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ohhhhh my head
There has been very great, excruciating pain since Sunday morning, which is a sign that it is not my usual Spring Celebration sinus headache, but a sinus infection. Given the amount of time I spend being congested, I'm not surprised, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
Fortunately, there are drugs; unfortunately, they destroy my coherence, so I am posting this before I go back to sleep:
turkey!verse, God help me.
At some point when Rodney wasn't looking, John managed to fly all the way out to the coast of Maine, which is kind of amazing considering the ocean looks nothing like the stream they cross every day. What's even more amazing is that Rodney's followed him all the way out to the coast, a turkey in a strange land, to convince John to come back.
Rodney accepts that he isn't an especially brave turkey; his forte really lies in staying safe, finding food, the trees that most effectively block wind, the things that are so crucial to self-preservation. On the other hand, John's forte is doing incredibly stupid things, like hanging out on the side of what Rodney has decided to call a road, the hard track the humans like to take their noisy, smelly contraptions on.
A turkey could be crushed under those things like a ripe berry in a bear's jaws. He tells John this, and adds shrill, urgent sounds to impress upon John the importance of going back across the road right now before any more humans come along. There's one of their contraptions lying in wait on the side of the road Rodney needs to get to, grumbling to itself. Rodney tries to keep one eye on it and the other on John's shifting restlessness.
"The creek's that way," John says impatiently.
"No, the creek is on the other side of the road," Rodney squawks. He shoves at John, who glares, flaps his wings and shoves back.
"Is not."
"Oh, who was it who led us all into the ravine that one time?" Shove, peck, flap.
"That was not -- " Flap, flap, sidestep, shove, "--my fault."
"Was to!" Shove, shove, flap.
"Not!" Push.
"To!" Shove.
By means of his natural cunning and adroit maneuvering, Rodney manages to push John over to the side of the road closest to their woods--their woods which are, it occurs to Rodney, very far away. It's a long flight, Rodney thinks despairingly, and hopes Teyla and Ronon are going to send help, or possibly food. There's not much to be found along the side of the road-thing, only something crushed and pulpy that Rodney hopes did not once have feathers.
"I told you the creek was this way," John says, puffing out his chest and striding back into the woods. Rodney glares death at the tail John has fanned in self-satisfaction. "Come on, Rodney, it's a long way back."
"Tell me something I don't know," Rodney sighs, and follows John back home.
Fortunately, there are drugs; unfortunately, they destroy my coherence, so I am posting this before I go back to sleep:
turkey!verse, God help me.
At some point when Rodney wasn't looking, John managed to fly all the way out to the coast of Maine, which is kind of amazing considering the ocean looks nothing like the stream they cross every day. What's even more amazing is that Rodney's followed him all the way out to the coast, a turkey in a strange land, to convince John to come back.
Rodney accepts that he isn't an especially brave turkey; his forte really lies in staying safe, finding food, the trees that most effectively block wind, the things that are so crucial to self-preservation. On the other hand, John's forte is doing incredibly stupid things, like hanging out on the side of what Rodney has decided to call a road, the hard track the humans like to take their noisy, smelly contraptions on.
A turkey could be crushed under those things like a ripe berry in a bear's jaws. He tells John this, and adds shrill, urgent sounds to impress upon John the importance of going back across the road right now before any more humans come along. There's one of their contraptions lying in wait on the side of the road Rodney needs to get to, grumbling to itself. Rodney tries to keep one eye on it and the other on John's shifting restlessness.
"The creek's that way," John says impatiently.
"No, the creek is on the other side of the road," Rodney squawks. He shoves at John, who glares, flaps his wings and shoves back.
"Is not."
"Oh, who was it who led us all into the ravine that one time?" Shove, peck, flap.
"That was not -- " Flap, flap, sidestep, shove, "--my fault."
"Was to!" Shove, shove, flap.
"Not!" Push.
"To!" Shove.
By means of his natural cunning and adroit maneuvering, Rodney manages to push John over to the side of the road closest to their woods--their woods which are, it occurs to Rodney, very far away. It's a long flight, Rodney thinks despairingly, and hopes Teyla and Ronon are going to send help, or possibly food. There's not much to be found along the side of the road-thing, only something crushed and pulpy that Rodney hopes did not once have feathers.
"I told you the creek was this way," John says, puffing out his chest and striding back into the woods. Rodney glares death at the tail John has fanned in self-satisfaction. "Come on, Rodney, it's a long way back."
"Tell me something I don't know," Rodney sighs, and follows John back home.
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You poor thing! Sinus infections are the pits. *smishes you gently* Perhaps you need John and Rodney stuffed turkeys to squeeze?
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