The Egg Dance

I don't think the metaphor 'dancing between the eggs' is used often. Neither I use it, one of the reason being its evocative power. Ever since, I imagined an Odette, tulle skirt and white pointe shoes (you have to pay extra $10 for white at Gaynor Minden, peach is the default colour), finding her difficult way between white eggs, and somehow managing not to break any.

The research grants have to be spent. Entirely, to the last cent and fragment of a drilled cowrie shell. I asked what would happen if some money was left and the reply was The research grant has to be spent in its entirety or else there would be troubles. What troubles, I insisted, and was explained that unimaginably difficult troubles and that the research grant has to be spent all, no exceptions.
If I weren't an arsehole, I'd ask several questions about the rules earlier and I'd find more expensive lodging because now, in order to avoid Apocalypse, I have to spend around 10 000 SEK (around a thousand euros) on things like photocopying and office supplies and travelling. I'm leaving on Friday.

I gave it a massive bit of thinking and, well, it cannot be helped. Massive amount of photocopying, everybody will get Swedish notebooks and pencils for Christmas and I might make a hasty trip to somewhere like Uppsala because being aware of the upcoming possibility of the world ending, I just have to work on it hard.

Nope, can't be books. That would make the things much easier but... nope.

Next time: Whines and/or late Comnenian frescoes at Gotland, depending on my mood.