a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

11.29.02 - 10:58 p.m. It's Muppetational! A new Muppet movie! Moulin Scrooge! Bwahahahahahaha! David Arquette wasn't horrifyingly annoying! Poor Fozzie. I wish I had more to say, but I don't. It was just a sweet, funny movie, and I love the stuff that just flies over kids' heads but makes the adults cackle gleefully. Miss Piggy as Miss Cleo. Was I the only one thinking she was really doing phone sex? Fandom has corrupted me. Though really, following on my last post, a nice gratuitous appearance by Ewan McGregor would have been good. Watching U2 now. Sigh. I didn't get to see them this tour, but they sound really good. Happy Hanukah to all who celebrate it. ~victoria link [current mood: good] [current music: Walk On - U2] [random quote: Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part. ...] ~*~ 11.29.02 - 6:58 p.m. "If you believe in magic, clap your hands" Hey, do you realize that this is the one year anniversary of this diary? Scary. *** Updated my site, finally. The latest thrilling, side-splitting chapter of The Continuing Adventures of Han and Logan: Two Gruff Manly Men in Love is up here. (I had to split it - it was getting too long. Just read the whole damned thing. Trust me, you'll laugh.) I also uploaded A Probable Impossibility (the Samfic), and Dreaming's End (a Rogue/Logan story with a little... twist). *** Yesterday was lots of fun. I see/read a lot of people who don't like their families or don't get along with them, and aside from the typical friction you get when people who've known each other forever and all have strong opinions get together, we get along pretty well, and mostly we like each other. And having the kids running around helps, when we don't. *g* So it was a fabulous feast of turkey and pie and stuffing and half-watched movies (1776, The Three Ninjas) and one fully-watched (with many interruptions) movie (The Santa Clause, which my brother and his wife and various others had never seen). It was a good, if tiring, day. Of course, it could have been the tryptophan and five glasses of Asti Spumanti that sent me to bed at 11 pm. I'd have gone to sleep earlier but I had to watch Qui-Gon get killed, after all. And my main complaint with TPM nowadays? Not enough Obi-Wan. Basically, I've given up on the storyline and was never invested in the romance. All I want now is Obi-Wan and lots of him. I spent today lying around on the couch rereading A Wizard of Earthsea and then fantasizing about Obi-Wan, then Remus Lupin (as portrayed by Ewan McGregor, who would fit the part perfectly) and then Ged (as portrayed by Ewan McGregor, who wouldn't fit the part at all *g*). So maybe it was more a Ewan fantasy spectacular than focused on any one characater, but still... Whoever gets cast as Lupin and Black... I'm going to be disappointed. I'm realizing this now. Ah me. But who could measure up to Ewan McGregor and Clive Owen? Tell me, who? I keep thinking if I wish hard enough, I'll read something or hear something on the news that McGregor has been cast as Lupin and Owen as Black. Clap your hands and help me out with this, would you? ~victoria link [current mood: content] [current music: news in the background] [random quote: \"They'd sooner kill off God himself in a Marvel Comics Film than Wolverine.\" - Matt Terl] ~*~ 11.28.02 - 1:09 p.m. Thankful Happy Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for many, many things this year, including my health, and the health of my loved ones, my family, friends, my job, my new apartment (and all the lovely new furniture in it), the fact that I live in a place where one can (at the moment) speak freely about issues and the government, even if we don't feel as safe as we once did. I'm thankful that I have understanding bosses and a job that allows me to go home and not work myself up into a nervous wreck, that I can write a story and have people enjoy it and tell me they enjoy it, and that I have the money and the leisuretime in which to do all this online stuff. Yeah, things are pretty good. ~victoria [current mood: thankful] [current music: Westminster Dog Show] [random quote: Five to one and one in five no one here gets out alive they got the guns but we got the numbers] ~*~ 11.28.02 - 12:11 a.m. Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving! [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 11.27.02 - 9:26 a.m. "he has the strength of ten men" *snicker* I have lots of boring commuter thoughts, which I will spare you. I will say this: when the weather people all predict snow, I want snow. Not rain mixed with snow. Not rain by itself. Snow. That white stuff that falls gently to the ground and coats everything in quiet. That's the stuff. Not rain. Just so we're clear on that. I also have many thoughts on the ugly sweater I'm wearing, which I'm only wearing because it's warm and it's cold out today, and also because this way I can leave it at the parents' and not feel guilty about not wearing it when I see the people who gave it to me. Because it's ugly. First off, brown. Two shades of