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

I extend the pen toward the inkwell...

Meta 1: I think I'm going to go back to Pessoa when I'm at a loss for subject lines.

Meta 2: Possibly I should have a rule not to make new posts before answering comments on previous ones. But I don't.

I came home and slept for hours. I may have PMS, as some of you suspected. It seems like such a pathetic excuse for sudden mood-swinging psychosis. "Female hormones." Most months I just accept and deal--or at least acknowledge the biology behind it all. This month I resent it. Deny it even. It's so stupid. Like, on top of everything, insult to injury: ovaries. God is not a woman. As if you needed any more evidence. Actually, God is probably some big ball of ancient cosmic gas. Now dormant. Which would explain a lot.

Also evidence of PMS is how I spent my half-awake, half-asleep periods. When I feel despair, Vaughn and Jack must too, apparently. Vaughn and Jack are both Spike, I've figured out. It's like they're the resulting split of a transporter accident. That also turned them into entirely different people. Jack is the opaque and dark half. Vaughn is the needy vulnerable half. Vaughn's the one who suffers prettily in chains. Poor Vaughn. Captured and offered up as a sex slave tonight just so that I could cry into my pillow. And I made Jack cry too. Think how extreme that is. But it all ended happily. Later, I let them go fishing together and there was a shoulder rub. And then the oral sex.
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