All my brain are belong to sinus pain.

I was determined to do, say, think, create something worth its salt over the last few days, but internal swelling that is putting pressure against my frontal lobe has slowed my thinking ability down considerably. Sometimes I right decent lists, so I turned to the Palinode and told him that maybe writing a list would kickstart my creativity. A list about what? he asked, and then I stared at the pile of laundry and counted and recounted visible socks for five minutes. There were thirteen of them.

And so, in lieu of my struggling through any more sentences like the previous four, which took me thirty-eight minutes to configure, lard gawd almighty, I have photographs that I can show you. They're at least visually interesting, and copying and pasting code is something I think I can conquer. Here goes.

A People Person Wears An Appropriate T-Shirt. Be Out, Be Proud.

The Board Halfway Through A Rousing Game Of Drunken Scrabble. Only One Player Can Win, But Everyone Can Get Drunk Enough To Feel Like Winners.

Scrabble 2
Drunken Scrabblers In Action.

Aidan aglow
The Palinode Glows In The Sun Like That
"...Young Bald Albino Boy With Unique Powers".

the courtyard
The Courtyard Through My Window When I Sit
In My Comfy Chair And Drink Coffee.

An Old Radiator In Our Apartment,
Lomo-esque And Weirdly Religious In Tone.

I made it. Hokey patoot.

You heard me. I said hokey patoot. When I devolve into ejaculating* odd family sayings, it means that I have to go lie in bed and read magazines and drink tea and find a way to justify ordering in barbecue pork in black bean sauce yet again until my head stops expanding. I've got a pneumatic bladder inflating in there, I swear.

* Heh. I said ejaculate. Snigger.