Much less whinging.

The car is fixed. I'm on my way to go get it. It was expensive but not nearly so bad as it could have been; the head gasket was fine. I have a bus route figured out and everything.

I feel better. I managed to get more sleep this morning somehow and that helped tremendously on just about all fronts.

I may not actually have pink eye, or at least only a mild case of it. Jane, I'll be trying that. Thank you.

I still have brownies.

I'm writing. I know her name and where she lives and everything. She told me. I have a distance to go with it yet and really it's not at all what I should be working on now, but such is life. It seems to be going quickly enough that I can finish it up in short order. If I'm lucky and it's good (and I think it will be) I'll have it in time to send it off as my Clarion entry. Yes, that would be in two days, why do you ask? Hush.

I am going to class tonight.

I'm taking a brownie.

I finished a knitting project and I am well pleased with it. Pictures will follow.

Knitting!

This is my finished clapotis, which is a scarf/shawl sort of thing that I finally finished. I could block it, but then it wouldn't do that awesome sort curling cut-on-the-bias thing it does.

I finished something. Go me. :)

A poem in two parts.

Part I:

Sonnet 147
My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
-- Shakespeare

Part II:

When first I looked upon old Shakespeare's poem
It seemed to me a paltry thing, a waste.
Not his best at all, a whining hymn
In which he suffered quite a lack of taste.
Then life occurred, and suddenly I found
Myself unsettled, mourning my own fate
Upset and disconcerted all around
I missed those calmer seas, all gone of late.
As wildly I swing 'twixt two extremes
It seems now tempests are my daily fare,
Now cursing ruefully my waking dreams
I slide from joy, past Reason, to despair.
Fate, it seems, finds all of this quite rich;
Love's made of me a whiny emo bitch.