(no subject)

Work is being work. My work, if you didn't know, is casual and part-time, which tends to mean either not enough or way too much. This week at least is way too much, and I must stagger through two more days of it. But takumashii makes me very happy:

Emily Dickinson doesn't count unless you can recite something from memory. It's not that hard, people, you can sing them all to the tune of "Yellow Rose of Texas."

The woman you hear bellowing an up-tempo version of 'Because I could not stop for death' will be me.

(Not *all* of them, BTW-- I Cannot Live With You won't fit at all.)