(no subject)

I am starving. I've got to stop sacrificing breakfast for ten more minutes in bed, it's just not worth it. Except when you are actually in bed, it totally is.

I am also craving enchiladas, which is weird and possibly a symptom of some legume deficiency in my diet. Still, I have all the sauce fixings plus meat and beans and cheese, so I just need to pick up rice and tortillas and utter several prayers that my spanish rice comes out okay. And then find somewhere to hide them from R, because he can eat an entire lasagne in two hours.

The scar I got from the cast-removal is fading on my hand, so I've been warily investigating ways of making it more permanent. I can't actually believe that I'm looking into this because I've never felt the particular urge to get anything pierced or inked before, and scarification is kind of an intense first step into the exciting world of permanent body modification. On the other hand, apparently lasers may very well be involved, and how cool is that?

I attempted to explain to Mum why I liked the scar, when I was in Houston for the weekend, but it's easy to write about and hard to talk about. I'm pretty sure my message of "there's a mark on my body where I learned some cool shit" didn't really get through.

(no subject)

You guys are suspiciously quick with ways for me to pull the wool over R's eyes. It kind of worries me, except I think I may have conditioned you to it after a few April Fools and/or Halloween fic surprises. So I have only myself to blame.

In other news, I would like to propose that the amount of cool a person has is directly related to the hilarity which ensues as they go up to the door next to my desk, which opens inwards, and try to push through it. And also inversely related to the amount of cool they then possess when they finally figure it out.

I have literally had people tell me to open the door for them, presumably with my magic button that makes the door open in the direction they want to move it. There is nothing more awesome than smiling politely and saying, "Try pulling."

(no subject)

I am willing to overlook the pretentious decapitalisation of pronoun in this poem because it is awesome. :D

I Am Accused Of Tending To The Past
Lucille Clifton

i am accused of tending to the past
as if i made it,
as if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.
this past was waiting for me
when i came,
a monstrous unnamed baby,
and i with my mother's itch
took it to breast
and named it
History.
she is more human now,
learning language every day,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on her own, beware, she will.