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

good night, moon

Happy things tonight: a few Spike/Angel stories from estepheia, a nice one I'd read before called Stranger Things Have Happened and one I hadn't and love quite a lot, its sequel, Nothing Else Matters. Hotness and sweetness. This ship wrecks me now and then, more than I expect.

Also, benaresq wrote a Xandrew story that I'd missed before now, which is disturbingly lifelike. Or something. I boggle and back away slowly, but with keen admiration. {g}

Today at work I did actual work, and left just before seven this evening with a sense of deep spiritual, emotional, and intellectual fulfillment.

Mostly, I was kind of hungry though.

Even though I'm having trouble getting traction on my current sidelines story, I seem to have figured out what the next one will be about. Don't even talk to me about noir, though. There is enormous shame and self-flagellation going on. With fettuccine.

On cable tonight while I was chopping stuff for dinner I caught Bridget Jones's Diary just as Hugh and Colin were launching their hilarious man-spat in the snowy London street. I could watch that scene a thousand times. Their dirty playground punches and dogged hatred, the splashy saloon-like tumble into the restaurant, the very horrified British apologies they murmur to the patrons as they fling each other bodily across loaded dinner plates, the birthday interruption, their grand exit via plate-glass window. God. One of the best movie fights ever.

Sigh. Why won't it snow here? Why?

My computer has a slightly high-pitched whine that could well drive me mad. If they commit me, remember me fondly.

You'll notice I'm not talking about war. I'm talking about trivial things, each thing no larger than a grain of sand, as I try to amass a million grains in which to bury my head.

I need an ostrich icon perhaps. Except I love my Xander.


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