The Stars and the Cookie Jar

It's so quiet in the office. A third of the staff isn't here. It looks more and more like snow overhead -- which is fine, as long as it buries us so well that there's no prospect of going to work on Monday.

It's a mark of adulthood: no snow unless the Federal Government closes, please.

And today is my beloved's birthday! Happy birthday, darthrami! Bast is dismayed that you have lived another year.