Blue Moon

Some people don't know when to quit.

M&M's do melt - but not in the hand, rather somewhere in a gummy pocket, protesting weariness with solidity.

I am Elspeth pre-Poityr. Only without the sul Temans. Or at least their attitude.

I want to go to Elspeth's world.

I want Poityr.

Mothers are still wonderful. Tuna is wonderful. Well-made beds are wonderful.

I keep forgetting it's not a fast day.

Morbundity does not suit me.

A paraph is a flourish at the end of a signature.

My job is utterly thankless. Storing up riches, eh?

I am so confused. Like one led by will-o-wisps, only to find them of one's own imagining.

Sometimes it's awfully tempting to chuck charity. And then the grumbling of conscience makes himself be heard and one sighs and does what is right anyway, grateful that charity is not an emotion.

Sometimes, even worse, one runs and hides.

Obtuse is a helpful word.

Oh Lord, I am not worthy, that Thou shouldst come to me, but speak the Word of comfort, my spirit Thine shall be. And humbly I'll adore Thee, the Bridegroom of my soul, no more by sin to grieve Thee, or fly Thy sweet control. O Sacrament Most Holy, O Sacrament Divine! All praise and all thanksgiving be every moment Thine!

Mood: Similar to post-Bearskin curl
Music: Must turn off Norah Jones.
Other Music: A chorus of pigs behind Miss Piggy keeping an obnoxious bolero beat. Yeah.