Arg.

A weekend full of stuff to do at times when I couldn't do them. Crazy-making.

(no subject)

On my way home with pumpkins yesterday I saw neatly-lettered signs with arrows and the letters "SCA" leading to a church a few blocks from my house. I've heard plenty of bad buzz about the SCA -- there are at least three ex-SCAdians on my friends list -- and Bob knows I need another time sink like I need another hole in my head, but I had to at least stop by and see what the deal was. It was a random feast; they'd never met at that church before, so I'm not going senile. I like costumes waaay too much for my own good.

Wet. Tired. It's a good day to be a mold spore.