Contemplative meditations on the meh

[kiya]

I feel like a river pebble, like all of me is being worn smooth by this constant gentle abrasion. I have such striations, but once upon a time I had edges. Purposes. Something to catch on things.

This is not helped by the fact that I took long enough getting over the Doom Cold that I seem to have picked up something minor and secondary that makes me feel like my head has been pumped full of ... bees.

I find myself rattling around with contemplating the kink content of "The Music of the Night" for me (first thing I encountered that scratched that itch any), trying to come up with coherent comment on The Curse of Chalion (beyond, "Yes, jenett, you were right; I needed that"), dealing with bouts of weepy something-or-other at teinedreugan, being generally kind of morbid, and having my eyes cross.

Maybe if I sneeze hard enough I'll eject all the stinging insects from my head ....