It’s a pain in the ass and I love cheeseburgers. I FRICKEN LOVE THEM. I mean, seriously, what could possibly be better than some lovely grilled cow, melty cheese, crisp lettuce and tomato on a nice, soft seeded roll? Not a damned thing. And yeah, having any kind of dietary shmeh makes it difficult, if not impossible.

Ugh, books. Mine is maybe kind of like sci-fi as well! I have um…a few pages. Some ideas. But plot? Yeeesh. I’m trying to put a ten year old academic idea into a sparkly halloween costume and she is not having it. I don’t know that I’ve ever (like ever) written an actual story before. I wrote an epic poem once in, like, seventh grade. But one day I was working on the SERIOUS BOOK and I got so sick of trying to be SERIOUS and said, basically, fuck it. This is a story about good and evil and the infinite. Let’s see what that’s like. So I have these weird-assed characters that are infinite beings that sprang out of human consciousness and potential. Fitting them into a storyline is, to say the least, difficult.

I should revisit Ayn Rand…I tried to read Atlas Shrugged in college, part one, but it didn’t take. But maybe it can serve as a format idea, if nothing else…that’s an idea, actually. And don’t worry…your secret’s safe with me. ::wink::

Also also, for serious, I will read the shit out of your shit — should you decide you want another set of eyes.

Now — drink all the gins. Or wines. Or boths. Because my condition does not allow for vast consumption of alcohol and it is so. Necessary. Sometimes.