Quizcut...journal in a bit.

[take the test] - [by krystaljungle.com]

Bishounen.

What sort of hentai character would you be?
brought to you by Quizilla What the hell does that say about me?

Mmm, spaghetti in butter sauce with cheese...

Good news: I found The Old Spaghetti Factory. Bad news: I got lost because fucking Georgia goes both ways instead of just one like I had been informed. There's something in that statement that just...makes my mind spin. Good news: Iwona bought me a piña colada. Bad news: I have a headache and Angel is out being his wonderful self for someone else, I think. Attempting to work up the motivation to go get my phone and call him. Good news: The pager works. Bad news: You can't turn off the notifiers, just like said; they're part of the fucking "service". Good news: I get to sleep in tomorrow. Bad news: Until 7 AM. Good news: I got a new keepsake glass from The Old Spaghetti Factory. Bad news: I have accomplished nothing tonight, since I don't have my AMSA number on me and my head hurts. You get the picture. I just want to curl up in someone's lap and cuddle them. I do, however, love driving the freeway at night. I love the asphalt spinning beneath my wheels, the flash of lights and the howl of the wind in an open window, making Pink Floyd seem even more encompassing as I finally get the dial on the transmitter turned just so and the minidisc player is clear and static-free. Good news: Angel came back. Bad news: Just to tell me Jefe'd gotten there, and he was going to go be social. I'm so fucking selfish. I wanted him.to stay, but he apparently didn't pick up on my mood from the repeated "Mm" as a response to all of his comments. Which only made it worse. I might just go to bed and cry myself to sleep. I'm so lonely and so tired, and my head hurts, and I don't have anyone to talk to. So alone.

Teaching and Learning...

Dragged my sorry butt out of bed at some ungodly hour of the morning, to the perky chime of Taika's alarm. Went to work trying to face the day. I sacrificed a shower for sleep this morning, after staying up 'till nearly 1 AM talking to Angel last night. By now, it's starting to tell on me. Found the building, found parking (Michael told me what lot to use), and then found my classmates. Everyone's settled in Indy now. The city people are much happier. I can't wait for tomorrow when I can go back home and see my Angel. We had lectures on universal precautions this morning, featuring a video on how to not spill urine on your hand or push elevator buttons with bloody gloves. It was most amusing. It was also the only amusing part of the morning. The physician's oath was appropriately solemn, once we figured out that we were supposed to read it with him. Mildly frustrated by the IUPUI wireless network. I can see the access points, but Taika refuses to give me a VPN login so I can authenticate with the network. Bedamned technology. Thinking I might be able to catch Ms. Nance today and ask . l hope. It would be very much nice to be able to pop on and say hi to Angel once in a while. This morning I got keys, pagers, and cards - and I think I just had to sign 50 sheets of paper. Pager is direct from some exiting 4th-year who had the savvy to subscribe the damned thing to hourly sports, Stocks, and news updates. I don't want pager update s on sports. In fact, I don't want to see any tickers on my pager. It eats my text message limit (ask if you want the addy to text message me. I could probably use good thoughts) and I don't know how to unsubscribe from it. Bastard. No instructions on the pager, no idea what we're doing, and the best two sessions of the day have been how to present a patient and what to expect from the FP rotation , including a list of what to carry in your coat pocket. I'm so glad to have my Taika . I think tonight I'll go on a shopping frenzy and get the software I need. Tonight: start work on my elective month and the conference in July, see if I'm too late to get into that. I want to go. Notably, all my shit is going to be in my IUPUI mailbox. I'm thinking about seeing if D would be willing to check it once a week. Session out at 3:00, with a "do you want to go enjoy the day" and a lot of nods . So I track down the ITS contact person, hit her up for help with cranky Taika. Turns out she doesn 't have luck with her iPaq and the wireless connect, but she can take me to the man who has successfully accomplished this apparently very difficult feat. Finicky PocketPCs... ... and he can't find his. Just my freakin' luck. Without another to compare her to, the final verdict on Taika is software. Specifically: Microsoft's suck-ass VPN software. Must find functional 3rd-party stuff to play with. And now to home for a bit before the party at Spaghetti Factory.

