auntie em...

I am in sore need of some good old victorian perseverence right now... Or at least acceptance of a female's lot in life, which, damn it, hasn't freakin' changed much.

Click the header for Auntie Em's complete works, meanwhile - here's the most appropriate of the moment:

HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
-Emily Dickinson

ACK! c'mon little bird, come back, I've got some tasty little breadcrumbs!