And I thought, proudly, "I'm holding up so well." *

I've started reading Neverwhere, which I first (and last) read back in, ooh...2004? Anywho, it's the Author's Preferred Text, meaning that I end up reading bits and wondering if they're new because they're new, or because I just don't remember them.

I've bought a plane ticket for Dec. 21 to Jan 6 to Toronto. Don't know when or if I'll be flying down to Chicago**, but if anyone's going to be hanging 'round there, give me a shout and we can plan something. (Yes, I know it's early in the season for that, but I had a trans-altantic to book.) Mom's hassled me about it, saying how the price went up $10/day and how she's not made of money.

She's also hassleing me majorly about Dutch courses. ( Read more... )

In other news, washed my hair. Yes, this is news. 'Cause now the curls come out and we get to see exactly what's been done to my hair. So far, not so bad.

I've been uber sleepy all day (like, can't follow a conversation kind of sleepy), and have yet to unpack my suitcase (though I got the radio out) or iron the washing from like 3 weeks ago. Or read stats. And mom hassles me on that too, 'cause I'm always saying I'm tired. But that's because I am. Very. And then my body slams me awake at 6:30 am every fucking day, which gives me just enough time to get back to a somewhat dozing state before my alarm rings. Damn you, body, damn you. (Also, body, while we're on the subject: Two months of hardly being able to eat, of having a slightly aggravated Moctezuma as a faithful companion, 2 weeks of 20 hr walks, constant bloody hunger and slap-dash meals of dubious nutrious quality and you weigh the same? What is wrong with you?)

I'm going to watch Sam Tyler go bug-eyed as he realizes he's in 1973 and it's all real. (That's right, babes, I got me Season 1.) I don't care that it's 10;44 and I haven't done anything at all. I'm going to get my ass in the kitchen and make some rice for tomorrow, 'cause I've mentioned the "me being tired of staring all day". Then I'm sitting down and apreciating the wonders of John Simm, the dear.

Also, I intend to pamper*** myself silly tomorrow. 'Cause of the whole birthday thing. And 'cause I'm sick to death of everything right now and can't do anything either. I'll be getting obligatory phone calls from family. It's been a really long time since I've celebrated my birthday properly (or at all). Or just with people, y'know?

Gods I miss having friends in the near vicinity, and not over the pond.


Links of the Day:
ihasatardis: Dr Who Macros, including this one by callmeromana and this one by jexxer. This one and this one came off ihasacortina, posted by firestorm172001
fallen_iceangel posts YouTube links to a ventriloquist and his grumpy puppet.
Neil Gaiman posts a YouTube link of fantabulous shadow puppetry.


* Neil Gaiman
** Speaking of, there's a Chicagoan in my General Research Skills class. A tall redhead guy who's just lovely.
*** Which will probably translate as a) packing a decent lunch, b) wearing my E3.50 "pashmina" shawl made entirely of viscose, c) painting my nails a cherry red and d) watching Sam Tyler's continued breakdown as he's accosted by the television.)

Therefore it shall be told...*

...that I who am capable of passionate love am sexually starved, and endure the pangs of a fiendish solitude in rooms...*

Maybe it's the hormones Maybe it's the ticking biological clock. Maybe it's the smutty slash.

It certainly isn't the result of an overabundance of choice males (or even females, though the odds are in favour of there being more pretty girls than guys - true fact).

But. I have got to stop staring at some guys that way. The "give me an ounce less of self-control and I'll jump your bones right the fuck now" way.

( Read more... )

* W. N. P. Barbellion, from the collected works blog.