The pretentious panties d'art are gone from the telephone pole at the end of the street. This actually makes me kind of sad.

My shores are currently aswarm with Les battalions Anglais, and I am ritually dead. Auspicious, non?

Time is deep and the nights are soft. Stephen has discovered that knitting is kind of soothing. But then, we just got him and half of the males he lives with knocked up.

Bizarre hermaphroditic universe, don't ask. Or do, I don't mind, really. The idea of dear dark Q with full flowing mammaries is amusing, if not rather diverting.

Wrote another bit for Elphine, and I think that I am going to slink to the bookstore cafe to finish some stuff for her sister Florrie.

Hey, I had no idea I had a 'Zelma. Maybe it's Calliope in disguise.

I have 'Send me an Angel' in my head, from driving last night. I love having an almost-all 80's station around here.

Work at 11. Like the news, but less bloody, a little.

<<agé chose>>

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