Of snips and snails and other odd things . . . .

Let's begin with an open letter to the ( supposedly ) grown adults who patronize this library -- the doctors, residents, med students and wanna-bes.

Throw away your candy wrappers, wipe up your spilled soda, put your feet on the floor instead of the sofa, push your chairs under the tables, don't order Chinese food or pizza to be delivered to the library AND WERE YOU RAISED IN A FUCKING BARN?!?!?!?!

These people make me want to kill something.

Or maybe that's just because I'm off my meds.

Sigh.

You see, I've been running an experiment of late -- namely, do antidepressants block my creativity?

And the answer is pretty unequivocal that, yes, they do.

Well, that certainly explains where my muses have been for the last six months. They didn't abandon me for months of hedonistic exploits in Bora Bora, as I had previously suspected . . . they've been kidnapped and forcibly restrained, bound and gagged in the coils of Lexapro.

Hm. Sounds awfully melodramatic, doesn't it?

So would I rather be able to function like a reasonable facsimile of a normal human being, or would I prefer to be able to write?

Decisions, decisions.

I'm getting over a cold, too, so that could explain my crankiness. I haven't done much recently except sleep, eat, and watch TV.

Caught an episode of Navy NCIS the other night, and the guy who played Forrest from BtVS was in it. God, that man has a voice like warm caramel and cinnamon apples over the richest vanilla ice cream. I want to eat him up.

Or, you know . . . just listen to him talk me to orgasm.

Yep. That'd do.

More strange dreams. I would really like to know what my subconscious is trying to tell me by consistently and regularly throwing my high school crush into my dreams. It's been, like five times in as many weeks that he's appeared, which is quite the record.

I tried meditating on the subject, but I just fell asleep and so didn't get very far in the self-analysis department.

Also, I devoutly hope that it's true what They Say, that sex dreams aren't always about sex, because otherwise?

I am really freaking myself out.

On the other hand, dreaming about sex with my TV harem?

All of the good.

I realized on Saturday, as I watched BtVS and longed to cuddle Spike better, that I have been faithful in my lust for Spike since he first appeared on the show in Season 2.

And to Riley, since he showed up. And Graham.

Great. I can be faithful to TV boyfriends, but not real-life ones.

And by "faithful", what I really mean is "still love madly rather than wanting to give him the boot", because I'm obviously NOT devoting myself to one and only one at a time.

I know people who have fannish fictional boyfriends, to the point that they have to "break up" with an entire fandom before they feel comfortable turning their lusts onto another character.

I'm kind of into the whole multiples-thing, myself. The more boys, the better!

It's worked for me in life, why not in fantasy?

Oh, I'm just so emotionally healthy. Yeah, right.

*grumbles*

*loses interest*

*wanders away*