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Occasionally it occurs to me that the kid is not off somewhere else, doing lively and interesting and improbable kid-like things. This is bad.
Maybe she is anyway.
Who knows?
Stranger things have happened.
Hrm. Kids have a knack of getting out of just about any sort of containment - and then proceeding to eat your sunday hat, or all the leaves off of your tomato plants. Is it so strange to think that it might actually be where it belongs, sleeping?
Xopher, would you perchance have Schroedinger's kid living with you?
Um, Jill, I think you've mistaken xeger for me.
This post is entirely cryptic to me, in a couple of senses: 1) I have no idea what it means, and 2) it appears only in the comment section, and not on the main page.
It WAS on the main page, but now Which thousand words is back on top.
BSD: Yes. very interesting
This may or may not be related to the Schroedinger reference ...
Yesterday upon the stair(from memory)
I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
I wish that man would go away
It feels sad to me. That's all I have. I was mystified yesterday. Now I'm baffled.
Whoops -sorry Xopher. I have a tendency to key off of initial letters sometimes, which makes reading some books where too many people's names begin with the same first letter particularly hellish.
... and I managed to parse 'kid' in a livestock related way, in the wee hours last night... does that help with the confusion?
I understood that, at least, xeger.
I'm just curious where this thread came from. Has someone gotten past the NH security system? The reference to "the kid" is unlike THN.
It did seem both cryptic and odd - good question. Perhaps she absented herself from the keyboard without activating the screenlock...
There are things you shouldn't think about when it's that late at night. If I'd had insight into my condition, I would have realized that thinking about them was a sign that I was too tired to be up and writing.
Glad to hear that's all it was. This place getting spoofed would be -- not what I want.
I apologize for myself, and I believe others, if we have needled a wound opened by exhaustion and the depth of night, whatever that wound may be.
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