Possibly Pickaxe

Sniper This morning we went from “everyone dies in a Vocaloid” to “how does one ‘casually’ pick up a pickaxe anyway?” (We were talking about Hetalia Russia. Well, the Princess was. I was listening.)

I love being a mother. There’s just no other job that compares.

Good morning! The last week of school proceeds apace. I’m reading Iron Coffins, about U-Boat warfare in WWII. I’ve seen Das Boot, of course, but something about Werner’s terse descriptions of just how manky, moldy, and sickening-smelling it became inside one of those submarines turns my stomach much more thoroughly.

I’m working on the Pliny Train, but since this week is the end of school and copyedits and serial and AUGH HAIR ON FIRE it might take a bit.It’s going to take years to get through Pliny at this rate, but I don’t mind. It will keep me blogging. At this rate, the internet will be corporate-controlled in every corner by the time I finish, but that’s probably the only thing that will stop me. We’ll see.

And now, the rest of the day must begin. I need caffeination. And quite possibly a pickaxe.

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its the overwhelming smell of diesel that gets into everything.

I have a pickaxe .. casually leaning up in my garage, I can loan it to you..