Christmaaas!
First up, big, huge, smacky kitty kisses for bifemmefatale, kittykiya, and one person whose LJ handle I am not sticking to the name* because I am BAD AT THAT.**
I now have a very potentially useful book on writing SF and fantasy with, yes, amusing outdated references to dot matrix printers, but solid essays by people with, you know, actual brains and experience. I also have a freaking awesome Royo calendar, ensuring that next year I will not lack for industrial goth chicks, vampires, she-demons, and general hotness; I've had a Royo calendar in my kitchen for years now. The remaining package contained two smaller gift-wrapped packages, and I have no idea what's in them besides "Hey, there! BOOKS!"
Thank y'all!
In other news, I am almost done shopping. Which is good, because, you know, I hate shopping even when it isn't asshole day. To me, it is not like a fun little treasure hunt. As I seek to get in, find what I want, and get out unscathed, it is more like combat. Hence the icon.***
I realize that Amazon is the Great Satan that drove mom and pop bookstores out of business, but it allows me to do most of my shopping far from traffic and morons. It's also cheaper and is not limited to stock on hand. Or what is legal in this state. Aheh.
A year minus two days ago, I wrote about what a dirty Christmas slut I am. And you know, I still fucking love Christmas, but I am just not feeling the spirit this year in quite the same way. I have a new Santa hat, and Jingle Bell Rock still conjures up evil mental images involving Steven Strait and Tom Welling, but I haven't put the tree up yet. I'm not wearing the hat into traffic or accosting strangers with Christmas carols.
I'm just tired. This year has been so foul in so many ways. I feel fine now, I'm cheerful, I'm not depressed, but I just don't want more bustle and fussing and work. I don't feel like swearing over the Christmas lights or putting all my action figures on hangers or locating the tree skirt or addressing Christmas cards or making cookies. Well, I do, but I want another month to do it.
You know, I want to fucking hibernate. I want to eat berries until I am happily fat, burrow into a comfortable dark place, and sleep until March.
There is not a total lack of hope. There's a party on Saturday that may kick me into gear. When I sit down with my cards, I may just find that I feel like addressing them after all. I must admit, the urge to put the names of imaginary people in the return address slot is already incredibly tempting, and I don't even have them in front of me. I am excited about watching other people open the presents I have bought or made for them, and I'm very curious about the wrapped packages with my name on them.
And it's definitively becoming more Christmasy outside. Weather here might have turned at last. I spent last night underneath four blankets and two cats, and was still cold. The cats normally dislike being under the covers with me, but last night they lay sandwiched between blankets two and three, leaving their fat little forequarters poking out on different ends of the bed.
It's not quite Christmas cheer, but it sure is cheerful.
* Which for privacy reasons I am hesitant to divulge, so there you go. Could I vague this up for you any further?!
** I give people nicknames in my head, and once you have one, that is pretty much what I will call you forever. Livejournal handles do not slip out of my head the way "real" names do. I mean, if someone calls themselves "ElectricFucknut," I will pretty much always call them "ElectricFucknut." I don't care if their real name is John. I know thirty Johns. I only know one ElectricFucknut. There is also a strong possibility that I will remember your pet's name, but not yours. Please, someone tell me I am not alone!
*** I know I'm getting a 300 icon pretty late in the game, but I'm sorry, that shit will still be funny in ten years. Besides, it was Sargon's idea. That makes it cool.
I now have a very potentially useful book on writing SF and fantasy with, yes, amusing outdated references to dot matrix printers, but solid essays by people with, you know, actual brains and experience. I also have a freaking awesome Royo calendar, ensuring that next year I will not lack for industrial goth chicks, vampires, she-demons, and general hotness; I've had a Royo calendar in my kitchen for years now. The remaining package contained two smaller gift-wrapped packages, and I have no idea what's in them besides "Hey, there! BOOKS!"
Thank y'all!
In other news, I am almost done shopping. Which is good, because, you know, I hate shopping even when it isn't asshole day. To me, it is not like a fun little treasure hunt. As I seek to get in, find what I want, and get out unscathed, it is more like combat. Hence the icon.***
I realize that Amazon is the Great Satan that drove mom and pop bookstores out of business, but it allows me to do most of my shopping far from traffic and morons. It's also cheaper and is not limited to stock on hand. Or what is legal in this state. Aheh.
A year minus two days ago, I wrote about what a dirty Christmas slut I am. And you know, I still fucking love Christmas, but I am just not feeling the spirit this year in quite the same way. I have a new Santa hat, and Jingle Bell Rock still conjures up evil mental images involving Steven Strait and Tom Welling, but I haven't put the tree up yet. I'm not wearing the hat into traffic or accosting strangers with Christmas carols.
I'm just tired. This year has been so foul in so many ways. I feel fine now, I'm cheerful, I'm not depressed, but I just don't want more bustle and fussing and work. I don't feel like swearing over the Christmas lights or putting all my action figures on hangers or locating the tree skirt or addressing Christmas cards or making cookies. Well, I do, but I want another month to do it.
You know, I want to fucking hibernate. I want to eat berries until I am happily fat, burrow into a comfortable dark place, and sleep until March.
There is not a total lack of hope. There's a party on Saturday that may kick me into gear. When I sit down with my cards, I may just find that I feel like addressing them after all. I must admit, the urge to put the names of imaginary people in the return address slot is already incredibly tempting, and I don't even have them in front of me. I am excited about watching other people open the presents I have bought or made for them, and I'm very curious about the wrapped packages with my name on them.
And it's definitively becoming more Christmasy outside. Weather here might have turned at last. I spent last night underneath four blankets and two cats, and was still cold. The cats normally dislike being under the covers with me, but last night they lay sandwiched between blankets two and three, leaving their fat little forequarters poking out on different ends of the bed.
It's not quite Christmas cheer, but it sure is cheerful.
* Which for privacy reasons I am hesitant to divulge, so there you go. Could I vague this up for you any further?!
** I give people nicknames in my head, and once you have one, that is pretty much what I will call you forever. Livejournal handles do not slip out of my head the way "real" names do. I mean, if someone calls themselves "ElectricFucknut," I will pretty much always call them "ElectricFucknut." I don't care if their real name is John. I know thirty Johns. I only know one ElectricFucknut. There is also a strong possibility that I will remember your pet's name, but not yours. Please, someone tell me I am not alone!
*** I know I'm getting a 300 icon pretty late in the game, but I'm sorry, that shit will still be funny in ten years. Besides, it was Sargon's idea. That makes it cool.