation overrides the judgment of the Divine. Or unless I seriously doubt the origin of the words. But they aren't my words. I'm used to things that aren't my ideas, because I'm a writer. But it's still surreal to get a headful of words that need to come out as written. Even odder when they're to be verbally said than typed, because I take transcription decently.

I remain convinced that the only difference between me and the average person with deity is that the deity has found a relatively easy way of poking me, and can often give words to me verbatim. (Yes. Verbatim. In fact. As opposed to the infamous "spank me" moment of 2001/2-ish, which was just bad.) So. Those of you with Deity out there -- what has your Deity been saying to you lately? You don't have to tell me, because it's probably personal, but ... think about it? Because Deity is probably talking, if you have the ears to listen.
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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