Home, James!

Drive from FW to Indy was relatively uneventful; no real travel stories to tell from the trip. The usual bad driving and tailgating (I was passed by a motorcycle when I was going 80; I dropped back to 70 to let him over in front of me since he seemed determined to go right up the ass of the car in front of me). Minidisc player and radio-frequency worked flawlessly; Michel-Ange's pansy-ass speaker system was quite overwhelmed by most of the bass. Got stuck behind some Hispanic guy in a tricked-out Caprice - window stickers, gold trim, chrome windshield wipers, the whole deal - going 55 miles an hour in the Passing Lane in a 65 zone. Augh. Made it down on 1/2 a tank of gas. I should go out and get gas and something for dinner eventually, the S-P's are at a party and I only have about an eighth of a tank left. Have instructions to IUPUI for the morning, but should get gas now so that I do not panic and get pressed for time. Emerson Auditorium has a wireless access point. The temptation to bring Taika's NIC and try it out is overwhelming. Michael and Diana are v. sweet people, if as patently unique as I remember them being. They have a hot tub. I am going to have to bring a swimsuit. No, Lily-my-love, this does not give you licence to try and get me in a bikini. I am thinking a sensible swimsuit. They spent 20 minutes showing me around and apologising for not being better hosts. I am very low-maintenance. They also have a router, but I am seriously considering acquiring a wireless access point to plug in so I do not have to sit in the family room for 'net access. There's a v. nice couch in my guestroom, and I would like to use it for couchly purposes. Especially late at night. Especially when talking with my Angel. Two dogs. Barkers, but otherwise well behaved. They even go in their kennels when I ask them to. This is a miracle. I think the first order of business this evening is going to be to go get gas and food, and then to come back, try out Morrowind, and veg here. Must remember to ask Michael how to get to Curves. Yay for Curves.

Addendum:

To the girls who sent me their thoughts and love (you know who you are): Thank you for them - for giving me both a pause to think and a reason to give myself a good kick in the self-pitying pants. Skeetre was in Dayton today, came to visit (now we need to go to Florida and visit him, he says) and we grabbed Lily and Dash to go see The Italian Job. Will make notes on it later. All in all, though, a v. fun film. Was much pleased with the afternoon time, despite later hither-and-yon. Mini Coopers sell for about $16,900 base, can do 0-60 in 9 seconds, possess a top speed of about 124 mph, and have a 27/33 mpg rating and four-star safety. They are also manual by default (yay!) and come in colours other than confused-about-my-sexuality teal like the one we saw. Despite looking like a cross between a drunken SUV and a v. horny VW Beetle, I think the little beasts are kind of cute. Maybe cute enough to cure me of my Honda loyalty, if we should be in the market for another car soon. Must examine reputation for durability and long-term service records. After all, am used to driving cars that do not flinch at 200,000 miles. Michel-Ange is extremely faithful. Am also concerned about entering a long-term relationship with another potentially gay car. Being spurned by a drag-queen Honda every time my husband drives him is (1) disconcerting and (2) not nice for my car-libido. Tease. Coopers, due to default stick-shift (implies male car) and genuine ohh-I-want-it cuteness (implies an attention to looks that is potentially overly girly) have me worried. They appear to want to be handled in a v. butch manner, too, which suggests that I will indeed be perilously close to becoming the automotive version of a fag-hag. Any input? Angel is preparing for bed with an overly snuggly look in his eyes. I think this is my cue to go make sure both of us feel better.

