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“You want a construct? Go read some medieval poetry. Leave her and every other living woman out of it.” going-medieval.com/2020/09/16/

And at least that first sip of coffee still fills me with joy.

I love you, caffeine. Let’s never fight.

At least the air quality index has gone from 600-ish to 308. Still bright red, still hazardous, will kill one just the same… but an improvement!

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new anti-reply guy feature on Mastodon where different icons mark whether a reply is made by a stranger, a nonmutual follower, a nonmutual following, a mutual follower, or somebody on your VIP list that you can add users to

Dark Hackers sequel in which we find out that Dade has become the CISO of EvilCorp and has to be brought down by the next generation of hackers.

Slightly less smoke today. Hope is a cockroach I cannot crush. How I long to breathe again...

It’s 7pm, I have kava tea, and all I want is to crawl into bed. Accent on the “crawl.”

…that moment in a Donnie Yen film when his face hardens and you know the villain’s gonna DIIIIIIIIIE…

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Ain’t no party like a “knock off work early and watch a Donnie Yen movie” party because a “knock off work early and watch a Donnie Yen movie” party has Donnie Yen.

There is smoke in my hibiscus tea and all I got was this lousy coughing fit.

Just wrote a line that gave me actual chills.

Some days this job is AMAZING.

I am generally not a blue-skies type of person, but being able to breathe will be a marvelous thing.

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Tree branches are slightly but definitely moving, there are actual shadows and patches of filtered sun on the deck, and the afternoon forecast includes the magical words “part sun.”

…and another bird just hit the front window.

Hitchcock, eat your heart out.

Dogs have forgotten all the excitement and are lobbying hard for walkies, even with the smoke.

Can’t see a squirrel on the deck. A vast silence has fallen.

Nos morituri, and all that. Time to get the leashes.

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Both dogs now pressed against my legs as I type, hiding under my desk.

Squirrel still on roof.

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Finally found Boxnoggin hiding on my bed, licking his poor aching nose. He has forgotten what happened and knows only that his schnozzola hurts. Miss B followed me around the upstairs looking for him, and has consequently forgotten the squirrel too.

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Ragged Feathers

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