Chronarchy

Over the past few days, I've been playing with Café Press, having some fun and trying to get a shop set up, just for skittles.

At the most recent Grove business meeting, romandruid asked me what I'd sell when I mentioned it. I told her to guess, and she said, "What, thongs?"

Yep, you can now own your very own Chronarchy.Com thong.

It's been amusing getting the shop together. But what I'm most proud of is the clock I was able to create. It just goes so well with the name of my website, my LiveJournal, and everything else I've ever done online.



Click on the clock to visit the shop!

(Oh, and if I read the referral documentation right, 5% of the sales should support Three Cranes Grove, ADF!)

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Something happened this morning. Nothing serious, but it appears to have affected me in some curious ways (none of them good, for those who are suddenly interested).

It's only a minor thing, but I find myself unhappy with the result. And I think it's definitely a result of my actions.

There's a post in my private clergy journal (yes, there's a journal that's all about me trying to figure out if I want to get into this whole clergy mess) about it, and if you're really interested you can go look for this date when it becomes public after August 1.

I'm very surprised how much this affected me. Very, very surprised.

But in the end, I'm fine. . . Probably just confused. I suppose the best way of summing it up is that I've "lost" something, and don't know where I put it.

(Why so cryptic? Because this particular issue isn't for public consumption yet, though if you're really dying to know, you can just ask me.)

Preface: I have no idea what I had to eat before bed on Sunday, but whatever it was caught me in one of those moments where I was just talking up ADF left and right. You've been warned.

On Sunday night, I had a dream. In it, I was interviewing Michael Moore. It was a tough interview, not because I didn't know what to ask, but because I had to try very hard not to ask the only question I really ever wanted to ask from that man: "Mr. Moore, when will you lay off the fast food and drop maybe one or two hundred pounds?" I felt sick, just looking at him.

But this was not a nightmare about Michael Moore.

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