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The Work Files

Work, hooray. It's the kind of day when I wonder what I'm doing here (now), but before it was kind of good. I am monitoring right now, hooray monitoring. (Sometimes monitoring bores me silly.)

Earlier, Grandma Cinderella went out and got us all muffins and orange juice. We were most appreciative. Rev. Not-So-Nice Super and Homie G. Super were confused when I mentioned scurvy, and giggled that a kid at my cousin's college got scurvy from eating exclusively ramen. This led to a discussion on scurvy, and Googling for photos of people with scurvy, and a brief pirate craze.

Rev. Not-So-Nice Super was singing very bizarre songs with bizarre rhymes. I wrote down some of them, but they're out on my other desk.
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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