The Stars and the Cookie Jar

The panic is finally over.

The usual set of problems is in its wake -- my staff thinks I'm a hound of the Wild Hunt, my boss thinks I'm feeble in mind, my electric bill is going to be in the stratosphere from six nights of lighting every second  of dark, my friends all slink and tiptoe near me -- but I begged tomorrow off work and I am going to spend it in my own company, in my own skin. Return of the King -- hey, it's only the... fourth... time; lunch out; lots of time in the bookstore (and probably a $20 bill gone astray in the Fantasy section, Kage Baker has a new one) and then St. Paddy's Day stuff of variously polished musicality, indoors and out, downtown and up.

I will be singing. You may wish to cover your ears now; but there will be Skibbereen, A-Souling, The Grey Selkie, Siuil a Run, Nil Na La and several more. Eeekers.

And Dero will play The Butterfly for me, and I will steadfastly the entire time not look at Dero, lest I behave like one who is much younger and exceeding foolish.

...It is good to finally be still.