Dried up, dessicated, exhausted. Yep, I’m fighting off a cold. I hate it when my nose fills up; it’s like being blind. I rely on my sense of smell to tell me so much about the world, losing it makes everything colorless.
Here, have a bit about how Elvis is Orpheus, Dionysis, and Hercules all rolled into one. And about Boccaccio’s famous women, featuring Tamsyn the Kickass.Oh, and Mount Doom is really about to blow up. Geology is awesome.
Today the wind is up and we’re supposed to get loads of rain, always my favourite thing. This morning’s run (I want to cook the incipient cold out of me, if I can) was full of those sharp but warm rain-laden gusts that sometimes happen in autumn, dancing leaves and spattering drops as trees toss their arms in their sleep and birds float in the sky. I’ve wondered what a bird feels on days like today, what they think of wind, if sometimes they just fly because it feels good.
I am trying to get back into blogging more. Retreating like a crushed anemone is all very well, but really, I’ve got this nice shiny website and I should really pay attention to it.
Today is for writing a logician’s descent into madness and a sorceress’s going against her better judgment. Then to shift gears and get the trailer-park fae into some more trouble. If that doesn’t cure a cold I don’t know what will.