I'm so pathetic, you guys. A year's time seems to be exactly long enough for me to forget what I'm like every single steenking summer around here. I forget that I'm going to get insomnia (or maybe I just go back to utterly disbelieving that I - *IIIIII!* - could ever have the slightest difficulty doing what Tiggers do best - falling asleep). I ( Read more... )

Dear White Collar ( Read more... )

I am devoted to the Wonderland of Delight that is the Junk Shop.  (As I affectionately call it; it has a real name).

This junk, for example, is now *my* junk:


( Read more... )