Despite the usual lack of sleep occasioned by early-morning doctors' appointments, I had a nice time meeting
a_reasonable_man at Widener Library and then it turned out the item for which I had requested reading room privileges was actually a mirage in the catalogue and the afternoon promptly deteriorated: it took me two hours to get home thanks to the MBTA being both snafu and fubar; my stamina comprehensively fucked off long before then; and I got back to the internet to discover the liar in the White House has declared a national emergency for purposes of immigrant crackdown, which is the kind of thing I have been worried about since he took office. Protests appear to be planned for noon on Monday.
spatch and I are supposed to attend our traditional twenty-four-hour science fiction film marathon ending at noon on Monday. I guess sleep-deprived protest it's going to be. This can't be the worst timeline, but could it stop doing its best to compete?
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- 1: You are just the fingertips of something
- 2: And four hours north of Portland, the radio flips on
- 3: Shaking off the echoes of yesterday
- 4: Everything I love is on the table, everything I love is out to sea
- 5: He tried to run away, well, she hit him with a hammer
- 6: There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard
- 7: She's got a common full of love
- 8: Counts the waves that somehow didn't hit her
- 9: If I were you, I'd be out on the town
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- Style: Classic for Refried Tablet by and
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