The thing about depression (or low blood sugar; I haven't eaten since Monday) is that you don't just feel sad for no reason. Your brain, as Dirk Gently points out (spoilers), is quite capable of thinking up its own plausible explanations for doing things, and today mine fixated on a few things as an excuse to make me bloody miserable.¹

It awaited its chance with unimaginative precision. Two-hour meetings stretch my abilities at the best of times, and—what am I saying? There are no good times for two-hour meetings—at the less good, they leave me stressed² and terrified. This was coupled with being face to face for the duration with a selection of people younger than me, more skilled than me, less autistic than me and prettier than me, with whom I'll have to start working in the near future, and together they dragged my thoughts into a not altogether optimum place.

If my exit vibes weren't broadcasting deafeningly loudly for the last half hour, maybe my personal theory about all Real People³ possessing low-level psychic abilities is wrong.

I'm not altogether sure I'll be up to anything for the rest of the day. Being asked to be in charge of bug reporting for some software we use should not, I instinctively feel⁴, make a 25-year-old dude want to cry.

I'm not cut out for this work business, I'm really not.

(Five minutes later⁵:) All the above is pathetic. I think that if I can find a way for the action sequence not to be boring, I'll start work on Sankmarray 2 tonight.

¹ The fact that I understand this is happening really isn't of much practical comfort.
² My stress response being a combination of losing concentration, repeating "Let me out let me out let me out" in my head and falling asleep. I'm not sure why they let me function in the real world.
³ What I call non-autistics. 'Neurotypical' is too sneering, and reminds me of someone of whose memory I'm tired.
⁴ I mean, just a guess, maybe I'm waaaay out here.
⁵ 5 minutes of intensive self-medication later. YouTube to the rescute ←genuine typo

Afghan hounds running around like idiots. D'AWWW. (vid)

In which we also see a few glimpses of how the pups are prepared for showing, including a great hairdryer.

The parish gossip and the fascist vicar

Obedient dog saves woman in river (article with vid)

Albino blackbird chicks (vid)

Oreo biscuits have just started being marketed in the UK. I'm looking askance, can you see me? Having nothing better to do with its time, BBC Magazine asks: Can Oreo win over British biscuit lovers?

I feel Weird Al says all that needs to be said on this issue. (How often I utter those words, or ones like them.)

Uraniyumyum!

Why are girls fighting like boys?

No: why are both sexes fighting like drunken morons?

Perry falcons. But if you want pretty photos, you're better off at
WikiCommons or Flickr.