I'm weakening.

Planful

isn't an adjective,

but should be.

Idle thoughts that herald

major paradigm shifts:

"Huh. I wonder if we'll hit 34 today."

What have I become?

Time

is passing

soooooooooo

slowly.

In the airport,

the tiny airport,

my mom arrives toniiiiiiiight...

My boy's legal!

Now we can go on

proper dates.

Yay!

Tee hee!

Mom posted pictures

from their last trip to Austin.

Go into slideshow mode

to see her cute captions.

When all your meetings

are conference calls,

onions are OK.

Do girls get

receding hairlines?

Ack.

Back. -ish.

Hid from the sun; still got sick.

Made a new friend.

Saw M13.

Drowned in the Milky Way.

Farm Party!

In a few hours!

And I'm giving

an astronomy talk.

Can't wait.

My husband

recognizes me

by my punctuation.

Guilty confession:

Harry Potter 5

is an absolute page-turner.

Oog.

I never should have

taken up with that incubus.

Man, am I tired.

Stay good, Sherbie.

Stay good!

Let your husband take a nap.

Paint your face

in a green mud mask.

Wake him with a kiss.

Who says married life is dull?

I'm just a fool who

Thought that Cthulhu

Could fall in
love!

It's been awhile, eh?

"Aspire"

is not a transitive verb.

I'm barefoot.

Shh...

Self-assessment:

Done!

dancey, dancey, dance

I'm working on my self-assessment,

by the way.

Damn it.

Everybody cool

is at that con.

*geek whimper*

Overwhelming...

fangirl...

lust! *gasp*

Going to...

implode!

The hardest task in the world:

Writing one's self-assessment.

I may gouge my eyes out,

simply to get out of it.

How do you

cheer yourself

up?

Hey nifty.

I just set up a discussion board

for Invisible City.

Go make it look like

we have friends, would ya?

Today's posts brought to you by:

Evil!

Pure and simple

from the 8th Dimension.

Not my goddamn planet,

Monkey-boy.

No matter where you go,

there you are.

Why is there a watermelon there?

It's like,

when you finally score a date

with the cutest boy at school

and he turns out to be

faintly dull, and sort of awkward.

League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

just... doesn't quite.

Mother always said:

You've gotta write mail

to get mail.

But, y'know, Monday...

Leave a comment anyway?

Jon asked me, plaintively,

if I have trouble with the tortilla bag.

I said yes.

When next I fetched it, I found

the Hulk had been making burritos.

The words

href="http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/2003_07_01_archive.asp#1057795492052
47392">Narnia slash fiction

just broke my head.

And we are live!

Install today.

Cross yer fingers...

Goodness.

It must be exciting

to be as perfect as you.

Now shut the fuck up.

(What? Oh, not you, of course.

Cubicle farm. Them. Y'know, men.)

Siiiiiiiiighhhh.

Damn it.

Even in the future,

nuthin' works.

Big thunder!

Since I can't say

anything nice...

Oh, the temptation...

A speaker phone,

dialed in to a conference call,

in an empty cubicle...

Happy birthday,

Ben-Jammin'.

I miss my barrista, yo.

(Yes, I have fallen

off the wagon.

In my defense,

I am debugging,

and that requires caffiene.)