Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

my life as a dog

Actually I'm not sure that's a good analogy, but I grasp for straws subject lines.

I cancelled my gym session yesterday at the last minute, based on complaints from my knees. Then I went home and took Ibuprofen and a hot bath, and flexed my legs up and down, listening with morbid fascination to the cruch crunch crackle of my joints.

And I watched Friday the 13th: Jason Takes Manhattan, which is laughably misnamed, as Jason doesn't reach NYC until about an hour into the movie, having spent the trip slaughtering a high school graduating class on a cruise ship. These movies are so fucking hilariously and compellingly bad that I could write an entire long post about them, but I can't imagine anyone else being interested. Plus I'm often lazy about getting around to things like that.

I also have a post bubbling up in me about the joyful side of slash fan-fiction, triggered by my recent reading in SGA. Maybe later.

Not long ago a lot of whiskey would have gone perfectly with watching bad movies, by the way. At the moment, though, the thought makes me rather queasy. (I say "at the moment" because maybe someday I won't feel those uneasy echoes at all.) I went to AA yesterday. The cute guy with crinkly eyes who chairs the meeting--I realized a few weeks back that he actually reminds me of my brother. And yet he remains attractive. How disturbing is that? Yes.

Why do I have to have my weekly one-on-one with my manager in two hours? Can someone explain that to me? I wait with unbated breath, while thinking absently about the prospect of coffee. I'm not even going to mention the whole J/V sex-slave scenario that distracted me last night--er, oops.
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