From Twitter 11-07-2010

( tweedle dee dee dee dee )

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com

From Twitter 11-07-2010

( tweedle dee dee dee dee )

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com

Writer's Block: Ice cream isn't cutting it

[Error: unknown template qotd]

No idea. If someone answering this writer's block knows, let me know? ;)

I kid. Obviously the diplomatic answer is however long you need, using whatever methods you deem necessary to cope. I've gained plenty of amusement from the so-called "bad advice" of "the best way to get over one person is to get under another" because in a lot of ways that is exactly how I deal with heartbreak, even if I know that's not exactly healthy. And yet I also know I completely fail to thrive on my own. There's a lot of stuff I sealed off and shut away from the last relationship meltdowns that I couldn't deal with until I was at least 95% sure cell23 and I were stable and he wasn't going to be freaked out by me being crazy, and there's some other stuff I probably won't unpack until I'm about, oh, 172% or more. Just how I roll, I guess.

There's a dramatic part of me that wants to say you never recover from such things, but that's not true. I say this while peering down at my belly button, or more specifically the scar bisecting it that only now, two years and change after it got there, is beginning to loosen its grip on the surrounding skin, soften, and fade. Two years though. And it'll never go away, not completely. The landscape of my abdomen is altered forever. But it's less a disfigurement and more of a badge of survival, even though getting it hurt like hell. Scars on the heart and soul are much the same, really. They heal and leave you stronger for that healing.

Incidentally? I still have staples in my intestine. Truefax. What, it's not like they could go in and pull them out like they could with the outside. But they're there, I've seen them in the VCE footage, embedded in pink tissue like bits of the Titanic plowed into the ocean floor. It's got the same kind of creepy eerieness. But yeah, stretching the metaphor until it snaps, it amuses me sometimes to imagine this strange stitches-and-staples covered, Frankenstein-like beast in my chest rather than the reasonably (or so I'm assuming/hoping) healthy actual heart patiently keeping my ass alive. 'Least it makes me smile when it's hurting.


I'm faced with an OMG DO ALL THE THINGS sort of day today since this weekend was hijacked with books and lazy. No real regrets, but today and indeed this week, I need to get stuff done. In the meantime I've blown through Naamah's Kiss and of course enjoyed it quite a bit (Jacqueline Carey is purely fluff reading, but at least it's engaging/sexy fluff reading!), but I'm going to be good and not start book two for a while. That whole needing to get shit done thing. Gods, so many irons in the fire this month! Oh well.

It occurs to me that little things make me inordinately happy. Caramel cream cheese on aersi's spice bread, listening to cell23 sing in the shower in the morning, squares of warm sunshine on an otherwise freezing kitchen floor, crawling into a pre-toasted bed at night (that electric blanket was probably one of the best presents I'd ever been given, seriously), how the inside of a not exactly new but new enough hoodie feels before it goes all balled up and felted from washing.... And then there was yesterday when I asked deliriumdeva if I could borrow her sifter so I could make pancake flour before the kids show up next weekend, and mysteriously after she runs into cell23at Target, he comes home with one for me. Eeeeeeeeee.

Well. Today and all the things within aren't going to do themselves. Behave, netmonkeys.

Writer's Block: Ice cream isn't cutting it

[Error: unknown template qotd]

No idea. If someone answering this writer's block knows, let me know? ;)

I kid. Obviously the diplomatic answer is however long you need, using whatever methods you deem necessary to cope. I've gained plenty of amusement from the so-called "bad advice" of "the best way to get over one person is to get under another" because in a lot of ways that is exactly how I deal with heartbreak, even if I know that's not exactly healthy. And yet I also know I completely fail to thrive on my own. There's a lot of stuff I sealed off and shut away from the last relationship meltdowns that I couldn't deal with until I was at least 95% sure cell23 and I were stable and he wasn't going to be freaked out by me being crazy, and there's some other stuff I probably won't unpack until I'm about, oh, 172% or more. Just how I roll, I guess.