News Update:

The box under the trash can with the funny grease stain on it from where Angel was setting the platter of pork loin and brats contained the minidisc player. While I was not forcibly socialised by him as I had most likely secretly hoped, I was coaxed into responding briefly, thus lifting me for a few scant moments out of the doldrums. And now he's crying, or near to it, fragile and lonely and . It's strange how hearts echo and resound, tied together as tightly as mine is to his. Pain and fear and those dreams, always the dreams in the moments unexpected. I know in my soul the moment when home-any-time becomes should-have-been-here, because the dreams come, then, waking dreams that he is gone and gone forever, nightmares that rip me and tear me with fear until I can see him, hear him, know that he's there, he's safe, he's okay. It's strange how I know what is said in the silent spaces between our eyes, how I can take the flicker of a lash and find therein comfort and hope. It is a binding of deep purple, dreampurple, a spidersweb of smoke and steel, shadow and velvet, a lacework that has caught me and held me and made me know, made me feel what it is to truly be. I am a Pinnochio at times, a Galatea, an unreal and hollow shell that is given life by his presence, made real. And still I do not understand how these hearts and souls can be so interwoven that his tears are unlike any other, salt and fire on my lips and my breath, how I can go to kiss them away and feel as if I am drawn in that moment into an infinite pool of sadness, so strong and so overwhelming that I am lost and spun around. It is the dreampurple, and I am the midnight-tressed maiden, with the blade bound ever into my hair, the blade whose edges are sharp as words and bright as the candles in my eyes. It is the deep purple, the dreampurple, this smoke and silence and the binding that is stronger than blood, stronger than love, stronger than life and the dreams that ever plague me. And it is fuelled by his tears and sparked by his smiles, so real - so much real-er than I can ever hope to be - that I am a plaything to its whim, to the eversummer green in his eyes. There is something about him that is proof even against the sharpest of the blades that seem inevitably drawn to my hands, something that can send the candles kindling to flame and cast the raven wheeling defiance away like so much wheat chaff in the hands of the wind. There is a look in his eyes, a touch to his lips that can defuse the deepest anger that simmers in my soul, cut away my pride and arrogance. There is something to him that is more, and it is the dreampurple between us. Why do I not look you in the eyes when we are fighting - why do I stalk away and scream? Because you hold my chains in your eyes, those comet-cold links that span the empty spaces between us, the never-close-enough. You hold my bond, my parole, my dreams and my ambitions by your very gifting them to me; and I cannot forget that - cannot ignore it - I cannot blind myself to the liberating knowledge that your love for me encompasses even my flights of fury. And my sins and my vices cannot stand in the face of that. I do not think that anything could. Don't cry, my love, don't weep for the wounds of might-be and must. It is only evening, only that melancholy which sweeps me away and will not let me go. It is only that, and it will pass - it has passed - the balm for all my wounds and my sorrows is in your eyes and in your arms. It is all I need.

Tell me why...

Tell me why the stars do shine, Tell me why the ivy twines, Tell me why the skies so blue, And I will tell you just why I love you. Because God made the stars to shine; Because God made the ivy twine. Because God made the skies so blue; Because God made you, that's why I love you.

I leave tomorrow afternoon, one or two at the latest, to go down to Indy. This time, I don't get company. I get to drive down myself (why can we not find the godsdamned minidisc player? I just want one fucking thing to take with me...) and spend a couple of nights with the S's. Am not pleased. I don't sleep well out of his arms, I don't dream well away from him. I want the comfort and the security and the love that being near him gives me. And the prospect of being alone is...well, getting me down quickly. I've been everything from surly to downright avoidant this evening, even to the lengths of not going to see him even though he's in the next room. All because I won't get to be with him. It's such ass-backward logic. Monday: orientation to third year. Tuesday: Intersession. Dress is casual. Which means wear slacks. I don't understand this; I'm bristling with the desire to be left alone and almost crying because he's not trying to cuddle me. I'd say I'm PMS'ing but I don't think I am, not yet. I don't start the little green period-herald pills until tomorrow, in any case. And I can't think and I can't feel and I just want to know where the minidisc player is. I'm obsessing over it, and yet too apathetic to tear the house down. Augh.