it. Secondly, horizontal stripes. Hello? What were they thinking? Me, in horizontal stripes. Might as well paint a sign that says, "See the whale over here!" Gah. Also, it's short. Which is okay, 'cause I like showing off my round little belly every time I stretch or put my hair in a ponytail. Edited to add: Chatty coworker just complimented me on the ugly sweater. Why am I *not* surprised? *snerk* In other news, I shall have Buffy and Smallville thoughts up in the LJ shortly, but 1. on Buffy, whatever happened to self-contained episodes that moved the arc ahead? and 2. on Smallville, did they really expect me to take seriously a show in which the words, "he has the strength of ten men" were uttered in any sort of seriousness? Ahem. I didn't think so either. Went to bed early but couldn't sleep. I've begun a new fic, a short piece, I'm thinking, the one Pearl-o requested, but I'm not sure I can write a quiet, happy Clexy moment. We'll see. ~victoria link [current mood: good] [current music: Jump - Van Halen] [random quote: \"I am not deliciously saucy.\" Bart Simpson] ~*~ 11.26.02 - 2:50 p.m. meme addendum Two new questions for yesterday's meme: Story of mine I most enjoy re-reading: Best Laid Plans. I don't know why, really. I just get a big kick out of it - out of Scott, out of Daisy, out of the dancing scene and Logan's reaction, and the ending makes me smile. I sometimes forget that I wrote it. Story of mine that best demonstrates that I've grown as a writer: The Language of Goodbye. Because I tackled one of the hardest things to do well - second person POV, and I bought it myself as a reader, and I loathe second person POV. And also, possibly, Childish Things, which I think has a subtlety that I often aim for and don't always hit. Plus, I think I nailed Obi-Wan's characterization, which, for a first time SW writer, is pretty cool. And the OFC isn't too Mary Sue. I mean, I don't think she is. She's not around long enough to be horribly annoying, at any rate. I kind of like her. I'm feeling all proud and productive, as I finished off that fic I posted here this morning (yeah, I think you can all guess which way that ended *eg*), and sent it off to the betas, and I'm actually feeling the urge to write more today. So far, so good. ~victoria link [current mood: productive] [current music: Hindi Sad Diamonds - Moulin Rouge cast] [random quote: Men grow cold as girls grow old and we all lose our charms in the end...] ~*~ 11.26.02 - 11:07 a.m. There's a lot of thinking going on For some strange reason, I've got the urge to pull this story out and try to finish it off. I know it's very 'tell-y' as opposed to 'show-y', but sometimes you need that. Or, rather, sometimes *I* need that, in that sort of fairy tale way, to say, "She was very sad. And then ten years passed." This has gone through several different titles, but currently it's Ghosts in Their Eyes or possibly Secret Garden That first year, Rogue settled in at the mansion. She made a few close friends, but spent most of her time dreaming of the day Logan would return for her. Oh, he'd said it was his dog tags he'd be coming back for, but she'd known what he'd meant, even if he hadn't. It was in every thought of his she had in her head. He came back, and he ruffled her hair and gave her the gifts he'd picked up along the way. She smiled and laughed, but in her room that night, she cried desperately. He'd bought her dolls and moccasins, presents to placate a child, not win the heart of a woman. She learned to hold back the tears and hide the traces when she couldn't. She had to, or she'd have been in tears that whole second year, watching him chase Jean, who refused to be caught. She sometimes thought it would be better if Jean would just give in and prove to be a bitch. Then maybe her feelings of betrayal and anger could be directed toward the other woman. But Jean just smiled and refused him, time and again, flirting, but never going beyond the bounds of friendship. Everyone was relieved when Logan left the second time. He returned, and again, his bag was filled with sweets and toys -- and if his conception of who Rogue was never quite jibed with the reality he saw before him, he never let on. So, she continued to play the role of "little Marie," hanging out with him when he wanted uncomplicated company and generally trying to hide her feelings for him. Then the Professor got a lead on Logan's past, one that both men felt would pan out, and Logan left again. The next time he came back, things were different. He wasn't like the man in her head. He didn't smile at her, didn't spend time with her. He was angry, and that made her sad. She learned to let go, over time, of the dreams she'd had. The dog tags were the first to go, the chain wrapped around the tags and placed gently into a hand-carved walnut box he'd bought her from Quebec. Next, she gave in to Bobby, who had asked her out on and off over the years. When that didn't work out, she moved on again, dating Piotr and then Remy, but neither of those relationships worked either. She became something of a legend in the mansion -- the