Somehow, I feel like I'm going nowhere...

...but at least I'm not going backwards.

Lay down on the couch with Angel curled up on my chest on Saturday. A cat (even a small crotchety-to-be cat) on your ribs weighs enough that you breathe more shallowly--which, combined with the inhaler, resulted in no coughing. Got three hours decent sleep out of that.

(Of course, eventually the inhaler wore off and I woke up and started coughing again. Darling furball gave me the filthiest look I have ever seen.)

That was the best sleep I got all weekend. However, aside from that, the weekend was pretty good. Zombie shlock[1], slavering hellhounds, assorted practicalities, sewing[2], and art progress. Tiny little art progress, but progress nonetheless.
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[1] "You made me hurt myself again! I broke my hand off completely at the wrist this time, Tina. But that's okay, darlin', because I love you, and that's why you have to let me eat your brains!"
[2] I hate canvas. And of course, making that statement is causing me to wonder what I could do with canvas in the future...

Smallnotes.

Gay marriage.

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365 tomorrows has a short (evidently) piece on not making it, and trying anyway. Yes, I realize how cotton-candy that sounds. It's not. Trust me.

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Passing whimsy: As commodorified has noted in the past, "elfin grot" absolutely sounds like something you would catch sleeping around (probably sleeping around with long-haired light-footed wild-eyed folk, but sleeping around nonetheless).

I am suddenly seeing Keats' "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" as a nineteenth-century version of AIDS Mary.