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Mixin'Up The Metaphors.

I am harrumphing around trying to get a project under my skin. Or maybe a goal, I'm not sure what the technical term is.

And no, it's not that I have a specific project (or task, or goal) that I need to get on to. Nor is it that I lack possibilities. Ye olde to-do list is still looking reasonably healthy.

The problem is that I need to pick something, or have something thrown my way and be unable to duck in time. And I need to hit that point where I know I will never know peace until I have done whatever is required to get this thing that has been thrown at me (or that I have chosen) off my plate.

I should be careful what I wish for, of course, on account of having a few possible obstacles on my plate that I'd rather bypass completely.


I'd chuck it all in and go to bed and read a novel, but this would involve finishing the one I'm reading, which I'm not enjoying right now but which I am too far into to put aside.

(I should have realised what was coming when the heroine walked determinedly to the stables and looked for the stableboy and admired his arse-crack, but it truly had not occurred to me. So props to the author for keeping our heroine's burgeoning sexuality a secret, I guess. Or maybe raspberries to me for my astonishing cluelessness, but my point being that I lost interest in the story at this point, probably because I'd been reading it as historical fiction up to this point, also: arse crack).

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