me and my boyfriend

Wax says the 16th-century male underwear found in the tower of the Uppsala Cathedral haven't necessarily been hidden there since the 16th century, although no one actually knows why they were hidden there, mind. ETA: Wax said we didn't know, but actually the tower is used to store quite a lot of old objects; we just don't happen to know why they wanted to store Svante Sture's underwear among them. Alas, I have to think it's unlikely he hid them there himself. :/

But I still like to think they're the relic of a gay affair someone was having with a priest - or a bishop, maybe - and he hid them somewhere and forgot about them. Ahhh, the middle ages!

damn hiccups

I seem to have the hiccups on practically a daily basis lately, and they're really utterly loathesome. I hate hiccups so much that if I found out they were caused by any foods other than salt or chocolate I would ruthlessly eliminate them from my diet. I'm pretty sure they aren't of course. But it's a huge drag.

Besides hiccups, I have deja vu all the time, sometimes more intensely than others. Thanks to Google and Wikipedia (otp!) I know that it's thought to be a symptom of anxiety but nobody really knows why or how, but I keep feeling I should mention it because the frequency can be rather creepy. I never remember to bring it up with Dr. Dignified (one can't help respecting and being a little in awe of the psychiatrist; I'm not sure why) or Dr. Who Looks Like Steve Buscemi. And there's also this crazy thing I have of picking at my fingernails and cuticles all the time, and scraping up the hangnails and trimming the loose skin and frequently ending up with very sore fingertips. I suppose they maybe can't really do anything about it, but perhaps Dr. WLLSB knows what sort of advice to give about it or something. It's better than biting my nails, at least. And on the plus side I've managed to stop myself from actually tearing them, most of the time, which is much worse.

Also, I read a story with unwarned-for Original Canine Character death, and the dog was a beagle. I cried, for the first time in like six months (at a story, I mean, not in general). Dammit! Dogs dying is nearly as bad as daddies dying, and it was a beagle. (I have this vague intent that the next dog I get, when I'm quite old of course since Perry should live another seven or ten years or something, should be smaller than a beagle, so that if I ever have to take it on an emergency transoceanic flight it can come on the plane as carry-on luggage, and not have to suffer a day of panic attacks in the baggage compartment like Perry did; but it's really hard to imagine getting a dog that wasn't a beagle, because even the closest relatives like dachshunds and so on seem to have remarkably less adorable personalities. Maybe in ten years I'll be more rational about it, though.)

D:

Third day in a row of hiccups. WHY. Is it brought on by dog-walking???