December 14th, 2005


blink, misc.

I had a post up briefly, nothing special, just a few things about how my day is sucking, but I took it down because I'm in a weird funk. I'll post something later when I'm more articulate. But I will mention the most important part in case anyone missed it, which is: my feet are cold.

days usually end at midnight, right?

Just checking. Wednesday: BE OVER WITH ALREADY.

There's nothing so special as staying home in exhaustion to rest, and lying down for hours, and getting up to find yourself not at all rested, and I say this with the most enthusiastic sarcasm, the Rodneyish sort that could wither flowers. And now I'm going to condense paragraphs of whining down to: car died, car was resuscitated, car died, car was resuscitated, car was taken to the shop, car was left there with a rude gesture. Also my monitor is dying of a wasting disease. But then I watched House of Wax and Paris Hilton got dusted by a giant spear through her frontal lobe and that made everything better. And then I wrote this to cheer myself up.


When they let Rodney out of the box, the first thing he saw was John, staring at him as if he'd just woken from a nightmare and Rodney was the ghost who'd been starring in it. A small, familiar part of Rodney wanted to rise to the occasion and give John something to reassure him--a spastic moment of complaint about his delayed rescue, a snappy demand for food--but instead he felt his eyes prickle and his mouth and chin quiver in a way that made him feel like an old man.

John grabbed and pulled him close and pressed his face to a patch of Rodney's hair just over his left ear. He was almost unbearably comforting, a clasp of lanky muscle with a P-90, and he smelled clean and only a little sweaty, a good guyish smell that made Rodney feel even more disgusting by comparison. He rubbed Rodney's back and squeezed the side of his neck tight enough to fill in a silent blank of dozens of words, and then he fritzed out Rodney's brain by turning his head and kissing him briefly on the temple.

There are *marines* watching, he wanted to say, but his throat was too parched and he couldn't pull it together in time. He closed his eyes and wondered what had made John do that. Unlike all the other questions that had filled his mind over the last three days, this one was worth dwelling on.


And now I'm going to bed, and with the terrible mental powers at my disposal will turn Rodney into...AN ELF!

I am so totally lying. He's really a centaur elf. Good night.