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Wednesday night writing

The pie was tasty. Very sweet, very rich, very scary. Between the whole group, we managed to only demolish a quarter of the pie (plus the little custard cups that did not have any alcohol-based flavoring). Congratulations where congratulations are due! I am planning on taking some of the remainder in to work to share with Snarky Lady and the crew, based on the idea that they're just as afflicted by the parties deserving of pie as I am.

There was a newcomer lady who was Much of the Bad Background, and the corresponding Crazy, but hcolleen and M had Words that politely but firmly informed her that This Is Not A Therapy Group, and she expressed relief and seemed to settle in after that. Not thinking that we'll invite her to dinner as yet; let's see how she does first.

There was a lot of laughing and giggling. We really didn't get started until after 7. I forgot the milk. But it all worked out, time-wise.
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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