cimorene

i'm so very very tired. in a good way, rather. spent the whole afternoon finishing samuel r delany*'s beautiful and brilliant neveryóna because i was babysitting.

this little boy, who is, i think, twelve, looks enough like dan radcliffe that he could, as i was telling him today, make money as a harry potter impersonater, with the judicious addition of an oddly-shaped scar. he's shy and i'm not terribly fascinating, so the extent of our interaction was him giving me directions ("do i turn here or am i lost?" "ummmmm, you want to turn up there.") and some brief conversations about harry potter (giggly) and star wars (enthusiastic. he thought aotc was better than tpm, but told me very seriously that it got "panned").

* if there's anyone i adore more than i adore my little ruffled kitten, with as little logical reason, it would be delany. he's a bearded gay black santa who writes like this? it's almost enough to make me want to have his babies.

and i have a headache again, i'm sure you'll be pleased to know. trala.