I missed the interview with JK Rowling on BBC 2. Fu-uck.
And I am not in a truly spiffin' mood at present. I think I'm vicariously depressed, that is, if "vicariously" means what I think it means. Gah. I take it all back - all that's wrong with me is that I'm in a strange mood. I've been reading too much; getting stuck in my own head again. The problem is I tend to absorb styles of writing like a sponge - when I've read as many different stories as I have today, my own, simple, unfunny journal writing style seems to be hidden underneath a hundred million different varieties of fiction whirling round my head.
I can hear my mother in the kitchen, on the phone to one of her friends. She's just been saying, "...yes, you know, this new Harry Potter book... shops are opening at midnight and of course Iona is just so excited... Sanjeev's promised to take her, you know, he's promised her..."
Doncha just love it when your parents talk about you? Besides, this is the closest my mother will ever come to understanding life as a serial obsessive. I've never tried to explain slash, or even bisexuality, to her, due to her disturbingly homophobic tendencies. Ah, whatever. I didn't make this entry to bitch about my mother. We've been having unusually civil relations recently.
I spent the afternoon chatting to
shipperkitten and
hathy_col. We talked of many things, of cabbages and kings, mostly slashy in nature, and I enjoyed the sensation of just relaxing and not thinking about anything except the things I want to think about.
My mother keeps asking me what perfume I'm wearing - she says she can smell something nice on me. I keep telling her I'm not wearing any, 'cause that's the truth. I have a feeling the smell hanging round me might just be contentment - if fear has a smell, too, then why not?
Lastly, gacked from
lady_of_asheru:
And I am not in a truly spiffin' mood at present. I think I'm vicariously depressed, that is, if "vicariously" means what I think it means. Gah. I take it all back - all that's wrong with me is that I'm in a strange mood. I've been reading too much; getting stuck in my own head again. The problem is I tend to absorb styles of writing like a sponge - when I've read as many different stories as I have today, my own, simple, unfunny journal writing style seems to be hidden underneath a hundred million different varieties of fiction whirling round my head.
I can hear my mother in the kitchen, on the phone to one of her friends. She's just been saying, "...yes, you know, this new Harry Potter book... shops are opening at midnight and of course Iona is just so excited... Sanjeev's promised to take her, you know, he's promised her..."
Doncha just love it when your parents talk about you? Besides, this is the closest my mother will ever come to understanding life as a serial obsessive. I've never tried to explain slash, or even bisexuality, to her, due to her disturbingly homophobic tendencies. Ah, whatever. I didn't make this entry to bitch about my mother. We've been having unusually civil relations recently.
I spent the afternoon chatting to
My mother keeps asking me what perfume I'm wearing - she says she can smell something nice on me. I keep telling her I'm not wearing any, 'cause that's the truth. I have a feeling the smell hanging round me might just be contentment - if fear has a smell, too, then why not?
Lastly, gacked from

I'm from Ravenclaw!
Hogwart's Sorting Hat Quiz
made by The Genki Gang
Re: vicariously
on 2003-06-19 03:20 pm (UTC)