Yes, But I'm Not So Masochistic as to Wear Tweed Underwear...

My head is a train station at the moment. I keep buying tickets to get on one train or another, and I keep missing the trains, so that what I thought I was going to blog about is already on its way to Saskatoon without me. So here's my sheaf of missed train tickets:

Holy Week: red altar cloth, palm crosses, the breaking of the bread, Morning Prayer, people laughing together...
Writing: Chapter 11, Helen and Rankin, Mary and Martha, and the story of the cat guarding Giles's flat in England...
Taxes: They suck. And the government sucks. Something about Winston Churchill and that quote about democracy, as the train rounds the bend out of my sight...
The Exasperating Tendency of Life to Have this Simultaneous, Schismatic Duality Between Centered Purposefulness and Chaotic Depressive Doldrumminess
Spring: poems, the loveliness of trees, the smell of lilacs, sunlight tingling through new leaves to shine through a window onto a hardwood floor...
The Effect of Springtime on a Double Sagittarius Cognitive Synaesthete
The Clamor of Self-Will and How it Monopolizes One's Attention
A Few Notes Upon the Unreliability of Guilty Feelings, Especially When Compared With the Near-Relief That Happens When One KNOWS One Has Done Something Wrong: And A Not-So-Random Wish that the Percentage of Occurrence of Those Two Feelings Were Reversed, Even if It Means That One is Doing More Wrong Things

Sigh. I'm going to sit down with my bags and refrain from any more attempts to purchase tickets at this point.