untouchable woman, whose heart no man could hold. She and Logan remained friendly, though he wondered sometimes what had happened to turn his sweet Marie into this stunning, yet cold, woman. Rogue gardened and painted and refused to be courted by any of the new arrivals, or any of her old flames. She still dreamed, occasionally, of Logan, his hands on her body, his taste in her mouth. But she'd long ago given up the idea of making those dreams a reality. Three years, then five, then ten passed, and she remained the same, untouchable Rogue. *** Logan watched her. He wasn't sure when his feelings had changed. For so many years, she'd just been the kid, Marie. Precious, yes, though he'd never have used the word out loud. She was to be protected and cared for at all costs, the first in a long line of strays who wormed their way into his heart - the heart he'd thought deadened by the misery of his own existence. He'd known of her feelings for him before he'd left that first time. In fact, he'd been uncomfortably aware that her feelings could in no way be dismissed as a mere adolescent crush that would pass in a couple of months. Since he hadn't felt the same way, he'd tried very hard to be oblivious to the hope in her eyes whenever he came home, and the despair radiating from her when his behavior didn't change. Over the years, his passion for Jean faded, as she married and had children, showing him she was content with her choice. Then there had been Mariko, and Yukio, and a string of other women, most of whom never managed to touch his heart. And the ones who did would only get pieces of it, never the whole thing. And then, he began noticing Rogue. The attraction was a gradual process. He'd always been aware that she was beautiful, even dirty and scared as she'd been the day she'd crawled into his camper. But the past ten years had matured her. Tempered in fire, she was as strong and deadly as a sword, and even more exquisite. Piotr had taught her to paint, and she'd shown a remarkable talent for it. The hours she didn't spend puttering in Ororo's garden were spent in the small attic studio Xavier had set aside for her. He was sitting for her. She'd asked him, straight-out, if he was interested -- the teasing and cajoling she'd done as a teenager long gone. He found he missed it, and wondered if he could somehow get back to that place with her, where he was her hero and she looked at him in adoration. It had been as heady as it was awkward, and there were times he missed it, especially when he recalled how much of a hero he *wasn't*. So she painted him and he observed her as the light changed and the expressions played over her face. And he found himself day dreaming, stripping off her paint-stained smock and laying her down amid the clutter of her studio and making her come. As the days passed, his fantasies grew more heated and frantic. It was lust, he told himself, nothing more. He'd finally gotten enough distance to see her as she really was, rather than as the little girl of his heart. Even after the painting was done, and hanging in a gallery somewhere, no doubt, he continued to dream of her. He watched her on missions, and his heart almost stopped at the risks she took. There was nothing new in that; his greatest fear (when he would admit to being afraid, which wasn't often) was that he would fail her somehow and that she would be hurt as a result. But now, instead of squeezing her shoulder and downing a shot in her honor, he wanted to take her back to his room, strip her uniform off, and assure himself that every inch of her was free of injury. He wanted to mark her as his, and could be heard growling whenever any men got too close to her. He finally got the nerve up to approach her, one night after a mission. He followed her back to her lonely room and asked if they could talk. She nodded regally and sat ramrod straight on the bed as he paced nervously. He'd never made a declaration of love in such austere circumstances, but he wanted to get the words out before anything else happened. He told her, and in the long silence that stretched between them, he felt his life hang in the balance. And then she said, "No." "What?" "No. You don't get to do this now. You don't get to tell me you're in love with me after all this time." "Darlin'--" "Don't call me that." "Marie--" "Or that. My name is Rogue." "Rogue, I'm telling you I love you." "I'm sorry about that, Logan. What do you want me to do?" She remained sitting on the bed, a queen confronting her man-at-arms. He tried to use his greater height to his advantage, looming over her, saying, "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel the same about me." He held his breath as she stood, closed the distance between them, and met his gaze. "I am not in love with you, Logan." Her voice was like hoarfrost, cold and delicate, and many-layered. "You're lying," he whispered, his voice like sandpaper to his own ears. Quietly, she said, "Get out." "This isn't finished, *Rogue*." "Oh, Logan, don't you get it?" she asked with a bitter laugh. "It was over a long, long time ago." *** Yeah, it