Telepathy is all I ask.

There IS a Sheriff Bart/Jim fic aside from the drabble I wrote. Just the one, but still. Why didn't you tell me? You FAILED.

Telepathy is all I ask.

There IS a Sheriff Bart/Jim fic aside from the drabble I wrote. Just the one, but still. Why didn't you tell me? You FAILED.

No thanks. Food makes me sick.

Thank you for helping me procrastinate yesterday. I continue not to write today. Diligently. I turn my laptop on sometimes, and then I wander back to the desktop to see what's happening on the internet, or I go into the garden to pull up the bindweed, or I watch drivel on YouTube. Today I even ironed a pair of trousers. This is a thing I never do.

(I had to take my laptop out of the house the other day. It was quite a treat for it but it bore a deep red grove into my shoulder. It's eleven years old and weight-wise it's a desktop. I begin to be slightly jealous of those with netbooks. Then again, the laptop has been outside four times in the three years I've had it, and most of those were to the laptop-doctor, so it doesn't really need to be portable.)

I am bad at being a grown-up. I want to be eleven. I want a proper grown-up to take me on holiday because I've come to the conclusion that concocting and organising and paying for a four-day trip negates the pleasure of the actual trip (I'm still fretting about my forthcoming opportunity to go for a mini-gallivant, because I'm an ungrateful beast). I want never to have to go anywhere except sometimes I want to go everywhere, especially Kerala and San Francisco. I want to go back to school and have geography homework. I want to live with my parents again. I want to be grateful for my semi-independence, or at least resigned to it. I want the bindweed to go away. I want to stop dreading my entire future. I want evenings to stop being the grimmest part of the day 'cause it's weird looking forward to mornings. I want food to stop making me feel sick. Or at least if food's going to make me feel sick I'd like to feel less hungry so I'm not tempted to eat quite so often. I want time to run backwards. I want a small yacht and a camel.

Good. Fine. Enough listing. Technically I give up on the idea of writing at 9.30pm, so I've fourteen eleven nine minutes left in which to start writing. So maybe I'd better do that. I want to be better at writing.

No thanks. Food makes me sick.

Thank you for helping me procrastinate yesterday. I continue not to write today. Diligently. I turn my laptop on sometimes, and then I wander back to the desktop to see what's happening on the internet, or I go into the garden to pull up the bindweed, or I watch drivel on YouTube. Today I even ironed a pair of trousers. This is a thing I never do.

(I had to take my laptop out of the house the other day. It was quite a treat for it but it bore a deep red grove into my shoulder. It's eleven years old and weight-wise it's a desktop. I begin to be slightly jealous of those with netbooks. Then again, the laptop has been outside four times in the three years I've had it, and most of those were to the laptop-doctor, so it doesn't really need to be portable.)

I am bad at being a grown-up. I want to be eleven. I want a proper grown-up to take me on holiday because I've come to the conclusion that concocting and organising and paying for a four-day trip negates the pleasure of the actual trip (I'm still fretting about my forthcoming opportunity to go for a mini-gallivant, because I'm an ungrateful beast). I want never to have to go anywhere except sometimes I want to go everywhere, especially Kerala and San Francisco. I want to go back to school and have geography homework. I want to live with my parents again. I want to be grateful for my semi-independence, or at least resigned to it. I want the bindweed to go away. I want to stop dreading my entire future. I want evenings to stop being the grimmest part of the day 'cause it's weird looking forward to mornings. I want food to stop making me feel sick. Or at least if food's going to make me feel sick I'd like to feel less hungry so I'm not tempted to eat quite so often. I want time to run backwards. I want a small yacht and a camel.

Good. Fine. Enough listing. Technically I give up on the idea of writing at 9.30pm, so I've fourteen eleven nine minutes left in which to start writing. So maybe I'd better do that. I want to be better at writing.