What fucking time is it? Is it day or night?

I hate living on a graveyard shift schedule. While I'm awake, all the normal people out there are sleeping, and everything within walking distance of my home is closed. That's right... I can't even go out and get warm food. Well, except for the store I work at, that's open. But that's too much work for a damn Hot Pocket.

I am glad to see that Priest has returned. I don't know if he knows this, and doubt he'll read this, but his posts almost always make me smile. They activate little memories of his animated manner, his handsome face, and expressive physicality. That, and they're usually pretty funny. :::smiles:::

God. Okay, five hours later, my latest webpage update is finished. I like this one. I might keep it. My back hurts from eight hours at the computer. You know, there was a time in my life when I had other things to do. I think a fellow from Seattle that I met at work said it best when I was complaining about the puny inhabitants of this town...

"It's redneck-ville."

He's right.

Um... maybe it might be time for bed. :::looks at bed::: Wow, it sure looks empty. Wish Michael were here. He's got good skin. And he's WARM. sigh.

Good night, all.

Or... er... good day?

fuckit.

(no subject)

Finally, she's asleep... you're given some peace. She looks small and harmless and sad when she's sleeping... like a pretty child. Except...

...except for that knife. It's still clutched in her hand, and wedged between her knees as she lays there, curled up on her side. Her other arm pillows her head. The big eyes are closed, the tension's flowed out of her. So peaceful. And quiet.

What does she dream of?

(no subject)

Why can't I pull myself away from the computer? I'll be 98, and I'll die, and they'll come in and find my corpse here in front of the computer.

Seriously, I suspect that I'll just keep working on this webpage till it's done. :::sigh:::

I need to go back to bed. I have to be up in three hours.

(no subject)

Well.

The page is done. At least, for now. I'll prolly wait a while for any updates... like new recipes, a section for drawings, or figuring out where to put random junk or links.

But I like it. It turned out pretty well. There are a few glitches with text size that I know how to fix but am just too lazy to right now.

It's actually three sites... my current homepage, my current homepage in flash, and the ressurected Gold Site. It weighs in, total, at around 2 megs. Which is actually pretty hefty and is the biggest site I've ever had, in terms of storage space.

Next time I feel really bored, I'll be adding another section devoted purely to offering Allie-made graphics to the public. You know, like those cheesy graphics sites that offer "backgrounds, buttons, bars and sets!"? Yeah, one of those. And maybe even an HTML tutorial.

But that's for later.

Why ME, Lord? I've been good...

Why in GODS name are all my friends starting to type in lamer camp-hack leet-speech? What the hell is wrong with plain english? Do they not know how annoying those "leet" assholes are???

Moving into winter.

The tan I had gained in the summer is fading. In that mellow brown sea, some small white islands of scar are still visible. So many are there to be seen, if you look as closely as I do. Examining myself is old hat by now.

But there they are. They live on my hands, and up along my arms. So many stories there. So many years. Most of them I don't even remember anymore. Some of them were inflicted on purpose. As winter comes, they will fade back into my white skin, subtle beyond casual notice.

God, I wish winter did that to ALL scars.

All the things I'm too cowardly to tell you.

Michael,

You said that I hadn't really made any emotional commitment to you. You are wrong. So very wrong. I have made the commitment to TRY. I have committed to let you into my home, and to be warm and easy around you. I have committed to try to get close to you. To try to not be afraid of you. I have committed to do this with only you. And I have passed up many offers to stand by this committment.

It's funny how everyone, even me, takes things for granted when they've got them. Maybe for you, none of what I'm doing is an "emotional committment", but to me, it's very difficult. It's taking alot of effort. Your distance frightens me... it leaves me in the dark, most times. How am I supposed to know where I'm going when I don't know where I stand?

I have committed to try to do for you that which I haven't been able to do since Jon. I am NOT the open book I used to be. I am more guarded and secretive with myself now than I have been in years. If you knew what was inside of me, you wouldn't want me anymore. Yet I try.

I'm doing something that I thought was impossible before you. I had resigned myself to being alone.

I want some recognition for that. If only you knew. If only I could tell you without TELLING you.

Boy, aren't I prolific?

See what happens when I have no projects in the works? Someone order me to build them a webpage.

Cats. Cats cats cats cats cats are everywhere. Cats on my bed when I'm trying to sleep. Cats shredding news papers with their sharp little claws. Cats in the kitchen begging for food. Cats in the closet playing tug-of-war with my favorite black G-string.

How can two cats fill up an entire apartment?

I need a bigger bed. For my cats. And occasionally, for my boyfriend, too.

(no subject)

:::sigh::: Steve isn't here and Chris isn't here and Stace isn't here and Michael isn't here and I can prolly assume that Alex's wandered off to sleep (It's pretty late/early over there) and there's nobody to yack at to distract myself from whatever it is that's slowly driving me mad.

Fuckit. Going to bed is better than sitting up moping.

:::sigh:::