(no subject)

HO THERE SUBCONSCIOUS. You can cram six months of trauma into less than two hours of sleep! I call FOUL.

Apparently I have a snapping point (theoretically this didn't exist) and REM state decided to show me precisely what it was. I have never been more glad to wake up because of my own behaviour in a dream. I was pissed off but man, I was a dick.

Bonus fail for side nightmare, not even the main one, that a "helpful" member of the cafe had a friend on my brother's friendslist (not inconcievable) and thought if they published our names and addresses other helpful people could convince us to work this whole crazy "Die in a fire" "NO U" thing out.

(Someday I will write a quasi-RP fic in which I explore precisely what would happen in fandom if two well-known fans turned out to be brothers, hated each other IRL, and brought it to the internet. It actually could be extremely funny if done properly.)

Okay, back to bed.

Seriously, thank god, my stepfather's a good guy and nobody should shout at him like that.

Here Is A List I Have Made For You.

FIRST:
OUCH.

SECOND:
Jack, you really need to answer some mail that isn't of the "please advise, Agony Aunt Harkness" variety. It's starting to stratify in the lower layers and I keep tripping on the pile you stashed by the door. No excuses! Or shoving it behind the coffee machine!

THIRD:
Does this look familiar? Like anyone we know? No? Wait a few days.

FOURTH:
DID I MENTION OUCH. Gwen, poor chick, is at home (hopefully lying on her stomach) but we can't very well both call in mysteriously sick. I'm not so bad as long as I don't bend over or crouch down, but this could pose problems eventually.

I did not consider the ramifications of the unorthodox placement of this tattoo when I selected it.

(no subject)

So it appears that this morning's upset may have been due to me Getting Sick, since I am, and am not going to work tomorrow, because I am sick.

I am going to go to bed early, wake up late, and stay in bed all day. And before any of you can say it, this is not a lead-in to an April Fool's joke. I've sworn off them. Mainly because I never have any good ideas, really.

Instead, I am going to post poetry, because April is poetry month! There are Great Works out there just waiting for us. And also Not So Great Works. I revel in each equally.

I must say, lately creativity has ground to a dead standstill. I've got four chapters of editing left on Nameless alone. I do have that idea from this morning, though, festering in the back of my head. It'd be pure gratification on my part, because I don't expect a novel written about LiveJournal would ever find much appeal out beyond the porny borders of our little city-state, but then since when has a lack of foreseeable profits ever stopped me?

There was a time when logging into a computer was an act only someone in the government or at an advanced laboratory would commit. It was a security measure, a restriction, a way of making sure only the qualified were allowed access.

By the early twenty-first century, on the other hand, logging in could mean any number of things. On a social networking site, it meant the assumption of an identity, the diametric opposite of what it had once been: pick a username, pick a password, log in, and there would be a hundred square pixels staring you in the face, representing you -- but all of it selected, built and moulded on an idea of yourself created by yourself.

A secure login used to mean restriction. On the internet, it meant a mask of freedom.

Could be fun.