here and there and distracted by shinies.
Insomnia blows.
It blows like a twink trying to hoover a middle aged banker into buying him a Mercedes.
In conversation with a friend earlier, I shared my musings that a herd of sock monkeys actually congregates around my bed at night to steal my sleep-vibes, but that's not a viable possibility for countless reasons:
First of all, my cats would likely annihilate the aforementioned sock monkeys before they ever got within range to steal my sleeps.
Secondly, since I'm not fucking sleeping, I'd notice the little bastards myself and could destroy them myself (but at a distance, since I can't stand touching them and their hideous woolen sockfaces)
So, yeah. The insomnia is probably some uber-natural happenstance that I'm going to have to figure out, conquer, or drug into submission. somehow. buhhhh. This sort of dumb-dom doesn't make for a happy Lana on any level. I mean, hell -- I just suggested to my friend Jay that he "moo like a beluga", for they are sea cows, and thus must moo accordingly. That shit ain't right.
On a completely different note (covered in randomsauce!!!), I was out in Etobicrap visiting my mum, and she was kind enough to dye my hair for me... so now it's even less red. This makes me squee-ish and almost giddy: I was so sick of the red.
Speaking of being sick of things, I am getting more and more appalled by people's behaviour in public areas, particularly on public transit.
Yes, I have large breasts. Bump into them "accidentallY" again, and I may take the book I'm reading and bludgeon you with it. Verily, you will be naught but a greasy smear on the already repugnant greyblack rubber of the streetcar floor, littered as it is with dross and dreck and toenail clippings from the repugnant woman who was fucking CLIPPING HER TOENAILS on the streetcar while we all looked on in horror.
The world, it makes me weep.