Anna S.

I'm home sick today. I feel like utter crap. I was pulsing and queasy for hours last night, and horribly afraid it was the fish I ate for dinner and that I was going to get mightily sick. I didn't, but misery lingers in a dull, aching sort of way. I can't seem to make my stomach pay attention to the fact that I'm actually *feeding* it. It continues to sulk and twist as if it's completely empty. And now I am starting to get a headache again.

(ETA: I've eaten lots of bread and peanut butter. Stomach is starting to pay attention. I'm feeling better, now just kind of limp and sore and tired. ETA2: I just found out Alexis & Aly got married. I feel...strangely disturbed at posting this today, but I guess I'll leave it up. Must not conflate real life and fiction, must not conflate real life and fiction...)

Anyway. Enough about me.

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That gibbering sound you hear is me in the aftermath of reading Behind Blue Eyes, by cluegirl, who will soon be pounced upon and adopted by adoring slash whores hordes if I have anything to say about it.

Is it possible that if I stare at the hot kink too long it'll blind me, like a big snazzy ball of sun? Oh, who cares.

1. QaF stomach flu fic by Valerie. Because how fucking apt is *that* today? Plus, if you don't fold over and nearly weep with laughter...uh, what's up with you?

"He seemed distracted for a moment by a passing siren outside, or possibly the lights reflecting off the window, or possibly the imaginary crying of his infant Scotch."

2. thebratqueen's post on indulgence fic, LJ writing, kinks and more. I was especially interested & pleased to see "kinks" used in the same way I use the word, to mean not just sexual things--or not always directly sexual things--but any little oddity that turns our crank. Like, I have a kink for urban skylines glittering at night, and for the idea of a certain vampire making stir-fry for his boyfriend, and for cableknit fisherman's sweaters, and for big leather couches. And basically for money in all its forms. I'm a total materialist, in case you're reading this and were not already aware.

3. carolyn_claire's amazing S/X story, Thirst, which is like a piece of polished driftwood found in the middle of the desert, sculpted and clean and smooth, worked by organic forces into this weird, snarled, and rather scary shape. I mean all that in a good way.

If it were not for these things I would feel totally...eck.

...feel like these really cool bookshops or boutiques that you stumble across and wander into one day and then get immersed in, browsing and meeping with pleasure, and then you leave with your purchases and try to look as if you shop there all the time, privately feeling rather dim because you'd lived a street away from the shop for five years and never gone inside. D'oh.

Anyway, mintwitch recommended an incredibly fascinating post by rozk that I couldn't put down, so to speak, though come to think of it I was in fact holding my laptop upright like a newspaper, so I guess that--you know what, never mind. Anyway, the post is a cool and readable overview of homosexuality throughout history that distracted me from my headache for a while. I wish all history books were this engaging. I might know a bit more than the tiny scraps of random trivia that managed to snag in my brain screen. Plus, she's able to be critical and comparative about historians, which is something I find enviable and kind of sexy, in an I-will-lick-your-lobes-now sort of way.

I still feel rather unwell and it is making me dopey.

I am probably the least political person I know, and usually vacillate between shame and ennui about this fact. But I'm starting to freak out at the regular scroll of scary shit that comes through on my friends list. This country, along with a good number of lunatic organizational bodies outside of it, seems to be accelerating and heading right into the wall. Or even, The Wall.

Despite being so feebly political I just read every single word of today's horror story, All the President's Votes?, and I think everyone should go read it. maygra, always far more socially conscious than me and ten other people, pointed it out and also has a post with suggestions on who to write about this issue, i.e., touchpad voting machines.

Mulder is the icon of paranoia and conspiracy theories tonight. (Mulder is the patron *saint* of paranoia and conspiracy theories, come to think.)

I know I'm posting a lot and I'm sorry. This is just to say I feel like crap again. Stomach is good for a while, then ick comes back. I think I am posting this because it is making me kind of obsessive compulsive or something, feeling crappy. Trying to distract myself. STOMACH IS STUPID, STOMACH IS STUPID.

I just needed to say that.

And my head hurts and my chest and I have all these weird shooting pains up from my squishy stomach. This post would have a lot of typos if I weren't obsessively self-correcting to distract myself.

I can't decide if I should play it cool and show what a terribly cool person I am by just nodding gracefully at you all as I collapse into bed or if I should beg with a truly piteous weeping kind of shamelessness for people to write things to distract me and what do you know, I'm going to go with shameless weeping. Because what if I die? Or more importantly what if tomorrow I wake up and I'm a strange greyish color all over and I end up in the hospital with alien lifeforms bursting from my stomach like some insane nightmare vision of David Cronenberg? I want to go out with some last few tiny shreds of pleasure.

Oh lord I feel really rotten. Please imagine me liquifying now.