Seriously - this waking up at 430 or 445 has got to STOP. I know it's a combination of stress, genetics, and well, not sure what else, but it's starting to make me a little bonkers. I mean, damn, I have often joked that in a past life I was a milkmaid, some kind of lowly peasant, but this carry-over is getting on my last nerve. Oh well.
But what cheers me is Navimie wrote a poem about my epic Helm of the Fierce Bison, or my and Tome's HOT-FAB.
The Helm of Fierce Bison's misleading
Won't give me protection I'm needing
It looks cute on my head
But no use if I'm dead
Or lying there crippled and bleeding.
I think there's is a rebuttal in me; hopefully I won't be too sleepy to get it out! I'll sit on a street corner in Seattle, wearing the helm, and see if anything comes to mind!