By Marguerite B. Thompson
My father gave no word of love to me.
My mother practiced laudable restraint.
My Vulcan childhood lessons logically
Prepared me to despise the human taint.
I could not blame T'Pring; I saw that she
Let flawless logic over pledge prevail
For she would stop at nothing to be free
Wisely to mate with a pure Vulcan male.
Human tormentors do not understand
Acknowledgment of feeling causes pain,
Cruelly subvert defenses I have planned,
Plot to anesthetize my watchful brain.
What will they find when I am ripped apart?
"I love you, Captain," written on my heart.
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The only thing that happened of note on Wednesday was that my oldest phone died. I have a Galaxy S4, S6, and S8, and I use the first two only for playing Pokemon, but it's harder to raid without that baby account, so I asked Adam whether I could have the old phone in his room and he said it was fine. So I spent an hour taking off his programs and installing mine, and now I can fail to catch Darkrais again.
Otherwise, my day involved a bunch of scanning, two walks in the woods because it was warm and beautiful out, an hour of The Masked Singer (I was on the phone with my college roommate during After the Mask), and this week's What We Do in the Shadows (funny but no Superb Owl). Since I said I would yesterday, here are some photos from Starfest Denver 1996 with several people who are still my very dear friends!
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