New and improved! Quotes for all...

• Me: Three bints and something on a dog show up. Jefe: All I can think is 'What? Lesbian circus?"
• Jefe: He has a ponytail of bright copper hair down his back. Phloxin: What colour is the rest of his hair? Jefe (bewilderedly): Bright copper. Me: No, it is not an extension. Phloxin: Girl, ju need to take thet back to Kay-Mart!
• Jefe: My robes had a colour, but you took that away.
• Phloxin: I say something smarmy and unpleasant under my breath.
• Me: Do you know what the paediatric dose of a magic mushroom is? Angel: One. Haven't you ever played Mario?
• Lily: Do you know anything that would help them? (Them being a bunch of plague-ridden children) Angel: I pull out a handful of mushrooms. "Help them how?"
• Me: You find nothing suspicious. Angel: Except the party.
• Phloxin: Several dogs with crossbows just shot the hell out of me. Angel: Don't look at me. I haven't spiked her water in days.
• Angel: And we have frozen phalluses.
• Me: So we have Suné backed into a corner in terror. Eric: More like a groundhog. James (excitedly): I can speak with burrowing animals!
• James: Somebody put sand in my cum!
• Phloxin (flipping through a second-edition Monstrous): I forgot how cute their elemental pictures were. "Look at me, look at me! Grr!
• Jefe: Kobold...looks like Splinter gone wrong.
• Jefe: Splinter's like a level-18 nink-muncher...err...ninkja...fuck! Lily: Ninja-fuck? Phloxin (in a Splinter voice): You make a funny! Ha! Ha!
• Me: What actually happened? Jefe: I think the gnome has just been flunk. Phloxin (excitedly): Gnome Flinger!
• Jefe: The monk will not evade. I attempt to catch the gnome.
• Jefe: When you're sitting there with the rope, looking like you're going to whack off or something... Phloxin: Floss?!?
• Phloxin: I relate this in my own way...we play Charades. Me: Sounds like...cunt. Phloxin: Sydane! Sydane! Angel: You want to go back in the hole, don't you?
• Phloxin: Mind flayer...looks like something from a Shriners convention. Angel: Augh, Shriners with tentacles! It's a hentai Shriner... Phloxin: I knew there was something wrong with them.
• Angel: I roll a bong into the room, wait an hour, and then throw one pack of Pop-Tarts just in front of the door.
• Me: I crit Bri. (rolling) Two damage. Angel: He critted you in the kneecap. Lily: Ow.
• Me: Eric is the second letter of Jeff's name, so he doesn't get a turn.
• Angel: You've been shot, fallen down the hole, and generally beaten up on. Phloxin: And now I've been infected with some bloody disease, but we don't know that yet. Lily: You're Rasputin!
• Jefe: A little lesbian moment.
• Me: Specially made for prisons: gnome on a rope.
• Jefe: I will give them a confused, reassuring smile.
• Me: Your sister's on the ground again. A zombie slammed her. Angel: I didn't think she was that desperate.
• Angel: What's back there? Me: Oh, some dire weasels, some rats... Phloxin: Eww, they're not buggering the weasels again... I suppose this one makes more sense if you were there for the one-night RP where I actually did run the party into a group of drunken kobolds buggering giant weasels. It's sort of been a theme now.
• Jefe (On Phloxin throwing a book at him): Ow! Phloxin: I'm sorry! Jefe: That's OK. You didn't know I had an ingrown toe (A long pause ensues) nail. Me: Jeff has a vagina on his foot! Jefe: Foot Fetish!
• Me: Does anyone remember what I named the lord of this town? Everyone: Slut, Whore, Pimp . .etc. Phloxin: I'm sure it was something gay. Me: No, that was the lord of the other town!
• Angel: What is the Spanish plague? Phloxin: Charro!
• Bri (swallowing and holding up a finger): Okay, now you can say something funny.
• Phloxin (singing): My beholder has a first name...it's R-A-L-P-H... Me (singing): My beholder has a second name...it's N-A-D-E-R...
• Me (much later, singing) My beholder . . Dang it!

