Got no plans to beat myself up—if I do, I'll use a feather on a scale of weighing heart
My godchild said I looked amazing in this picture, so I'm sharing it. We now have matching Sir Fabulous T-shirts.

There was an extraordinary moon earlier this evening, a parchment lantern against dusk-blue. Patches of snow are still shining in the moonlight. I made fig-jam hamantashn for the first time ever and they aren't half bad. I am re-reading Tom Holt's Goatsong (1989), which I last read in 2015 when
choco_frosh gave it to me. I had entirely forgotten it begins with the Plague of Athens.

There was an extraordinary moon earlier this evening, a parchment lantern against dusk-blue. Patches of snow are still shining in the moonlight. I made fig-jam hamantashn for the first time ever and they aren't half bad. I am re-reading Tom Holt's Goatsong (1989), which I last read in 2015 when

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I've got to say, I've never seen you side by side with their more mature facial features, or maybe it's the particular camera angle, but I had a keystone from arch moment and now I am going to bed knowing I was right about something I saw once a long time ago. I mean, I was wrong in that way such things often seem wrong at the minute, but the payoff happened? I am going to BED.
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"He saw, too, a turbulent stream with a great boulder in the middle of it. On the boulder lay Fflewddur's harp, which played of itself as the wind stirred the strings."
*hugs*
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*hugs*