I've been a little bogged down. (15/52)
Maybe someone will stumble onto my peat-preserved body in a few thousand years.
I've been seriously stressed out lately. I feel like my torso is filled with bees most of the time. I can't sit still, and I can't sleep, and the mood swings are EPIC. Meditation helps (a little). Sewing helps, too, oddly enough. I think it's because sewing requires staying in the moment and concentrating on your task. (Maybe sewing is in itself a form of mindfulness meditation?? Huh.) I go for long walks at the Arboretum. I'm doing what I can to get through each day. And as E.K. reminded me last night, everything is impermanent, including this stressful time.
I think what she meant to say was that everything is temporary unless you're ritually sacrificed and thrown into a peat bog because that adds an altogether different level of permanence. I guess that part was just implied.
The Update: Special Bog Edition
Life is a perilous journey for men in funny little hats, but at least Ye Olde Tyme News is finally calling attention to the terrible disease of bog blindness. (This is my new favorite thing. Check out this piece on a fire demon fighting against dwarf gentrification. I love this newsletter so much.)
Bog butter is a real thing, and you should definitely not put it on your toast.
Daniel Lavery posted a compelling argument as to why he should be chosen to become a bog body.
Apparently, nobody knows where the phrase "bog-standard" came from. It's a linguistic mystery!
Here's a chiptune classic from Groundislava called, inevitably, "Bog."
Stay swampy, friends!
(Photo courtesy of cottonbro on Pexels.)