The Stars and the Cookie Jar

(speaking of musing, my muse has come back, and she brought postcards. I really wanted some ginger ice cream and Autocrat Syrup for my milk, but what can you do?)

Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney-sweepers, come to dust...

I realised I feel old. At least a century older than I am. I feel like you do when you're swimming too close to rocks and get a good push you weren't expecting and slam side-and-shoulder into them. No, not unhappy. Just old! Just beaten down and worn through.

's because I was talking to rymenhild earlier and I said something about wanting more than anything to be a famous writer before I'm thirty.

It's true, but.

What I most want them to say is "She had a better soul than her father."