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

mother of god

I am grumpy tonight. For no especially good reason. My laser death eyes are turned on and scanning the crowd.

Am I the only one who finds "Hollywood Squares" pathetically creepy, by the way? Alec Baldwin, Gilbert Gottfried, French Stewart--if I were stranded in deep space with these people, I would toss *myself* out the airlock. Jesus wept.

This is random. I am watching in my desultory way Tuesday's Smallville and, no spoilers, but Lex is the Best Boyfriend Ever. And his bald head and pretty swan neck are like sculpted ice cream.

For the record: very sick of viruses. Very, very sick of seeing them in my inbox. Die, viruses, die. Cancer, as a random hazard of nature, is not hard to understand. The gratuitous fuckwittedness of actual people who claim human sentience, on the other hand--I really have no words.

I want to write, I want to sleep, I want to turn my brain off.

I need cuddling.


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