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

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Sexy Men and Scones

It's a good thing I have Thursday and Friday off, because I'm becoming pretty useless in the office. I'm more or less working (less), but my brain is not present. The craft is flying on autopilot, and the pilot is staring out the window at the clouds with a restless feeling. On the way to work today I was hit with the urge not just to read Simon/Jayne but to write it. But I've been tragically stupid--I began taping Firefly, decided too early that it wasn't quite my thing, stopped saving it to tape, and then watched it get remorselessly better with every single passing week. So now I have only the last 3 eps or so on tape and the series may never re-air again. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And yet I have all of Smallville carefully archived on tape, which--much as I enjoy it--is a fandom I'm unlikely ever to write in. The irony of this smacks me in the jaw like a wet trout.

Really, I just wanted to dash off some S/J this morning, just a little snort, but I don't have the voices in my head, and I know it would come out dumb. Hmm, yeah. Only in authorial context can one say "voices in my head" and have it mean something other than lunacy.

I am so not working at this moment. Outside my window I can see giant red cranes. I guess you'd call them cranes. Actually I have no idea what they are. They're down on the harbor, looming over the docks, unused. They look like those Imperial walkers from Return of the Jedi. Beyond them, the mountains are obscured by a fuzzy grey haze which may or may not be pollution.

For breakfast I had a scone. I refuse to cut scones from my diet, though for all I know they're made with a generous helping of lard. Still, I've lost weight. My current jeans are all fitting more loosely. My reserve jeans aren't quite yet noticing the difference. Those are the ones I'm really anticipating. You know reserve jeans. They're the jeans you keep on a shelf in your closet. They're anywhere from 2 to 10 sizes too small, but you know you'll fit into them again someday, because they're your favorite, so you can't make yourself throw them out. Some pairs are 10 years old, pathetic scraps of cloth that you occasionally pull out and stare at while thinking, "What the fuck--was I wearing these in *grade* school?" So sad. I've actually thrown away a lot of my reserve jeans--and sweaters, and jackets--over time. Which was healthy for me to do, but now, as I look ahead to finally slimming down, I know there'll come a point when I find myself struck by a pang for the long-lost black silk shirt. I loved that shirt. I wore it 8 years ago. It was faded and shabby; I'd carted it across the country with me, vowing to wear it again someday. Then, 6 months ago, I found it, glared at its dusty wrinkled skin, and made myself toss it. Sigh.

Man. I really don't want to work.
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