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Aug. 23rd, 2011 07:08 pmFussy fussy fussy pants.
Though all I'm wearing is a giant shirt and a handful of surgical drains.
There are so many things I want to plan for 'when I'm better'.
Get over myself, take a sewing class, lose weight, adopt a slogan (Note to self: rock much harder is a strong contender). I want to be a patron of the arts, an elegant correspondent, a collector of small, beautiful absurd things and an expert on local honeys and learn how to make smores with fluff and a creme brulee torch. I want to marinate in amazing things, and spend as much time as I've got making Light and five small mammals happy. Most importantly, I want to see myself as someone who lives that way.
I don't want to have an epiphany, I don't want this to be a life-changing moment, I want this to be a thing that I do, I want it to be part of the fabric of the person I already am, rather than emerging new from a scallop shell, trailing nymphs and scars. On the other hand, how the hell can it not be? I feel obligated to do something, be something more than I already was or how am I ever going to justifying this to that annoying voice inside my head?
In other news: I gave my breasts to science. Someone, somewhere, is going to be doing science to them.
Though all I'm wearing is a giant shirt and a handful of surgical drains.
There are so many things I want to plan for 'when I'm better'.
Get over myself, take a sewing class, lose weight, adopt a slogan (Note to self: rock much harder is a strong contender). I want to be a patron of the arts, an elegant correspondent, a collector of small, beautiful absurd things and an expert on local honeys and learn how to make smores with fluff and a creme brulee torch. I want to marinate in amazing things, and spend as much time as I've got making Light and five small mammals happy. Most importantly, I want to see myself as someone who lives that way.
I don't want to have an epiphany, I don't want this to be a life-changing moment, I want this to be a thing that I do, I want it to be part of the fabric of the person I already am, rather than emerging new from a scallop shell, trailing nymphs and scars. On the other hand, how the hell can it not be? I feel obligated to do something, be something more than I already was or how am I ever going to justifying this to that annoying voice inside my head?
In other news: I gave my breasts to science. Someone, somewhere, is going to be doing science to them.
