This Post Has No Title (Just Words and a Tune)

O, chì, chì mi na mòrbheanna,
O, chì, chì mi na còrr-bheanna,
O, chì, chì mi na coireachan,
Chì mi na sgòran fo cheò.

*contented sigh*

I'm wrestling awkwardly with the piece I'm trying to write for Witch Eye. I want to get it done by tomorrow so I can have ardaniel look it over for blithering. I should get back to doing work, but this has a deadline. Discipline! Parsheverance! Like Coronel Shandersh!

I should also do laundry. ... now, actually, if I expect to be fit to leave the house tomorrow. Well, that'll give me something to do other than stare at the next bit.

Today's major accomplishment was conceiving of and beginning the execution of Plotting and Scheming. Which I have discussed in detail with oneironaut and brooksmoses, as they will likely not be in the humor blast radius when it goes off. I am gratified by their responses.

Whew.

Draft written.

It wound up spawning a degenerate pentacle while I was doing it, which in working through its bits helped me figure some stuff out that I needed to work through, so that was worth it.

In random uncontexted stuff:
Whitney contemplates tomorrow warily, goes to move the laundry into the dryer so that whatever tomorrow brings, I may face it with underwear.


I have now listened to "The Mist-Covered Mountains of Home" twenty-three times since I got it onto this machine earlier this evening. Fnord.