needs work, huh? Because somehow I've got to get them together. Or maybe not. But most likely yes. I'm just not sure yet, how to overcome that bitterness. But I'm thinking about it, as well as Fifth Wheel, Liar's Poker, the Snapefic and the watchfic. ::nods:: There's a lot of thinking going on... For those interested, I'm all about the Dan and Casey love over in the LJ. ~victoria link [current mood: thoughtful] [current music: Catch Me Now I'm Falling - the Kinks] [random quote: You've gone a million miles How far'd you get To that place where you can't remember And you can't forget] ~*~ 11.25.02 - 5:56 p.m. "You're so money and you don't even know it!" I just asked for answers from people on the best/favorite/etc. meme, and now I feel like Jon Favreau's character in Swingers. Gah. I reek of desperation, and it ain't pretty. Going home now. Dan and Casey, here I come... ~victoria link [current mood: anxious] [current music: Turning Japanese - the Vapors] [random quote: no sex no drugs no wine no women no fun no sin no you no wonder it's dark] ~*~ 11.25.02 - 1:29 p.m. "they call me MeMe" As seen in Dee's LJ: 1. Favourite fic: These are all XMM: The Soiled Dove, The Best-Laid Plans, Chasing the Blast, Jim Morrison's Dead, The Language of Goodbye For Buffy: Comfortador and In the Service of the Queen For Smallville: Caveat Emptor 2. Best fic: In XMM, The Language of Goodbye, The Very Sickness of My Heart or The Soiled Dove. Also, Consumption, if I ever finish it. In Buffy, Comfortador and In the Service of the Queen For Smallville: Caveat Emptor 3. Underrated fic: I don't run in Buffy fic circles much, so this is just a shot in the dark, but In the Service of the Queen never got much feedback, and I think it's fabulous. In XMM, The Very Sickness of My Heart didn't get much feedback at all, and is never mentioned when people talk about the great dark, angsty fics in L/R, but I think it belongs there, as well as The Language of Goodbye, which people maybe didn't like because of the second person POV. I know that's a turn-off for many people, including me. In Smallville, Caveat Emptor, because I think it's a great version of how the Rift will happen, but not many people seem to know it exists. 4. Overrated fic: Honestly, I don't think any of my fic is overrated, because that would mean it was getting recommended and discussed without merit, and well, my fic is rarely recced and never discussed. (see, Hope, I said *rarely*, not never. *g*) I will say that Alter-Eighteen: Chateau Blanc gets way more hits each week than I think it deserves. It's not my best work by far, and yet people seem to read it, or at least click on it. Maybe it's that White Castle connection - you know it's not good for you, but you need to have it sometimes anyway? ~victoria link [current mood: harried] [current music: Sweet Child o'Mine] [random quote: All that's sacred comes from youth dedications naive and true with no power nothing to prove I still remember Why don'] ~*~ 11.25.02 - 11:12 a.m. Which of your fics is most like the inside of your head? Snabbled from Mara: Which of your fics is most like the inside of your head? This is a very interesting and difficult question. Because what exactly does that mean? Each fic is like the inside of my head at the time that I'm writing it, because I try to get myself into that version of the universe. But if you mean my head in its normal space, not in any particular writing space, then that's entirely different. I mean, my head is a dark and scary place, with three or four levels of stuff going on at the same time at any given moment, and then absolutely nothing going on a moment later (especially when pictures of hot men are introduced into the vicinity). To represent that, I guess I would say that The Very Sickness of My Heart, in that there are multiple things going on at any given moment - the objective story, the story as Rogue sees it happening, and the story Rogue creates out of the bits of things she knows. Plus the thing is packed full of literary and mythological references that are supposed to add depth and shading. So yeah, as far as the way my mind works, with multiple trains of thought going on at different levels, The Very Sickness of My Heart is the most representative choice. And it's one of the best damned things I've written, so you know, it's all good. ::thinks:: Is it wrong that I've chosen the fic where Rogue goes mad to represent my mind? Or does that just follow from last night's thoughts about writing a River POV? I've never been a huge fan of melodramatically mad females. I mean, they have their place - Ophelia, Miss Havisham, etc., but a steady diet of Drusilla, especially sans Spike, is just grating. And one of the reasons I found River (and Simon) boring before the dirty wrongness reared its head was because she's just a Dru/Fred amalgam (and he was Weenie!Wes revisited). I mean, I liked Fred up until she sucked the life out of Gunn. But her craziness was only endearing for about 15 minutes after her return from Pylea. I mean, yes, I *do* want to see lingering effects of her five years