Monday is the day.

You are Psalms.

Which book of the Bible are you?
brought to you by Quizilla Kinda saw that coming from my answers. Angel's over there nodding like a madman. "Makes sense." My nose is clogged solid. Hoping that hydration and the judicious application of nasal spray will make me able to breathe. Right now...I need to get dressed and work on tonight's campaign, as well as Skyscape books.

Niff Niff.

Upon reading the story found in about a little old man (see here): Angel: Why can't we have customers like that? Jefe: Because sweet little old men don't run porn stores. Today: Got v. little done, but I do not have TB. Mailed his CD's finally. Watched the new Bond movie. Debated reality of Bond movies. They were more fun set in the 50's. Suspension of disbelief did not involve invisible cars and buildings made of ice. However, I think Halle Berry is v. cute, thus was not bothered by much gratuitous bikininess. Plot: predictable. Diamonds embedded in face: interesting. Jefe: What can I say? His name was "idiot fucknuts," we called him "Doug," worked for me. And now to bed. I'm exhausted.

Why make life more complicated than it has to be?

Mom: When do you want that mailed? Tom: (silence) Mom: Oh, just mail them all now? Tom: Yep. Mom: Oh. Sounds like me and Angel. I've been hit with a sudden wave of tiredsleepiness and lazy exhaustion. I want to just stare at the ceiling and do nothing, or sleep, or nothing, or who-knows-what. I want my Angel. I need to plan for tomorrow, check for things like "oh, this is set in mid-winter when the campaign takes place in early summer" again. Was fun last time. Hoping auspicious beginnings do not jinx campaign. Want to write, have no energy to. I think perhaps I will look for my quilt for lying in grass on. I acquired it at an antique stand under the bridge at the Three Rivers Festival for $7. Mom helped me re-edge it in green. I love it. Nose is running, despite abusing it with Tylenol Allergy/Sinus and Claritin. Mom and Tom are packed, testing their bags. Time to take them to the airport and get my TB test checked. Then home. Perhaps I will get sunglasses too.

Mrowl!

A link of the day for today, courtesy SomethingPositive.net: Catprin, a Tailor for Cats. This must be a strictly Japanese thing. Please tell me it's a strictly Japanese thing. These cats look terrified.

CATPRIN, a tailor for cats. Ever imagined dressing up your lovely cat into a fabulous beauty? You don't have to dress her everyday, in fact she might not feel comfortable with a dress on for days. Just dress her up only on special occasions like her birthday, takes a photo and that should leave you lots of memories and fantasies.

FANTASIES? My favourite, for those who have both a schoolgirl fetish and an unhealthy fixation with their cats: The High School Girl package. Wow.

Oh, for a hand like D has... (subtitled: A day with the cud-chewing yeti)

