November 8th, 2003



I dreamed of Wesley toting some boxes and wearing a thin silk shirt, and down the back of the shirt was one of those lines of sweat from the exertion, which made the shirt cling to his skin. I'm not sure what the context for that was, but who cares.

Also dreamed that I had a Ghost of the Robot CD and was listening to it for the first time. It had a thrash-metal sort of sound. I made the comment, "You know, this is pretty good." Somehow I don't think that's true to life.

Mrmmmphhhh. I have a hangover. I need some sweet, soothing, medicinal porn this morning.
  • Current Mood
    Where's the porn gone, mate?


I got my hair cut, eyebrows waxed, nails done, and bought some make-up, which I applied just now to make sure I didn't hate it. I look pretty good, if deeply femme. So now I'm half-prepped to take a business trip to the heart of North Dakota and stand in front of a roomful of reps and drone on about our new GUI. Though in fact I expect to sit, actually, and will try not to drone.

I'm sleepy today. I want to write. But I want to nap. Write, nap, write, nap. If only naps could be productive--if only I could channel my naptime porn, hook up a hard drive to my head and let it eat my drowsy thoughts. Then I could wake up an hour later and have a written story to look at. I know that productive downtime is an oxymoron. And I'm not really a type-A personality. But still.

Things are quiet today.