Words and Music Are One And the Same

The sky outside cannot seem to make up its mind as to whether or not it's going to rain. It could, or it could blow over. While it makes up its mercurial meteorological mind, I'm reading my flist, eating far too many potato chips, and dinkering around with fic. And no, as far as I know, "dinkering" is not a word approved by Oxford for inclusion in the English tongue, but it sounds good, and what is language if not an organized symphony of lengual music?

The ficcing is going well, though those waiting for SLS 53 will be waiting a trifle longer; I have been entranced by a one-shot that has simmered at the base of my brain for the better part of a year. It is a long one-shot-at the time of this entry, it boasts 4,034 words-and it has nothing to do with Severus Snape or the SLS universe. It treats, in fact, with Neville Longbottom and the coping mechanisms of the disappointed and downtrodden. I'm not sure when it will be done, nor do I intend to jinx it by hazarding a guess. Suffice to say that it proceeds briskly apace, and it will be posted here when finished.

Fourteen days of summer freedom before I return to the mind-numbing grind of higher learning. Since I only have one class on schedule, I'm hardly going to snivel about overwork; others who have five or six classes and a job would surely form a lynch mob if I did. Besides, unlike past semesters, the class only meets for ninety minutes twice a week as opposed to three hours once a week, and after that, there is only one class left before the lambskin crosses my too-cold palm.

The feat would be more impressive if I weren't twenty-eight.

The light schedule also means there is still plenty of time for ficcing and fun if I will but use it wisely.

( Wish in One Hand And Sh- )

Farewell, _ari_, from the flist.