Love What Kanji word best suits you? brought to you by Quizilla Today: Went to Indianapolis. 2 hours down, 2.5 hours home (we left Castleton Square at 4:30, whoops) and all for a nametag so I don't have to do it Monday. However, much fun was had blithering about nothing with Lily, so it was worth it. At the moment, I don't remember all the jokes that ensued. Will try to recapitulate: Conversation about swimming in the ocean when on one's period. Me: I'd be more afraid about swimming in the Amazon. Lily: Pirahnas? Me: Yes. After all, they can skeletonise a cow in 2 minutes. It makes you wonder - is a cow the universal measurement of destruction? Lily: I think so. Because they just look so docile. "Oh, dear, there go my legs. Hmm, this is starting to hurt." Me: Oooh, cud! Munchmunchmunch. We passed by...something...on the side of the road. It was large and shaggy and poking around in the grass. Me: What.. Lily: Um... Me: Was that a dog? Lily: No, I think it was a baby yeti. Me: What was it doing? Lily: Chewing its cud? There was more, a lot of it unbelievably racist and oh-so-funny. Trying to find a parking spot in the stupid Wishard parking building. Nearly getting killed by my inability to see an oncoming left-turn lane. Jewish signs from God. ColorCon. Me: Lily...is he... Lily (in awe): Yes. Me: ...mowing the parking lot? We cannot read maps. We walked all the way across the campus of IUPUI in the wrong direction because we found North St. instead of North Dr. Exercise is good for you. We eventually found the Union building. There was a scary woman yelling at the air. We think it was a cell phone earpiece. Walking around Castleton Square, arms around each other, marking all the double takes and speculative looks. People watching. Clothing even black women shouldn't be wearing. The music at the Mexican restaurant where we ate lunch was really bad, but it had a catchy beat that we were both bopping along to. Stole the drink coasters which read "Cover me in a Quick Chill!" or something smarmy like that. I bought professional clothing today, including a new brown dress (Angel: You look too corporate in that...) and things to wear with my white coats. Was productive. And fun, and generally a good day. Yay for good days.

Damn that man...

11:15 PM. Angel is falling asleep in front of .hack//sign, and thus incapable of telling me what's going on when I have to go pee. I suggest going to bed, since I've been sort of blah all day. He concurs. I'm not sleepy. And getting into bed makes me less sleepy. To work out my antsiness, I give him a head to toe backrub. He is, shortly thereafter, sound asleep and making the tiny snoring noises that are the sign that he's out. I cuddle on him until almost midnight, when I'm going mad for nothing to do. Climb out the foot of the bed and go write a Lythium entry. It is now 12:45. I go back to bed. Angel is sleeping corpse-style, hands folded over chest, elbows jutting out to sides. This is not a cuddle-able position. I resolve myself to sleeping near-but-not-touching him, when I realise that in order to be comfortable, I require a minimum of 1/3 of the bed. He is occupying his 1/2, plus elbows, and now I have to sleep on his elbow. Finally I nudge him until he rouses enough to give me a sleepy "Mrrr" of discontent, at which point I ask if I can share his arm. I get an arm, and cuddle up. Not comfy. I roll over. He follows. This is better, for all of five minutes, despite the wiggly-penis-dance that ensues against my tail end. Why must the organ have a mind of its own? It tickles like mad. Then, suddenly, he jumps, and turns over to his back. Okay, whatever, I follow. If I can't sleep, at least I get some cuddle time, right? Nyet. Five minutes after that, he yanks the blankets away from me, rolls over with his back to me, and proceeds to shove blankets in between us. This is Angel for "Go away, you're making my skin unnecessarily hot and sticky by being close to me." So here I am, unable to sleep, rejected in my efforts to get comfortable by a husband who is much unfriendly in his sleeping habits, and it's 1:50 in the fucking morning, and I have to get up and drive to Indianapolis tomorrow. However, this does remind me that I'm supposed to know where I'm going tomorrow. *prints MapQuest directions* Angel's work is talking about corporate cell phones, which would be, to act like une adolescente for a moment, hyper-cool. Nothing like having your cell phone plan deducted from your paycheck pre-taxes, since it's a business expense for them to use them. Have checked on adorable baby plants. Suppose I should repot huge-ass African violet and rapidly spawning poinsettia before they choke on their own roots. Some have adorable tiny roots, and should be potted. This would require work. I will have to see about doing so soon. If I weren't too scared of the dark to go downstairs in the middle of the night without turning all the fucking lights on, I'd do it now. I'd also go out and clean the paintbrushes we're still soaking in water and all. Looked at digital cameras today. Did not buy one, but are teetering perilously close to deciding to do just that. Must discuss what we want, what we need, and what we can afford. Are in agreement that 5.0 MP is kowtowing to the geek gene just a bit too much, but that 2.0 MP is just wussy any more. Sony, Canon, or Olympus appear to be the brands to choose from. Am partial to Olympus, myself, as have had v. good luck with them in the past. Going to try going to bed again as soon as fucking Discovercard lets me pay them money. Why is the Internet so slow? It's two-fucking-twenty in the morning. And then, mysteriously, all my windows start shutting down. Do not fucking crash. I'm trying to do a final cleanup render on Spirited Away, after you fucking ate all my subtitles from NieA under 7. Augh. On a good note, I did figure out multiple audio streams in OGG format, so once subtitles behave properly I will be a Happy Camper in having dub and sub from my rips, at my leisure. Also on a good note, the Vividence people wanted me to look at websites again and tell them what I thought for a $10 Amazon.com gift certificate. I love Vividence. Nobody's talking any more. Discovercard still hasn't loaded. Forget this - I'll pay them later. It's their own fucking problem. I'm going to bed. Hopefully I'll be able to sleep and not be booted out again like some unwanted pet. Argh.

