Last night I got done writing part of the @#@&&Fksdjf@$!! lit review at midnight, and then took a shower. Nothing lovelier than a bedtime shower. And then I lay awake plotting cracked out 3manbus (omg Justin is such a PUNKASS) that was so clear and irrefutable in my brain that I didn't bother writing it down.
Well, poop. Poop on that, I say.
Today I'm writing a submission letter to the editors of a nursing journal ("PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE") and finishing up the @#@&&Fksdjf@$!! lit review. Maybe trying to wring that stupid 3manbus back out of my brain, but I imagine it'll come, since I'm writing it in lieu of the JuC Swap and xoverau's Flip Yo' Script Challenge, which should be the funnest fun. Y'all should sign up! Pan-fandom stereotype-busting crack, what could be better? End of August due date, ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD. I plan on starting August 28.
Also, I dreamed of Chris K. again. Mmm. I was driving around, just looking at stuff, and I heard someone singing... some dude, riding a motorcycle, singing at the top of his lungs. IT MADE SENSE IN THE DREAM. Anyway, the song was gorgeous, and I was like "Well, I'll be damned" and started following him (as one does) (SHUT UP), as he drove through neighborhoods... near southside of Milwaukee, actually. Ahhahaaa! Those narrow streets with cars parked up and down both sides, two story duplexes stacked not ten feet between 'em, that baby-shit brown faux-brick tar-paper siding, and covered porches, and lawns three feet square with a strip down the side to the ally in back... probably he was heading for one of the fabulous Mexican restaurants in the area, Jalisco's or Conejito's or some place like that, where you get three rolled tacos for two bucks, served on a paper plate with a can of Tecate, or if you're way in the money that week, Cuervo Gold margaritas in hiball glasses for a buck-fifty. Mmm, Conejitos. But anyway, oh yeah! Chris! And then I woke up. :P
So, is this an entry I should lock? Why, because of the poop? So complicated.