(no subject)

Feeling better. Enough to go to work, anyway. (Though it may be turning into a sinus infection. Pro: non-contagious. Con: lingering.)

Losing my voice.

Whee!

(no subject)

It's weird how I can take one day off and feel so disconnected when I return. Not just to work, but to everything. Well, OK, not everything. But routines and plans and things seem so new, so far away...

a little bit in love again

"But as necessary as retouching may seem in order to fill the coffers of corporate behemoths like Procter & Gamble, Revlon or Warner Brothers Records it is not okay for the rest of us -- the readers, that is -- that this goes on. In a world where lying, deception, and the fudging of facts has become endemic in everything, all the way up to the highest levels of government, this is yet another example of a fraud being perpetrated on the public... and the public, for the most part, is not yet in on the joke. Magazine-retouching may not be a lie on par with, you know, "Iraq has weapons of mass destruction," but in a world where girls as young as eight are going on the South Beach Diet, teenagers are getting breast implants as graduation gifts, professional women are almost required to fetishize handbags, and everyone is spending way too much goddamn time figuring out how to pose in a way that will look as good as that friend with the really popular MySpace profile, it's fucking wrong. And we're glad you agreed."

Jezebel. Also see their previous post.

two bits

1. I have new shoes! I have new shoes! I love my new shoes! They are Dansko Mary Janes (I don't remember the exact style name, sorry), they are super-comfy, my bad-ass over-the-counter inserts fit them perfectly. Also, you can see my cool stripy socks better now. My office-appropriate cover is about to be blown.

2. Please, should I ever find myself miserable, heartbroken, traumatized, or otherwise emotionally upset, DO NOT in any way state OR imply that I should "use this for my writing" or look on the bright side, it might result in some kick-ass prose someday. Just DON'T. Don't do that to any other writer you know, either. Emotional pain is emotional pain. It might be fodder for art someday, or it might not. But the prospect of it maybe becoming art someday in no way alleviates the pain of the moment. It is a horrible, cynical thing to say to a person. I do not exist just to feed my writing, and it is gross to look forward to the fruits of my pain in any form. That's emotional vampirism, and to it I say fuck you. It is NOT in any way a comfort. Just. Not. So, you know, if you love me and/or ever want me to speak to you again, don't go there. Thx.