You are Rhett Butler. Dark and brooding, you will do anything for the woman you love. You are extremely sexy and know how to make a girl feel like a woman. Which Sexy Rogue Are You? brought to you by Quizilla I'm also destined to fall in love with a Southern Belle - and not one of the nicer ones, if memory serves. So help me, lilylove...

Inspiration and perspiration: Devil Cat

Inspirational Credit to Abigail Oliver, on Side7. She was curled up on Shane's monitor when we got home, sleeping apparently, wings folded behind her like a little red tent, their claws hooked to hold in the heat that radiated from the back of the screen. You'd think she was asleep, but for the regular-as-clockwork twitching of her tail and the faint glow of gold emanating from her eyes. Devil cat. She wasn't asleep though, proven quickly when the soft creak of footsteps entering her demesnes alerted her to the imminent presence of food. We were never sure whether to call it flying or gliding, the motion from high to low that she so preferred to employ. It was at once a complicated and supremely graceful process, involving the interplay of bone and muscle and the trabeculate sinews of her skeletal wings, their blood-red webbing unfolding with a mechanical precision. She would coil her body into takeoff position, hesitating before launching herself into midair, tail becoming a miniature flag to indicate the direction and velocity of the wind as it breezed past her. It would be gliding, but we never saw her touch down an instant before she intended to. It would be flying, but we never saw her achieve heights greater than where she started. How she got to the top of the bookshelf, the computer monitor, the kitchen table, the stairway to the cramped nook of a garret room where I kept my desk and my papers (strewn everywhere, in piles that mad no sense to anyone but me) we did not know. We never saw her walk there, or climb, or do anything a normal cat would. She just flew and walked the flat, as if we were the plebians whose purpose was to slave away and serve her. Devil cat.

Quoth the raven:

It's midnight, and what I've discovered is depressing. Handheld Med is just about the only company with a copy-protection scheme that could be worked with. And they have 5mCC and a few others that'd be helpful, but not Harriet Lane, more's the pity. Will e-mail classmates and see what they think. Tomorrow. Tonight am going to bed, secure in the knowledge that my throat will hurt in the morning and get promptly better. And Angel brought me a set of encyclopaedias from work! Yay for 1970's encyclopaedias! They will help to make this house a home. That and a kitten. I want a kitten. Preferably a dwarf kitten that will never grow longer than six inches, and will be adorable forever. There is a snowdrift of dead ants along the kitchen wall. Yay for effective anticides. Yay even more for Angel, who is cleaning them up with a broom. Perhaps we will triumph over the little devils. Have spent evening tormenting R, all stemming from the not-so-innocent conversation on a semi-private channel. I didn't start it, but I did feel compelled to add in that I happen to like giving blowjobs, particularly on the steps of crypts. Apparently this renders certain people (to quote): intrigued, aroused, and disturbed by that all at once.... I am pleased with my work, and will no doubt be savagely abused for divulging far more information about my sexual practises than certain people ever really wanted to hear - but are nonetheless more than a little intrigued by. Apparently, I'm one of the few women I know who actually enjoys giving blowjobs. Speaking of TMI, perhaps I should filter my friends list down to the people who aren't going to fall over in apoplectic shock if I run my metaphorical mouth. Hence, a Paid-Users-Option poll: Angel's teeth are brushed, think it's time to follow him.