of hell. Seriously. And early on last season, they did a pretty good job of that, and then again in Supersymmetry, but in between? She was smart, babbly, and not as funny as early Willow, on whom she was obviously modeled. And with River, it seems like Joss is just revisiting the same character. And there's not a whole lot of interest there. Add in the whole "experimented on by the govt and doesn't remember what was done to her" and well, where have we heard *that* before? *snerk* But I obviously think I did pretty well with writing Mad!Rogue, and am interested in tackling Mad!River's* view of her shipmates. Grrr... work keeps interrupting my train of thought, so I'll stop here, because I can't remember where I was going with this, except that I think River's view of Jayne must be damned interesting, and what must she think of Kaylee trying to move on her brother, etc.? *Do you think Joss likes the band? ~victoria link [current mood: contemplative] [current music: Rambling Man - Allman Brothers] [random quote: \"The owl was a baker's daughter.\" ~Ophelia, Hamlet] ~*~ 11.24.02 - 10:57 p.m. [clever name here] LJ is being a bitch tonight. I'm contemplating Kaylee/Mal, but I need to see the earlier episodes that I missed. Actually, I'm contemplating Kaylee/Mal through the eyes of River, but I don't know. I think I could write her particular brand of lucidity/madness, but right now I'm eh on the whole writing thing (see last entry). I want to. But I don't want to. Or rather, I want to spill my brain out on the page and not worry whether it makes sense or not. Which isn't writing a story, it's writing in this diary, which is a whole lot less work, even when I'm going all meta. Because I rarely, if given enough time, have problems formulating an argument. Writing a story is, again, a whole different set of skills. And I'm possibly still stinging from a remark made by a certain person who shall remain nameless, but she knows who she is. She says it every time, and every time it stings, and grrr... I hate that. I hate that it bothers me every damn time. I don't know how the others let it roll off, but it just... it's like a little sliver of doubt worming its way into my heart and soul, and it's all the doubts I have about my writing skills wrapped up in one little sentence... And objectively, I know it's false. I know she's wrong, though she obviously disagrees. But it still irks me. So yeah, this may be contributing to the funk I'm in, feeling torn between people who understand, like and respect what I'm doing now, and wanting to have the respect, as a writer, that I'm not getting from someone I care about and admire. Sigh. I feel like I should be channeling this righteous rage into a fic, but just the thought of opening one of my stories makes me yawn. As long-time readers of this space know, my reaction to stress or anything unpleasant is generally to sleep, which also explains why I spent this whole day in my pajamas. I'm not on AIM because I have nothing constructive to say and don't want to bring anyone down with my venting and whinging over this, should any of the PSG folks be looking for me. Hmph. Maybe I will try to write something. I've been kind of nice to Clark and Lex lately. Maybe it's time to put them through the wringer... Hmm... If you're wondering, my thoughts on the last two weeks of Angel are up in the LJ. Well, mainly it's me swooning over John Woo!Wesley... ~victoria link [current mood: worn out] [current music: Untouchable Face - Ani-DiFranco] [random quote: \"I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.\" - \"My Back Pages\" - the Byrds] ~*~ 11.24.02 - 2:39 p.m. meh Wow. Getting mentioned on fandom_wank sure ratchets up the old hit count, doesn't it? I'm currently feeling very apathetic toward my whole online life. And not because of the plagiarism debate or anything else. It's just a cyclical thing with me, though it seems the past few months that the downtimes have gotten longer and closer together, while the uptimes have gotten shorter and farther apart. I mean, I have email to be answered, feedback to send and to respond to (I'm really not a big bitch who thinks who she is. I appreciate and love every bit of feedback and will respond. Just... not now. Sigh.), stories to beta, stories to write, stories to polish and rewrite and finish, stories to code and upload... ANd I'm sitting here in my pajamas at 2:20 in the afternoon, thinking, meh. Earlier, I was curled up on the couch with a romance novel, with the Jets game in the background. Last night, I watched Shrek and Monsters Inc. (which I hadn't seen before) with the kids, and made frames and sailboats out of popsicle sticks. I organized all the Christmas gifts I bought online, so I know who's getting what and where it is, and I squeed over my Sports Night dvds, which I will be eagerly devouring when I get home on Monday night. I'm actually going to leave my laptop here at the parents' because I'm coming back on Wednesday, and part of me feels like a huge weight is being lifted. I won't have a computer so I don't have to get online on Monday or Tuesday