Running on fumes

It feels like I'm empty and completely devoid of any sort of subject matter that's worthy of writing. There's nothing in my brain. I'm only floating around with the occurances of each day, which don't seem to be anything even remotely interesting. I can say, however, that my temper is gradually getting longer in the sense that I'm not blowing up internally at things that irritate me (for example, stupid questions from freshmen in the LLC). Patience seems to be a security blanket that I'm gradually finding a way in which to burrow underneath it. It always feels good to burrow under blankets.

A bubble bath sounds really good right now. With a Terry Pratchett book. Maybe I should find a way to let my mind marinate in its own juices for a while. I'm gonna type out a passage from a Pratchett book I read over the summer, called "The Lost Continent". I was literally on the floor laughing at it. Here you go...

'Ponder exploded. "I don't believe this!" he said. "You're turning your back on an astonishing god-given opportunity--"
"Absolutely, Mr. Stibbons," said Ridcully, from above. "No offense meant, of course, but if the choice is a trip on the briny deep or staying on a small island with someone trying to create a more inflammable cow then you can call me Salty Sam."
"Is this the poop deck?" said the Dean.
"I hope not," said Ridcully briskly. "You see, Stibbons--"
"Are you sure?" said the Dean.
"I'm sure, Dean. You see, Stibbons, when you've had a little more expierience in these matters you'll learn that there's nothing more dangerous than a god with too much time on his hands--"
"Except an enraged mother bear," said the Senior Wrangler.
"No, they're far more dangerous."
"Not when they're really close."
"If it was the poop deck, how would we know?" said the Dean.
Ponder shook his head. There were times when the diesire to climb the thaumaturgical ladder was seriously blunted, and one of them was when you saw what was on top.'

:-D

Best Regards,
Miranda