I made a funny!

[MOO] * Storm shrugs. My nickname is Sally and my real name is Jessica. Why? Because my OB patrol thought I looked like a Sally. [MOO] Teryn> OB patrol? Sounds like a feminine hygiene problem. Answered as best I can; most questions had poo for answer choices. Undercover: You are the Undercover Sex Freak. You try to hide your sex life from people and don't like answering questions. But deep down you love SEX and have all those naughty books and magazines under you bed. And letz not forget the porno and swing set hidden in the closet. What Type Of Sex Freak Are You? brought to you by Quizilla But I so want that outfit... Today: Slept until noon. Got up. Panic ensued over imaginary meeting on Thursday, when I have to pick up Mom for the airport. Bought new pretty checks with the right address. Started water for rotini and cheese, as soon as it was clear that my sore throat was going to behave and go away. Somehow managed to turn the stove onto "Do not heat" or something, as 25 minues later rotini water had not boiled. It became late enough that I had to leave to find the TB clinic before it closed. Now am sporting a brand new hole in my arm and a return appointment for Weds. 3:50-4 or Thurs. sometime. Have MapQuest directions on how to find my way to LaGrange. Also have charming new itinerary for Monday's third-year orientation. Beginning to feel nauseatedly nervous about third year clerkships. Do not want to make a fool of myself. Am deathly afraid that I will do precisely that. Printer is out of yellow ink; prints everything slightly off. Nonetheless, it is not complaining of such. This is beneficial. And now I'm thinking another nap sounds good. Hence how I know I'm sick. Tonight: Must go over the software for PocketPC's and see what is and is not sharable. Must do, yes. Tomorrow: Call Dr. B. Pick up papers from IPFW on my health requirement stuff. Wednesday: Take Lily to Indianapolis. Leave relatively early. Angel came home today, looks at me and says "Not feeling up to fencing?" I figure I shouldn't go because I just started feeling better today. He concurred, then followed it with "I thought I might not go either - I haven't gotten to spend much time alone with you. And I was driving home and decided I'd rather spend the evening with my wife."

I'm still sniffling. It was just the unbelievably sweet thing I needed to hear after being just a little out of sorts all day..

Edit and Proofread before you go.

Yesterday: I e-mail Rachel about going shopping for my "professional wardrobe" so I don't look like a total moron at Family Practise. Any time this week you're free? Yesterday evening: She e-mails me back: Do you have to go to that meeting Thursday morning? I'm jam packed all week. The only possible time is Thursday afternoon. Perhaps after the meeting we could go shoppping. Meeting? What meeting? I get confused, email her back, check my letter from FWMEP. Sure enough, there's a line in there: "We look forward to seeing you on the 5th at 9am at the Fort Wayne Medical Education Program's Conference Room..." E-mail Carolyn, frantically. Turns out that it was an error, and I have nowhere to be until the 12th still. Whew. Today: Find the TB clinic. Call my preceptor. Look up books for the clerkships. Hope the sore throat continues to go away.

Friday Night's RP:

Angel is chronicling events from Sydane's point of view in his journal. Installment 1 is here: The orc run... If anyone else involved would like to chronicle as well, I'm always happy to hear how your characters think. Seemed to go well, although next week's installment should be slightly less potentially lethal. Today I have a sore throat, and I slept until 4:30 after drowsing out in church. Angel made me tater tots and soup, which made me feel better briefly. Also mint tea has helped briefly. Mostly thinking I'll just need rest. Mom and Tom leave on Thursday for Europe. I want to go.