night. Have to... What an odd feeling to have toward the things one does for fun, right? And I think I've mentioned how badly I respond to 'have to' and 'should' and 'must do' and all sorts of things that connote commitment and responsibility and obedience. Part of me feels a responsibility, where none exists. Yes, I have close friends, to whom I owe attention and response. I owe nothing to anyone else, and yet I feel like I do and I hate that. I'd rather gnaw off my own arm than be in debt to someone. Strange, because I don't mind at all when other people owe me. I like the knowledge, the power, even though I'll never mention it or harass the person for what they owe... until I need something. Yeah, I definitely still have stuff that needs working on. I know that. And I know that I love writing fanfic and the friends I've made and the whole blogging thing as well. Just sometimes, it starts to feel like a job. And since my actual job doesn't feel like as damned much work as my online activities, I'm thinking it's okay to take a small vacation and not be online for a couple days. At least in the evenings. I'll still be around during the work day. *snicker* Have to have something to save me from the boredom of filing and typing and answering phones. The thing is, if I don't leave my laptop here, I'm sure I will be online every night, and meh... I want to curl up with a good book, or watch hours and hours of Sports Night without feeling like I'm letting somebody down, and if I have access, I will get online. If I don't, I can't, and thus, responsibility is out of my hands. God, I'm such a slacker. So if you need me, or need a response right away, use my unfitforsociety email address, as it's the only one I'll have access to until Wednesday night. You know, I go through this with my offline friends too, though usually not until January or February. After the holidays, I generally curl into a little ball for a few months and don't do anything really social. I think, in addition to regular depression (which I'm no longer in the grip of, thank god), I have season affective disorder, because for as long as I can remember, I've hibernated during the winter months, and just not really wanted to be a part of anything. I just want to curl up in front of the television, or with a book, and be quiet. And the fact that I feel the need to explain this all in public makes me wonder, because it's another sign that I somehow feel obligated. And maybe that sounds really egotistical, that I think anyone who reads this thing would care or even *notice* my brief absence (if absence it even is, as I'll be updating during the day from work), but it's not that, it's more me not wanting the people who actually do care to think I've stopped caring, and well, the ones who don't read this will be getting email *anyway*. So it really is pointless. But I had nothing else to say, really. ~victoria link [current mood: worn out] [current music: Jets-Bills on television] [random quote: Oh, what's really going to bake your noodle later on is, would you still have broken it if I hadn't said anything?] ~*~ 11.23.02 - 4:22 p.m. Of course, I was dreaming that I'd been bit by a dog that was really a snake. So very, very tired. Last night I got home and decided to take a nap. I set my alarm for 8pm, thinking hey, an hour is a good length of time. I have lots of stuff to do in the apartment. What time did I get out of bed? 11:15. Oy. Then this morning - oh, god, my alarm went off and I was dreaming, and I just added the radio to my dream. It was like in "The Ring" where the television keeps playing after the girl turns it off and unplugs it. In the dream, I turned all the radios in the house off and ripped the cords out of the wall, but the radios were still playing. I think that's when I realized it was my alarm and woke up. Of course, I was dreaming that I'd been bit by a dog that was really a snake. Or maybe it was just a dog with a venomous bite, I dunno. But I got bit on the arm, and swelled up to the size of a balloon, and nobody took me to the doctor or anything. *And* they kept the dog who did it, though I was mortally terrified of her afterward. Finally, I managed to get up enough strength to put my shoes on (my old pink high top Cons. *sniff* I miss those sneakers) turn off all those radios so I could go to the doctor myself. That's when I woke up. My parents arrived at the apt. shortly thereafter, and I got rid of the empty suitcases and bins that have been cluttering the place - woohoo! - and came out here to the Island with them. Babysitting tonight, as it's Dom and Helen's wedding anniversary and they're going out. I don't think I'm going to be much fun for the kids though. I'm still wiped for some reason. ~victoria [current mood: tired] [current music: Auburn-Alabama on the television] [random quote: ] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within. The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme. The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney. This site is best viewed with IE4+ | 1024x768 | true color | verdana | tables