You've got that sunset in your eyes
Hellooooooo, Monday!
This is going to be a good week. I can feel it. Everything is winding down here. I've got plenty of work to do on the Wikipedia page before I go. And to top it all off, I've got moving in to look forward to. Ahhhhhh. I feel feathery and fanciful.
Thoughts--
I'm becoming a Michael Phelps fan. Not, like, that AT&T commercial, but I really do want to see him kick some ass. All eight medals would be phenomenol. He's talented, motivated, and cute in a dweeby, nice-bodied way. I just want to give him a big fucking hug.
I miss Meghan and Betsy. I *need* Meghan and Betsy. The end of summer has me in a rut and I need to find something more to living.
Meghan's party is going to rock the fucking house. That is all.
Babylon_whore's writing owns my dear, AR shippy soul. LORD. Who needs to fall in love when you can live it vicariously through fanfiction? My God... the Domesticated Sexay series winds me up into knots of fangirlish glee. It's amazing how she just made me melt into a pile of goo by writing about someone getting up to pee in the middle of the night. It makes me wonder if that's the kind of love worth waiting for. It makes me wonder if I should settle for anything less.
Speaking of settling... men are weird. I'm weird. I can't sort out my feelings towards anyone these days. I wish we could all just shake hands and agree to be friends. I think my life would become about seventy times less complicated if that were the case. I see dependency in myself. I see dependency in others. I wish I could stop loving and that everyone could stop loving me--I need to live my own damn life for a few months.
I think that's why fandom has slowly crept back into my bloodstream. It's a protective measure. It's an investment in something that won't break me. I'm trying to rebuild the foundations I used to have--I need something to rest my feet on before I go making anymore leaps of faith. It's not going to be very productive or beneficial in the long run, but it's familiar. I've got a firm grasp, here. Fuck anyone who tells me to let go.
Karl Pilkington is... amazing. Just an absolutely ungrateful bald-headed twat with a head like a fucking orange. HEE. Those damn podcasts are unbelievable. And I can't wait to see Ghost Town, Ricky's new movie. It looks quite funny, if not a bit cute.
Blah, blah, blah. I'm rambling/wasting time purposefully. Nap time, yet?
-A