I do love cookies. I thought about speaking of ineptitude a bit, like why should I have to suffer for yours? But why would I waste energy writing about the waste of energy that is ineptitude?
So it's chocolate chip cookies what I love. So delicious. Perfection.
I finally rewatched Whale Rider. I love everything about that film. The writing is perfection. It's beautiful what's inspired by others what are inspired, like I have faith in your faith. So I tried to make cinematic notes but made other notes instead, like from tears and a doodle and philiosophy, lit.
Speaking of that lit, it's looking like I'm commissioned to make a cover for that Elementia. Hopefully that will pan out. I suspect they've gotten another grant. And the writing's going well like nothing else. Wasn't going to meet any academic requirements, and so was told by an academic that I'd done more than enough writing and would be getting my credit for it...well, the academic credit, at least. I've yet to see about that respect I deserve, overall. But we'll know how that goes when it goes. And as long as we're saying we, we hope you know that we mean we. There is an I, but there's an us, too. I couldn't write elsewise...at least I don't think so. I don't have a choice, anyway, about being a we.
Moths, pretty moths. Oh, nobody likes us, we're just ugly butterflies. Ah, our plight. It's okay moths I love you! You're fluffy.
I haven't journaled enough of late. Busy writing about my lovelylovely assitant, Beta muse Alan Cope. Love you, love! I don't know what it is with the real boys, with me loving them and them being personal to me, and me not being at all personal to them. It's like, what, they
cut me off for the girl he's having sex with
cut me off for the girl he's having sex with
well it's nothing personal it's just that I'm not the girl who they're having sex with. gee, thanks. I wish it was personal, really. there's some diginity in that, for them. Just gotta get away form guys my age. Gotta get away to love them.