Indentation

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Plenty to do! Both in fake worlds and real ones.  Good for busyness and business.  This is good news because then I don’t feel like I’m failing by not tackling these things I don’t know exist.  It’s an odd situation because I want to be working in the same way I was at the old job – just overwhelmed and now it is, in some ways, harder because I have to continually motivate myself to be curious about work questions and work doings and when the activity tapers off and I’m alone in my office, I find that curiosity difficult to procure.

At the same time I’m looking at being off for two weeks within a week’s time.  I can start to distill this whole year.  I can go back and finish numbering the posts which dropped off in October and maybe fill in posts with some fic if that won’t be completely bizarre and anachronistic to have elfy, Dragon Age: Inquisitioning happening before October if we were – oh god, I can’t even imagine – to try and read this hulking monster from January 1st to December 31st.  It is neat, though, to know it’s there.  Like the mountains which feel to me like a ribcage, giving shape, protecting the heart, strength, but room to let the light through.  The girl I was on January 1st, 2014 is not the same girl I am today.  Funny how that happens without even prophecy, maps, or anything but deep, untapped hope.
Also, I am trying to recall the general truth that just because something goes wrong doesn’t mean I am wrong.  I don’t have to take on a yet darker shade of wrongness because someone didn’t check a box somewhere.  Trying to keep that in mind.

We are going shopping tonight. This time, for real.  I think it is possible that Christmas, even though I have much more time to soak it up, is going to edge around me yet again this year.  Maybe I’m looking for a childlike whimsy that is just not accessible anymore.  Maybe, and more likely, I just have my thoughts on other things.  On everything, really.  Pinballs up in here.  If I can’t have whimsy and giddy joy, I’ll take just a bit of appreciation that my brain is not stoved in, that my heart is not completely corroded and my legs are not entirely atrophied.
I can do better if I stop letting myself off the hook and do it.
…..
The arrow was tipped with deathroot paste.  The old ways.  She turned her head, but still heard it. Just a brief moment of piteous sound and struggle before the ram in the grass lay still. Eila didn’t relish the final squeal in her kills as the spirit parted ways with the flesh, or watching the last humble movements of an animal in its death throes.  The Keeper said the brackish venom helped ease the spirit into the Fade as readily as her nettle tea eased Eila into dreams.  She had never been sure how the Keeper might know what the prey felt or how it dreamed, but she had never given any of the clan reason to question her wisdom.
They would eat, they would be warm, they would be pleased.  She said it as though it were a blessing over the beast as she knelt down to retrieve her arrow and prepare to return.  She had not had to range far from the camp to find her quarry.  This might mean that the humans were driving the herd further into the woods or the summer rains. It had been surprisingly easy since they’d settled in this place, to keep bellies full, sleeps warm, and the children happy at their play.
That ease lead to other sorts of trouble.

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