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minor recs page update, plus a bug fixed--thanks to nemoricultrix for pointing it out.

and thanks to wax_jism for the latest addition to the recs page--a really long, gloriously trashy harry/draco romance, completely, unapologetically mushy and smushy and perfect for wallowing.

i refuse to be ashamed, dammit!

(no subject)

i've been reading slash all day, and it's lovely. i'm all sated. i'm surprised i can move. also the corners of my mouth are raw and salty from tortilla chips.

in bad news, the dentist wants to remove all four of my wisdom teeth at once before i leave.

contradance

i'm a quite good dancer and i've missed it all summer. i'm just worried i'll suddenly find out i've forgotten how when i get back. i'm really quite ready to leave, though. am tired of being home. being around people who don't know your parents is really different from people who do. people who remember when i was nine years old and used to wear purple stirrup tights and a large green t-shirt to church simply can't have the same perspective as my new acquaintances who guess wrong my age and my name and where i grew up, because i don't, thank you, have a southern accent. and i guess i feel like i'm more me there.

they say you can never go home again. blah blah, which is really fucking deep. but you can't. and i'm thinking i don't want to spend another summer at home, like ever.

oh, and the thing about not wanting to buy clothes all of a sudden? i spoke too soon. i haven't bought any since, like, spring break, unless you count bras and underwear and two pairs of shoes, and i haven't even been much to the mall, and some ny & co pictures didn't tempt me at all (!!!), but then... a chance glimpse over my little sister's shoulder at delia's, which i don't even like, filled me with lust for sweaters. yes, cardigan ones, the kind with those big collars that fold over. mm, possibly the kind that zip up. maybe a short duster--i only have one duster. look for me on the floor at express or the limited or aeropostale, twitching in mindless ecstasy.

since icons, along with metaphors, are my crack,

today i was inspired to look at twirlygrrl's iconage page, and that inspired me to make a page of all of my icons. it's not actually all of them, just the ones i've saved, and it includes ones i've used and ones i haven't and ones other people have used and ones they've taken but haven't used and ones other people have made for me, including wax_jism, silviakundera, mace_m, and hollsk.

and when i say 'a page' i mean nine pages, because i divided it up into chunks of twenty-five icons. the last page has the remnant of five, so. it's not THAT many. although i'm pretty sure i've made at least 200--damn, shouldn't've thrown away the old ones. since i used the directory listing of my images/icons folder, they're mostly in alphabetical order, which means spiff new ones from psp7 (thank you, kwirbx) mixed up with my amateurish first attempts in paint, before i even knew how to shrink and expand images. ah, memories.

one of cim's many kinds of crack

mil años con otros mil más son suficientes para amar

i have this theory that if you don't think explicity about a story until you're right about to write it, then it won't realize what you're doing and won't have time to get screwed up. i'm not sure if this actually makes sense or not, but a lot of the writing has to go on inside my head. inside my subconscious, really. and i just sort of sit around waiting for it to be ready to come out.

so i try to sneak up on my stories, which is what i've been doing for a few days with this fraser/kowalski story, only having just one paragraph on my hd is starting to kill me, and i may have to write it tomorrow.

or maybe while i'm doped up on pain medication sometime in the next week or so.

question.

has anyone ever read any roland merullo? he's got some novels out-- um, leaving losapas, a russian requiem, and revere beach boulevard. and if anyone has, what can you tell me about his style?

random surrealism of the day

And Lou Reed said, "Let there be a cemetery gate", and there was a cemetery gate. And Lou Reed saw that the cemetery gate was favourable, and Lou Reed separated the cemetery gate from the road sign.