There's a dramatic part of me that wants to say you never recover from such things, but that's not true. I say this while peering down at my belly button, or more specifically the scar bisecting it that only now, two years and change after it got there, is beginning to loosen its grip on the surrounding skin, soften, and fade. Two years though. And it'll never go away, not completely. The landscape of my abdomen is altered forever. But it's less a disfigurement and more of a badge of survival, even though getting it hurt like hell. Scars on the heart and soul are much the same, really. They heal and leave you stronger for that healing.

Incidentally? I still have staples in my intestine. Truefax. What, it's not like they could go in and pull them out like they could with the outside. But they're there, I've seen them in the VCE footage, embedded in pink tissue like bits of the Titanic plowed into the ocean floor. It's got the same kind of creepy eerieness. But yeah, stretching the metaphor until it snaps, it amuses me sometimes to imagine this strange stitches-and-staples covered, Frankenstein-like beast in my chest rather than the reasonably (or so I'm assuming/hoping) healthy actual heart patiently keeping my ass alive. 'Least it makes me smile when it's hurting.


I'm faced with an OMG DO ALL THE THINGS sort of day today since this weekend was hijacked with books and lazy. No real regrets, but today and indeed this week, I need to get stuff done. In the meantime I've blown through Naamah's Kiss and of course enjoyed it quite a bit (Jacqueline Carey is purely fluff reading, but at least it's engaging/sexy fluff reading!), but I'm going to be good and not start book two for a while. That whole needing to get shit done thing. Gods, so many irons in the fire this month! Oh well.

It occurs to me that little things make me inordinately happy. Caramel cream cheese on aersi's spice bread, listening to cell23 sing in the shower in the morning, squares of warm sunshine on an otherwise freezing kitchen floor, crawling into a pre-toasted bed at night (that electric blanket was probably one of the best presents I'd ever been given, seriously), how the inside of a not exactly new but new enough hoodie feels before it goes all balled up and felted from washing.... And then there was yesterday when I asked deliriumdeva if I could borrow her sifter so I could make pancake flour before the kids show up next weekend, and mysteriously after she runs into cell23at Target, he comes home with one for me. Eeeeeeeeee.

Well. Today and all the things within aren't going to do themselves. Behave, netmonkeys.

I love late birthday presents

This one just arrived on my doorstep this morning.



Yes yes, those are my boobs, stop staring at them and LOOKIT HOW AWESOME THIS SWEET SWEET MOTHERFUCKING T-SHIRT IS.

God I love TeeFury. I find it amusing that the two t-shirts i own from there are both Star Wars themed. (I got this one last year.)

Thank you subquixote!

I love late birthday presents

This one just arrived on my doorstep this morning.



Yes yes, those are my boobs, stop staring at them and LOOKIT HOW AWESOME THIS SWEET SWEET MOTHERFUCKING T-SHIRT IS.

God I love TeeFury. I find it amusing that the two t-shirts i own from there are both Star Wars themed. (I got this one last year.)

Thank you subquixote!

This isn't going to mean anything to anyone.

Fuck your so called "delicious cake."

a) the cake is and always was a goddamn LIE. Tired old meme or not, in this case it applies. Any cake there was to be had was mine and if anyone ran away with it giggling, it was you.

b) I don't need your goddamn vegan gluten free treehugging hippie cake, so roll it up, shove it up your ass and light it on fire. My dollar ninety nine betty crocker shit tastes so much better it's not even funny. But I'm sure that self-righteous smugma (not a typo) you and the others bukakked all over it by way of frosting tastes like... something.

c) "delicious cake" is another term for severely underage jailbait. Research your metaphors before using them.

Thank you, move along.

And no, I'm not explaining, so don't ask. No exceptions.

This isn't going to mean anything to anyone.

Fuck your so called "delicious cake."

a) the cake is and always was a goddamn LIE. Tired old meme or not, in this case it applies. Any cake there was to be had was mine and if anyone ran away with it giggling, it was you.

b) I don't need your goddamn vegan gluten free treehugging hippie cake, so roll it up, shove it up your ass and light it on fire. My dollar ninety nine betty crocker shit tastes so much better it's not even funny. But I'm sure that self-righteous smugma (not a typo) you and the others bukakked all over it by way of frosting tastes like... something.

c) "delicious cake" is another term for severely underage jailbait. Research your metaphors before using them.

Thank you, move along.

And no, I'm not explaining, so don't ask. No exceptions.