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cimorenewax is possessed by the inexplicable urge to read several hours' worth of bad unfinished harry/draco. with no room in the armchair with her, and my laptop out of batteries, i retreat strategically to the bed with a headache and a pen filched from granny's cup thereof in the kitchen.
daddy sent me a 'letter' today. his letters consist of a few lines and the reminder that i get my updates via email, lest i forget and think he has written nothing because i'm not worth it to him. also, about twenty little pages torn off a desk calendar--cartoons from the new yorker, and two retired far sides from his old office, which was nearly papered with such things and newspaper clippings.
two portraits of wax later in blue pen i tire of drawing from life and retreat into cartoony stylings. elves. and a dress pattern, sort of, and two musings on the baby blanket for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hollsk's sean of our favorite Good/Evil OTP.
the playlist reaches its old school no doubt section.
a short stack of sour cream and onion pringles do nothing to cure the headache. i almost fall asleep. it has only been fifteen minutes when i look at the clock again. (i used to be able to tell you when all the periods of middle school began and ended. i vividly remember watching the clock through seventh grade biology, and ninth grade band practice.)
wax compared a particular bad h/d to david eddings today--'another body of bad writing i know little about,' i said. now she is reading the copy of the terry pratchett book she got out last week, when a chance snip of conversation reminded her of a line. she read the first chapter aloud at that time.
tea has been quiet all day, but lily's been noisy and whiny and inconsolable.
and my head still hurts.
daddy sent me a 'letter' today. his letters consist of a few lines and the reminder that i get my updates via email, lest i forget and think he has written nothing because i'm not worth it to him. also, about twenty little pages torn off a desk calendar--cartoons from the new yorker, and two retired far sides from his old office, which was nearly papered with such things and newspaper clippings.
two portraits of wax later in blue pen i tire of drawing from life and retreat into cartoony stylings. elves. and a dress pattern, sort of, and two musings on the baby blanket for
hollsk's sean of our favorite Good/Evil OTP. the playlist reaches its old school no doubt section.
a short stack of sour cream and onion pringles do nothing to cure the headache. i almost fall asleep. it has only been fifteen minutes when i look at the clock again. (i used to be able to tell you when all the periods of middle school began and ended. i vividly remember watching the clock through seventh grade biology, and ninth grade band practice.)
wax compared a particular bad h/d to david eddings today--'another body of bad writing i know little about,' i said. now she is reading the copy of the terry pratchett book she got out last week, when a chance snip of conversation reminded her of a line. she read the first chapter aloud at that time.
tea has been quiet all day, but lily's been noisy and whiny and inconsolable.
and my head still hurts.
