If you see a neon sign on the train right back to the inevitable
For the second year in a row, which marks some kind of fandom record for me, I am participating in
threesentenceficathon. So far I have written three fills and am enjoying the diversity of canons from myth to television to nineteenth-century novels. The time I spent this evening with a nosebleed feels gratuitous and the consumption of the afternoon by phone calls definitely was, but last night my godchild showed off both his mermaid sitting and his hair in progress—I have since received documentation of its color-correction—and my god-aunt sent me a link to the Technicolor jazz noir of Sandra Boynton's "C.A.T." (2019). The end of this week will see a conjunction of Venus and Saturn, which sounds as though it should occasion a masque. I remain tired to the point of absurdity, uncharmed by the shape of the year, here.

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You got a nosebleed on a massive full moon and I almost texted you to ask your godchild where my Tarot pack has gone. (I'm giving him until tomorrow. Today was the four of cups.)
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(And "not counting" is the joy of commentfic. Of course, it does really, but it also doesn't, and that's much needed and and lovely and very freeing - and, look, words!)
*hugs for the rest*
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