Have singularly failed this AM to leave the SF writer at home. Hence post at the end of a lunch-hour spent (1) trying to find the drug store that was advertising 'flu shots (2) scrawling notes on a scene (3) posting off copies of TP to people I promised them to (4) booking an eye-test. But I have a lot of noise in the mental attic this afternoon. Yesterday's word, by the way, is fretwork. The saw is a fretsaw. And Charous being Charous, I doubt she would let go of pain immunity; it makes the 'relpul scarier and more powerful.
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