shh; clip-clop; ungh

So last night in bed I ask Her Nibs how she's feeling for the Nth time that day, and she says, "Not as sore as usual." I do a brief, silent, squinty-eyed victory dance. She says, "Xinj! Xinj! Xinj!"

I've been staying up too late every night this week reading Seabiscuit. Yeah, the racetrackers may have been colorful back then, but the jockeys were suicidally insane. That's not a misuse of the word when you consider how many of them ended up dead or maimed on the track, or debilitated from weight reduction. I'm all about desire, but I just can't see the love of, say, going really fast on a horse driving me to put up with that much physical danger. On the other hand, most of them would probably regard my (relatively mild) tranniness to be pretty nutso.

Another way I've been robbing myself of sleep: I'm kicking butt on the Next Big Costume. Nyeh heh heh.

Lack of sleep made me a little addle-pated while giving a speech to the whole engineering group yesterday, but I think I got my point across. I hope.