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Oh, and hcolleen made "cinza rolls". Those are the reasonably delightful bastard child of cinnamon rolls and hot cross buns. They were definitely crying out for frosting. :D Unfortunately, as tasty as they were, they were also chock-full of walnuts. And slightly dryish tasty buns in combination with the mouth-peeling nut of evil, on top of fresh dental work ... yeah, not happening. I took a small one and picked at it as I wrote the Missive of Doom.

I'm not entirely sure what's up with the Missive of Doom, but it's definitely a chance for me to get my rusty clergy-thoughts in order. I got it special-delivery, but now I think I'm trying to chicken out on the actual delivery, which is a Bad Thing. Eh well, I'll polish it up and then either it will work or it won't work, and gods help all of us on any side of the equation in the case where it doesn't, because zomg not so great.

I am suffering an Attack of Skin. The Wednesday where I wore my disco ball dress resulted in my lovely milk-pale skin (okay, so I'm not absolutely skim-milk-white like I was when I was fresh from Alaska, but I'm still relatively non-tan) turning into a blotchy blotchfest of redness. You know how when you pour syrup into the milk, before you stir it, a few drops will show up on the surface? Yeah. That. It was either a reaction to the dusty dress or a reaction to the tail end of the medication. There wasn't much irritation, and there weren't raised bumps, just redness. I was surprised that I was so upset at the idea of the skin on my upper chest under my neck, the part visible before my shirt starts, being all red and not smooth. Vanity, vanity. That did clear up in fairly short order, but this looks almost like a re-visit except for the fact that it's not just little red blotches, it's Bad Skin in many pores at once, not just a few on the face and shoulders. Bleh.
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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