Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain...

Here I sit, in the familiar confines of the Sooper Sekrit Crip Cabal Headquarters. We're having our monthly sabbat on how best to disrupt the lives of the abled, but aside from faking seizures and explosive bowel mishaps on the bus at inopportune moments, we haven't come up with much. Screaming Menace to All Tranquility does, however, turn a mean doughnut. SDRC, and this is the third computer on which I have tried to compose an entry; the first two decided that now would be a good time for automatic Windows updates and restarts. Every five minutes.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful, and most definitely not delightful. The sky is black, and the rain is a deluge. The weatherwoman on the Weather Channel, who announced the deluge with the sadistic glee of a cannibal crouching over the steaming entrails of a meddlesome anthropologist, said the spate of severe weather in my neck of the woods is being caused by a Canadian kicker. She did not, of course, elaborate on her mystical, weatherpersoon hoodoo, and so now I am stuck with the image of a Canadian soccer player in Manitoba, dressed in Native ceremonial garb and raindancing around a picture of Governor Bush while listening to Steely Dan. Wherever he is, I hope he calls it a day soon.

Because of the inclement weather, all ficcing is on hold, as is my viewing of tonight's NCIS, which vexes me greatly. I've missed the last three weeks, and I'm going through Gibbs withdrawal. If anyone wants to volunteer to burn the next few episodes onto DVD and mail them my way, I'd be glad to pay shipping charges. I need my crime drama fix.

SLS52 Word Count: 0

LJ Exclusive Fic Word Count: 2,041

Welcome, wolfma, back to the flist. I kept your seat warm.

ETA: I'm home at last after a balky ride on an ancient, overtaxed bus. I missed NCIS, but I'm just happy to pee in my own toilet. Tea and bed, I think. See you tomorrow.