(no subject)

it's possible to function on fewer than six hours of sleep. i have this on good authority. i am NOT going to bed until the last two pages are written. so. there. it's one sign among many that it's the middle of the night and i don't really even know precisely why i'm angry. at least, not in any sort of way that makes sense. and apparently my daddy is out of town; i'd just forgotten about this again.

fucking 7:30 am.

"Math is--for all sorts of really wondefull reasons--meaningless symbols manipulated according to meaningless rules."
-- Professor Jagannathan, Physics department, emphasizing the practical aspects of physics

edit: and now that the computer's time display is correct livejournal's is wrong--that was posted at SEVEN thirty. god alone knows what is going on in the mind of the semagic client. picture me kicking things. also oneko_briar thinks my icons are sexy. well, they ARE, of course. further proof that [more] people should use them. like these harry potter ones--although oneko_briar herself has promised to take dobby off my hands.

lookit him! isn't he cute! ::pinches his little elf cheeks::



( who else is using my icons? )

once again undone27 saves the day. or something.

elijah drinking things from a GOBLET A;LKSJF;ASJF;lk.

not easy being a princess.

i want to do oneko_briar's ten sexiest bitches in lj. she used to have an icon of old school shakira, you know. ::nods:: yes. cannot do it now. don't have the required. energy. or something.

icons

who has the best icons? who do you look forward to reading for the icons?

poornapoleon, sangredulce, oneko_briar, aeslis. i'll think of more later.

(no subject)

class. i just. can't. do it.

(no subject)

redensek is my new favorite font, which i use for icons (like this one) and the menus and message boxes in my windows setup and everyone should download it, free, here at fontalicious.com.

the real world! of fic.

i had a nightmare the other day that i would get a kind and feeling rejection for the piece of realworld! stuff i wrote--looking back through my journal now i can't find the day--and voila. it has appeared. although it seemed nice enough, can you count it as feeling if it comes from 'autonotify'? this is the singin in the rain piece which was read by nemoricultrix and mamahooch and guinevere33 and not read by certain other people. i don't think i'm actually surprised. i'm poking at the feeling cautiously. i'm sure, anyway, that i don't like it.

also, i now regret that when i edited a magazine my rejection notices said something about please not being discouraged and submitting in the future. 'we would like to see more' is worse than meaningless when it's part of a mass-generated reply. it's kind of condescending.

::muses::

further we'll go on

my body spontaneously decided to kill me. on reflection i should have known my period was coming, because i was having preemptive back pains on saturday, but cherrie and joe made me happy and i forgot it.

then today i went in to work. well, to eat (at 10.30) so that i would be capable of four hours of work. and discovered on top of a bloated gassy painful stomach i'd lost my appetite--and then, just a bit after the shift started, so did the cramps and that pain like a vise around the bottom part of your spine, so you can barely stand up.

meanwhile i was wearing rubber gloves; they stuck to my hands with sweat, and so when i had to change them it took like five minutes. i kept trying to find places to sit, only of course there weren't any.

the job is not that great in the best of circumstances. i feel mostly dead. i took not quite double the dose of motrin ib (only 600 mg), and i'v e opened the window and curled up in my chair wrapped in a flannel sheet. like mamahooch, i need a shower and fear knocking myself out if i try it just yet. i smell the sweat mixed with some old-house dust and some tea--tea. new hot tea.

there's going to be a grace period of a few days before i stop giving a shit about some things. we'll see what my friends list (not to mention my japanese homework) looks like after that.

(no subject)

saw my [brown shearling] slipper under my chair and thought, for one instant, that it was my dog.

goddammit.

caesar dressing contains anchovies.

pro-cras-tin-ay-shun

i had many icons to make, but i'm still writing, so i only made this one, but anyone can have it. in fact, i can do all kinds of things to it, even though i like it simple. i left it without a caption because i'm leaning in the direction of captioning everything with a name, but i could put something snappy there too.

(no subject)

what is an SDB in the context of fannishness?

::scratches head::

and here i thought i was a nymphet...?

(no subject)

see cim. see cim procrastinate. cim, don't throw away those wet and dirty athletic socks which have spent several days on the living room windowsill! at least not without a bag on your hand! well... okay.

see cim drink blackcurrant tea.

don't think of it as three pages left to do. think of it as two pages already fucking DONE.

hmmmm.

i don't like to be irritated; maybe i shall kill some annoying people...

...but probably not.

RAISIN BREAD: ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES.

especially not any substitutes labeled 'twelve-grain.' this bread is... so gross. it is blander than bland, blander than plain white bread. it has little... bits of... texture in it.

we are now going to try dipping this bread of grossness into our blackcurrant tea (which we brew thick and drink black, 'like a man,' as some throat-closingly charming person once said to me).

[edit:

me: maybe if it is soaked longer
stevie: no, that will make it worse
me: if you soak it, put it in your mouth wet, don't chew much and then drink three mouthfuls of tea--
me: ::drinks three more::
stevie: that's too much work
me: okay, it's going in the garbage.
stevie: good call

and it was so.]

[[edit, parte dos:

me: oh my fucking god this bread is so gross
me: ::washes mouth out with tea::
me: if you are in the cafeteria, and this guy holds a gun to your head and tells you to open the box labelled 'twelve-grain bread'?
me: don't do it except with a ten-foot pole.
stevie: lol
stevie: i'll keep that in mind
me: it's not as easy as it looks, but trust me, you don't want to get closer than that to it.

references to this inside joke.]]

[[[edit iii: how can you not love a song that starts, 'yo, this is for my mothafuckin' club heads, y'all'?]]]

(no subject)

when you're very very tired if you close your eyes you experience snippets of waking dreams--like of someone yelling yoru name while you pick up steaming ceramic condiment bowls in the dishroom and methodically transfer them ot a milk crate. the sliding fo the conveyor. that one even had the sound (which is hellish).

also am spacing enough to read 'fuck me' in large translucent yellow print across the white of my screen. maybe i SHOULD go to bed.

soon. soon.