I has a new chair! Much more comfy and ergonomic than the last one, which is very good given that work is about to plow into the zomfg busy season. New desk chair = happy. ^.^

I also has complete DVD set of Kids in the Hall! which I'm sure I'll get around to watching eventually, or at least in bits and pieces. I might take to watching episodes when I'm on my lunch break, to put myself in a better mood for the zomfg busy season that's starting. ;)

And... that's all, really. Life continues onwards in generally good but unremarkable (for the time being) directions. Oh! supersniffles knitted me a gorgeous shawl and dice bag and cap, and the cap has trilobites on it, and I've been wearing it almost constantly since unwrapping it. XD Many people have commented on how nice the color is (the dark green sets off the lighter green of my hair perfectly), and when I point out the trilobites everybody gets all geek-squee. Thank you pinkness! *hughughug* Eventually I will get around to taking pictures and posting them. (as well as pictures of the WoW Khydann poster I got - a while ago... and haven't taken pictures of yet because I can be procrastinatey like that.) Also codevixen and lyrapuppy conspired to bring me a baby T-Rex, which has already been put to good use scaring the bejezus out of the cats.

My Xmas present to the house was a subscription to Science News, which is now bi-weekly instead of weekly, but that's okay, it's still awesome. I look forward to its arrivals with gleefullness.

A l'il drunk.

Bec's recovering, sort of. I can't stay with her right now 'cause I been sent back to the field whether I like it or not. Not gonna write about everything that happened the past few weeks 'cause it doesn't matter, she's gonna be fine it'll just be a while before she's... fully recovered.

But... Jeria.

Jeria's Jeria, but not, she's a different Jeria, I guess from a different... I don't even know. She knows a me that isn't me, and it's just so fucked up but she's genuinely lost and this Jeria ain't married to

But the real Jeria, I dunno what - I'm confused by all this. I can't afford to get into this too deep, I gotta let the others deal with it. I gotta let the other unit members take care of this 'cause I've got Bec to take care of. Sort of.

Did offer my support though, if this girl needs it. Sounds like she does.

I wonder what might ha

Happy birthday for those of you born on the 25th! As someone whose birthday sometimes falls on Thanksgiving, I can relate.

And to the rest of you, happy winter holiday of choice!

"As Fuchsia climbed into the winding darkness her body was impregnated and made faint by a qualm as of green April. Her heart beat painfully.

This is a love that equals in its power the love of man for woman and reaches inwards as deeply. It is the love of a man or of a woman for their world. For the world of their centre where their lives burn genuinely and with a free flame.

The love of the diver for his world of wavering light. His world of pearls and tendrils and his breath at his breast. Born as a plunger into the deeps he is at one with every swarm of lime-green fish, with every coloured sponge. As he holds himself to the ocean's faery floor, one hand clasped to a bedded whale's rib, he is complete and infinite. Pulse, power and universe sway in his body. He is in love.

The love of a painter standing alone and staring, staring at the great coloured surface he is making. Standing with him in the room the rearing canvas stares back with tentative shapes halted in their growth, moving in a new rhythm from floor to ceiling. The twisted tubes, the fresh paint squeezed and smeared across the dry upon his palette. The dust beneath the easel. The paint has edged along the brushes' handles. The white light in a northern sky is silent. The window gapes as he inhales his world. His world: a rented room, and turpentine. He moves towards his half-born. He is in love.

The rich soil crumbles through the yeoman's fingers. As the pearl diver murmurs, 'I am home' as he moves dimly in the strange water-lights, and as the painter mutters, 'I am me' on his lone raft of floorboards, so the slow landsman on his acre'd marl - says with dark Fuchsia on her twisting staircase, 'I am home.'"

from Titus Groan, by Mervyn Peake

Mmmhmmmmm~

Never thought that elves would be any good, but this one is. Almost as good as a Troll. Takes charge. Got as much personality as a Devilsaur and then some. Might stick to this one for a while, never know, might be worth it.

Sexy l'il sneak.


Not gonna think 'bout almost dyin' in the Citadel. We didn't and that's what matters.

Yeah, just a few notes about dreams I had last night / this morning. ( Entirely skippable! )