For all of you asking (with or without sarcasm) if the timeline is healed yet:


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Can I drink enough coffee to heal the timeline? LET’S FIND OUT.

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Usually the world begins to seem LESS weird as the caffeine sinks in, but this Wednesday the weird seems to be accelerating.

Interesting. Perhaps I need another quad shot.

Finally got to the murder that kicks off the third act of this book. Now I get to watch true crime before slithering into bed.

…that’s two good working days in a row. I am grateful but also waiting for a shoe to drop.

"Real men" implies complex men, surreal men, and integer men.

I had pie for dinner, and in another 200 words I can call today a success.

The pie automatically makes it one, I know, but I’m an overachiever.

I have Boards of Canada playing and the cicadas are droning in the fir-tops now.

Normally I’m neutral on summer. But today has been…very nice.


Just a teensy brief shower, but it’s enough. The air smells green again, and the trees are whispering with delight.

Well, the birds are certainly acting like rain is possible, and the cedars are whispering secretively.

I’m waiting for petrichor.

::making small talk at the bar::

what do you think'll collapse first, education or healthcare?

I set a LOT of the Kismet books to Cure tunes. (Perry’s theme is “Lullaby”.) It was nice to say hello to my character(s) again.

And that’s the morning report. We’re supposed to have some rain; I am hopeful…

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This morning’s run jam was one we haven’t had in quite some time, the Cure’s “Wrong Number”. Which is the hellbreed hole clearing music for Jill Kismet.

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As for the morning’s run, even more bees (today they want to be in my eye-holes, except for the one who was bound and determined to set up shop in my ear), and increasing mugginess.

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Poor Boxnoggin cannot be trusted; he is a loudmouth bully and often plays too roughly. So he is forced to merely sing the song of his people. At jet-takeoff decibel levels.

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Morning Walk Report: Marine layer thickening, chance of rain later, bees frantic to gather what they can. Boxnoggin making a fool of himself every time another dog is spotted.

Already two bees tried to climb into my eye-holes during walkies so…today is going to be That Kind of Weird, okay, cool.

In which the heat has broken (again), Boxnoggin is bouncy (once more), and imaginary people are (always) troublesome.

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1.2k on HELL’S ACRE, probably mostly usable words. 2.6k on SONS OF YMRE 2, but it will need heavy clipping and paring before I consider the scene done enough to move on.

Not bad for a day’s work. And there were hummingbirds outside my window.

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Ragged Feathers

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