Title: Freaky Friday
Seeing: Candlelight flickering off my Impressionism poster from the Denver Art Museum
Hearing: Leahy, Leahy
Tasting: Peanut Butter Kudos
Feeling: Ready to go home and forget about work for two days
I Am Lazy:
Okay, an explanation is probably in order here. As you may have noticed, the "most recent entries" blurb on the right side of the page is no more. There are a couple of reasons for this, the chief reason being I didn't want to completely re-vamp the index page to include them with this new journal script I'm using. (Super-duper-nifty props to Steve for writing this script, since I was too lazy to do it...) Basically, this script allows me to just write the text of an entry, click a button, and it's posted. It also does previous and next links and sorts the entries automatically according to date. I am totally in love with this thing. You may actually see updates from me more often now that they're not so much damn trouble. Before I implemented this, here's what I had to do to update:
Anyway, watch this space, now that I have a quick way to update. I'm considering doing the rest of the site with this script, but that would involve a lot of effort, and I'm not sure it would be worth the trouble. If anyone has a good way to build a Web site that uses style sheets and is quick, let me know.
Fuck Off, Mr. Sandman:
I have been having some damn strange dreams lately. Last night's was the weirdest in a while. In this dreamscape, I was stretched out next to Cynthia in bed, talking, as we tend to do. I must have been up to something, because I was feeling rather content. I was holding her hand, not really paying attention to anything, but lazing about, half dozing with my eyes shut.
Cynthia said something like, "You know they're all out to get us lesbians, Joy." This is very unlike her, so I turned to ask her what she meant, and my eyes dropped to her legs beside mine.
They were amputated at the knee. Gore covered her legs: blood, scratches, scabs. I screamed. When I looked at her face with my mouth agape in horror, I saw her face was in the same state. She looked like she'd been hacked and beaten. She just looked at me, one eye swollen nearly closed, with no expression on her face... and shrugged.
I woke up shaking and sick, and wanting Cynthia, who was on her way to work.
It freaked me the fuck out, obviously. See, I don't normally have gory or graphic dreams; I never have, and I rarely, if ever, have nightmares of any kind. Lately I've been having them more often than not. I wish I could figure out why so I could make them STOP. It's upsetting.
One of the oddest parts of this one was what I did after. I cradled her head in my hands and tried to calm down. My mind raced. Could I still love her? I know that sounds terrible. In the dream, I was obsessed with still being able to kiss her; I couldn't touch her face in the condition it was in. Would she be able to make it, scarred and broken? Was I up to handling it and taking care of her? I knew that I would take care of her, but I wasn't sure I was capable of it.
Maybe my paranoia is getting out of hand. Ya think? Ugh.
Oooh, Purty:
In less morbid news, I finally got the candles I ordered at the extremely chick-heavy candle party that Cynthia, Shawn and I went to a few weeks ago. The candle burning right now goes by the impressive name "Harmony", but it's really just a teal-colored votive that smells of cedar and Christmas. The votive rests in an understated lead crystal container. Beside it is a beautiful little chrome snuffer. (Do I sound enough like a sales puke yet? I'll stop. I wouldn't want to put you through that.) Seriously, I dig it. We finally got permission to turn the lights off back in the area where my cube is, so it's nice and dark, except for my candle. And my office smells good. And I have a new Degas poster hanging up behind my monitor. It's a good thing, y'all.
I must go pick up Ian. Yes, his car is STILL broke. And then I'm going the hell home. I need to see my girlfriend and make sure she's still intact. Unga.
-- marcie