six more weeks of summer
Jul. 23rd, 2005 01:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oiranout of my hole and casting shadows.
I'm not even going to try to catch up with anything or anyone. If you want me to know something, please tell me/link me. If you want to ask me something (like, say, "where have you been, you asshole?"), please feel free. I've been hanging back, waiting to have something compelling and of universal interest to impart, but the messages from beyond and big-picture summaries are slow in coming. Instead, I offer random whine:
I have a new computer. Toshiba P35-S6111 (I was going to link to it, but apparently the model is already discontinued). It's fancy, huge and heavy (10 lb!!!). I've actually had it since April, but I only installed a word processor two days ago: AbiWord 2.2, which is free and seems much fancier now than it did when I tried it out even a year ago. Obviously, I haven't gotten much writing done since April. Except where I said "much" you should read "any."
~~~
A person can spend what feel like highly productive days building homes in The Sims 2, yet have nothing concrete to show for their efforts. It is not unlike a job in this way.
~~~
It's bug season and fucking hot, which means I stay inside most of the time. Not that I wasn't doing that anyway, but now I have a reason anyone can understand. Despite staying indoors with the AC blasting and the lights off, I have a heat/sun rash and I have still managed to get bug bites everywhere (and I do mean everywhere), as well as poison ivy on my left ankle. I scratch in my sleep until I bleed. I develop bruises from the scratching that look completely and ominously unrelated to scratching. I've tried to wait until it cools (marginally) in the evenings so that I can put on long pants to do whatever errands I have to run because, until recently, I had "track marks," a faux handprint in black and green on the back of my right calf, what looked like the marks of a bamboo cane on the left, and various impact bruises on the outsides of my hips and thighs (which were, actually, from walking into things and not scratching). I'm a little less battered looking these last few days, but on those rare occasions when I do break my self-imposed social exile, people tend to stare, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm such an eye-catching frisky filly, or because I look like a poster for a domestic violence hotline.
~~~
A veiled explanation for my absence: Pills aren't helping any more, or at least not in the way they're supposed to. I tried another pill, but it made me pass out every time I tried to stand and made me feel even stupider than I usually do. I'm convinced that I'm getting dumber and dumber (because at least that explains what's happening to me and my never-too-solid "goals") anyway, so a pill that pushes me in that direction is most unwelcome. Also, the constant fainting spells and inability to stand upright weren't conducive to a healthy, active lifestyle.
A misanthropic downward slide combined with vitriolic self-loathing has me wading through hardening pools of mental tar. I'm just no fun at all these days - or at least I'm not fun when I'm alone. I need a caretaker, I think, to keep my mind off of me.
~~~
Mr. G tore the hideous, dog-stained carpet out of the future library and now we have hideous, pseudo-stone linoleum instead. There's actually wood beneath that, but surely there's something wrong with it or they'd never have covered it with lino, right? I'm expecting pentagrams and bloodstains, since viewing the boards from beneath reveals no obvious problems.
We have all kinds of home improvement notions that both thrill and terrify me. I do want a deck, and a treehouse (!!!), and to make the upstairs (my office, etc.) larger and nicer, but just tearing out the carpet made me so nervous and spiky that Mr. G finally told me to go away. He did it nicely.
~~~
If you out yourself to someone as apornographer fan fiction writer and give them a link to your stories, but then they avoid you, that's a bad thing, isn't it?
~~~
Surly love is all I have on offer. Take some if you want.
I'm not even going to try to catch up with anything or anyone. If you want me to know something, please tell me/link me. If you want to ask me something (like, say, "where have you been, you asshole?"), please feel free. I've been hanging back, waiting to have something compelling and of universal interest to impart, but the messages from beyond and big-picture summaries are slow in coming. Instead, I offer random whine:
I have a new computer. Toshiba P35-S6111 (I was going to link to it, but apparently the model is already discontinued). It's fancy, huge and heavy (10 lb!!!). I've actually had it since April, but I only installed a word processor two days ago: AbiWord 2.2, which is free and seems much fancier now than it did when I tried it out even a year ago. Obviously, I haven't gotten much writing done since April. Except where I said "much" you should read "any."
~~~
A person can spend what feel like highly productive days building homes in The Sims 2, yet have nothing concrete to show for their efforts. It is not unlike a job in this way.
~~~
It's bug season and fucking hot, which means I stay inside most of the time. Not that I wasn't doing that anyway, but now I have a reason anyone can understand. Despite staying indoors with the AC blasting and the lights off, I have a heat/sun rash and I have still managed to get bug bites everywhere (and I do mean everywhere), as well as poison ivy on my left ankle. I scratch in my sleep until I bleed. I develop bruises from the scratching that look completely and ominously unrelated to scratching. I've tried to wait until it cools (marginally) in the evenings so that I can put on long pants to do whatever errands I have to run because, until recently, I had "track marks," a faux handprint in black and green on the back of my right calf, what looked like the marks of a bamboo cane on the left, and various impact bruises on the outsides of my hips and thighs (which were, actually, from walking into things and not scratching). I'm a little less battered looking these last few days, but on those rare occasions when I do break my self-imposed social exile, people tend to stare, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm such an eye-catching frisky filly, or because I look like a poster for a domestic violence hotline.
~~~
A veiled explanation for my absence: Pills aren't helping any more, or at least not in the way they're supposed to. I tried another pill, but it made me pass out every time I tried to stand and made me feel even stupider than I usually do. I'm convinced that I'm getting dumber and dumber (because at least that explains what's happening to me and my never-too-solid "goals") anyway, so a pill that pushes me in that direction is most unwelcome. Also, the constant fainting spells and inability to stand upright weren't conducive to a healthy, active lifestyle.
A misanthropic downward slide combined with vitriolic self-loathing has me wading through hardening pools of mental tar. I'm just no fun at all these days - or at least I'm not fun when I'm alone. I need a caretaker, I think, to keep my mind off of me.
~~~
Mr. G tore the hideous, dog-stained carpet out of the future library and now we have hideous, pseudo-stone linoleum instead. There's actually wood beneath that, but surely there's something wrong with it or they'd never have covered it with lino, right? I'm expecting pentagrams and bloodstains, since viewing the boards from beneath reveals no obvious problems.
We have all kinds of home improvement notions that both thrill and terrify me. I do want a deck, and a treehouse (!!!), and to make the upstairs (my office, etc.) larger and nicer, but just tearing out the carpet made me so nervous and spiky that Mr. G finally told me to go away. He did it nicely.
~~~
If you out yourself to someone as a
~~~
Surly love is all I have on offer. Take some if you want.
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-23 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-25 03:50 pm (UTC)