Work. Writers group. Life. Sunburns. #lj_support -- is that a support group for the LJ-addicted? Barf. Puns. Bad, bad puns.
... and what I'd longed for most, without knowing it? The inability to pry ourselves off the phone with each other without a crowbar. We had almost bid each other farewell when the puns attacked, and we stayed talking for that extra five minutes, punctuated with silence, before we finally let go.
I feel myself slipping into that place where social connections ossify and the old become the only, by dint of a hardness of the outer layer of soul. This, I know, is the precursor to a hardening of the imagination and mind.
I must not let that happen, but I must not allow myself to be worn away by ducks.
In the light of his eyes, I do not fear my weaknesses.