Used to be, whenever I walked into the Diaryland Diner, I'd be shown right to my table. I wouldn't even have to stop at the host desk. But, now-- I always have to sign in. They always ask me for my name and password. I don't understand. It's like I've been demoted, or my face is suddenly unrecognizable.

I had a Batman/Claire Howell dream last night. There were lots of evil little girls with evil cats. And Claire looked kind of-- sexy.

I like to swim. It gets me wet. It wears me out.

Devon was telling about how, once she writes something, a paragraph or a snippet, she can't ever come back to it. Because her voice changes. And I told her, my voice changes, too. And then went back and looked at some things that I'd written, and in some of them the change is really pronounced.

Something else I've noticed, reading through my stuff: I only really like the pieces that I don't understand, like Der Preuss. Does that make me Nathaniel Hawthorne? Mebbe.

I made an appointment with an army recruiter this morning. Or, rather, he made an appointment with me. He called and I was still in bed, laying on my bed in the sunlight, half-awake and warm. He said, "come talk to me about the army" and I grinned goofily and said, okay. So I have to go to Maryville Tuesday evening and pretend that I would seriously consider joining the army. Nod soberly everytime he says "civilian doctor" and "financial aid" for half an hour, and then stand up and say, "I just remembered. I want to be a nomadic craddle-robbing slut when I grow up. Sorry."

I've gotten involved in a Vic-psychology discussion on the Creed mailing list with a person named Sharpn. On one hand-- the upper hand-- it's nice to talk about it with someone who takes it seriously-- but on another, lesser hand, I feel kind of threatened. Like, "respect my authoritah!"

--Oh, hey. A South Park reference in public. Fuck me.

I talked to Synchronik again. I told her, the mention in What you wish for of Joey holding his arm over his stomach while he eats, over the empty space there, and thank you for that. And I think I said something about a poisonous spider. I don't know. I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people I dig.

'What you wish for' is the story that Lise didn't like. I can't figure it out.

. . .

"Rumpelstilkskin!"

I don't know, I just wanted to see if anything would happen.

I have to go read the biblical books Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. I'll let you know how it goes.

Alestar
***
I consider myself permanently queered in my life.