Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oompa-loompas have stolen my brain Spending the weekend reading my new Amazon hoard, and trying not to be grouchy at Bemo. It's working some of the time, but not constantly - I feel like he's isolating himself in front of the computer, getting tunnel vision while either making repairs to it, or playing games on it. Weekends are the majority of my free time, but it's the majority of his work time, and that's where the conflict is mostly occuring. I want the weekends to be "us" time, and it just can't be like that. And frankly, sex has been pretty disappointing recently, too. Mostly because there hasn't been much. I'm too tired, or he's asleep because he just finished the midnight to six am shift at the radio station, or we're both just feeling bleah and not interested. Not exactly the way to inspire bed-burning sex. Maybe I should start reading Cosmo. Anyway, if there are those of you who have not read Martha Wells, go out immedieatly and buy these two books: "Wheel of the Infinite" and "The ELement of Fire." Not to worry - they're both *gasp!* standalones. If you don't like them, I can only conclde that you're a freak with no taste. Oh, and go read Kage Baker and Judith Merkle Riley. You want kick-ass heroines in your stories, don't you? *sigh* Dichroic, I'm attempting to use your visualization tactics. Evilena has also told me to think of myself as Vicky Bliss, with Sir John as my prize for doing well. I'm trying, guys, I'm trying. At least I'm placing most of my dates in the correct century. Just not always at the right end of the century... Oh, gods. I'm a blathering idiot. Tomorrow, I am going with Boop to a therapy riding place. No, you idiot, not to get therapy, but to see if I can help give it. I've wanted tog et into one of these programs before, but now that Boop's done the groundwork, I can just follow her lead. And none of you bothered to comment on the poem I put up last entry. What do you think? Hack job? Good poem? To creepy to comment on? Come on, people, throw me a bone. Or maybe your silence means that the poem is too inconsequential to even bother with, and that by not speaking, you have indeed spoken... Obviously, this is a lousy entry. I'm surprised you've made it this far. I'd reward you but I have nothing left to give! *sob* I'll write something more coherent on Monday. I promise. 10:07 p.m. - 2002-03-09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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