Ein Todesengel steht in meines Zimmers Mitte

Courtesy of handful_ofdust: Emmy Hennings with her Dada puppet, spring 1917.



Of course there is a story there; it's Hennings' life. But there is also another story and someone I know had better write it.

Call in the airstrike with a poison kiss

So it turns out I spent most of yesterday with a migraine, which between the ear infection, the braces-triggered TMJ, and the grinding exhaustion I failed to notice as such until derspatchel pointed out that I was crying every time I moved, at which point—sometime after two in the morning—I stopped forcing myself through my Arisia signup and went to bed.

Today I no longer have a migraine, but I'm really still in a lot of pain. I wanted to make about three different posts, but none of them happened. I ran some errands and finished my Arisia signup.

The two-part finale of Doctor Who upset me by (a) containing a number of story decisions with which I disagree for structural reasons (b) strongly resembling aspects of several nightmares I've had recently.

The latter seems really unfair to me.