croon to the tune of your own sweet sighs
Meme! Tagged by vega_ofthe_lyre.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4-7 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest (unless it's too troublesome to reach and is really heavy. Then go back to step 1).
6. Tag five people.
But at last sleep overtook the company, which had, after all, laboured since dawn In his room Jacob slumbered, one hirsute arm buried in the tresses of his Rhinemaiden. Boris slept, The Mother flocculating quietly on his bedside table. Frau Pollack slept, whimpering and wracked by her dreams. Klasky, his ears stuffed with cotton wool against the noise of the yokel band, finally put down the pencil-stabbed score of his opera before he too closed his eyes.
- The Reluctant Heiress Magic Flutes, Eva Ibbotson (<3333)
(silly publishing company, why would you change a nice Mozarty title to a very formulaic and not at all eye-catching one for the reprint? you are absurd.)
I tag you and you and you, and also you and you. (Um. Tagging people preys upon my social anxieties. I'm just going to... be over there.)
In other news, I am incredibly sleepy all of the time, and profoundly insomniac during the actual night-time. If this keeps up much longer I may have to call my doctor; it is very disconcerting, if not entirely surprising: I have been struggling with my body's various responses to sleep for basically all of my life. At least I do not seem to be possessed by the inability to sleep any less than fifteen hours a day, which is what has often happened when I am not on medication. Small mercies.
Really I ought to post this entry, which has been sitting all unposted in my tabs, because I have other, far more interesting things to tell The Internet about than my insomnia. So I shall leave you with pretty pictures of clothes to distract you. Hooray for bargainy things! The lovely lovely bodice-blouse was one of the pretty things I snagged on my shopping trip with the girls (three dollars, guys; my mother taught me well), and is further evidence of Why It Is Often Nice To Be Very Curvy*, viz. the very last item on the clearance rack is usually in your size. (At a shop geared towards the youthful, anyway, where they assume everybody is generally quite slender and curve-free, and therefore the extra-large sizes either fit neatly, or can be easily tailored to fit. ISN'T THIS DULL.)
* And may I reiterate how even more nice it is to be able to think things like that, as I spent much of my early teenagerhood sobbing in dressing rooms because I had no clothes and nothing ever fit me and I felt as though I'd been put together wrong from discarded mismatched parts. ...Actually I still feel like that rather a lot, due to extreme clumsiness and me apparently never having got used to my body after puberty A DECADE AGO and peculiar things always going wrong with it, but I am far, far better at not letting anyone else notice, not to mention occasionally feeling quite pleased with my physical demeanour. And I only ever sob in dressing rooms anymore when I find gorgeous white lace boots that cannot be made to fit me under any duress.
Also this is proof that I do, on occasion, wear things resembling trousers. NO REALLY, SEE.
Right. Off to bed with me, and off to the presses with you, o entry. Importanter stuff tomorrow (and perhaps I will even finish my very longwinded answers to meme questions in the near future, ohoho!).
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4-7 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest (unless it's too troublesome to reach and is really heavy. Then go back to step 1).
6. Tag five people.
But at last sleep overtook the company, which had, after all, laboured since dawn In his room Jacob slumbered, one hirsute arm buried in the tresses of his Rhinemaiden. Boris slept, The Mother flocculating quietly on his bedside table. Frau Pollack slept, whimpering and wracked by her dreams. Klasky, his ears stuffed with cotton wool against the noise of the yokel band, finally put down the pencil-stabbed score of his opera before he too closed his eyes.
- The Reluctant Heiress Magic Flutes, Eva Ibbotson (<3333)
(silly publishing company, why would you change a nice Mozarty title to a very formulaic and not at all eye-catching one for the reprint? you are absurd.)
I tag you and you and you, and also you and you. (Um. Tagging people preys upon my social anxieties. I'm just going to... be over there.)
In other news, I am incredibly sleepy all of the time, and profoundly insomniac during the actual night-time. If this keeps up much longer I may have to call my doctor; it is very disconcerting, if not entirely surprising: I have been struggling with my body's various responses to sleep for basically all of my life. At least I do not seem to be possessed by the inability to sleep any less than fifteen hours a day, which is what has often happened when I am not on medication. Small mercies.
Really I ought to post this entry, which has been sitting all unposted in my tabs, because I have other, far more interesting things to tell The Internet about than my insomnia. So I shall leave you with pretty pictures of clothes to distract you. Hooray for bargainy things! The lovely lovely bodice-blouse was one of the pretty things I snagged on my shopping trip with the girls (three dollars, guys; my mother taught me well), and is further evidence of Why It Is Often Nice To Be Very Curvy*, viz. the very last item on the clearance rack is usually in your size. (At a shop geared towards the youthful, anyway, where they assume everybody is generally quite slender and curve-free, and therefore the extra-large sizes either fit neatly, or can be easily tailored to fit. ISN'T THIS DULL.)
* And may I reiterate how even more nice it is to be able to think things like that, as I spent much of my early teenagerhood sobbing in dressing rooms because I had no clothes and nothing ever fit me and I felt as though I'd been put together wrong from discarded mismatched parts. ...Actually I still feel like that rather a lot, due to extreme clumsiness and me apparently never having got used to my body after puberty A DECADE AGO and peculiar things always going wrong with it, but I am far, far better at not letting anyone else notice, not to mention occasionally feeling quite pleased with my physical demeanour. And I only ever sob in dressing rooms anymore when I find gorgeous white lace boots that cannot be made to fit me under any duress.
Also this is proof that I do, on occasion, wear things resembling trousers. NO REALLY, SEE.
Right. Off to bed with me, and off to the presses with you, o entry. Importanter stuff tomorrow (and perhaps I will even finish my very longwinded answers to meme questions in the near future, ohoho!).