Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong (shadesong) wrote,
Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong
shadesong

My brain is still too tired to type real entries. Tired in a peculiar way.

I have stuff to say about the tsunami, but my brain can't parse it yet.

So I'll leave you with minutiae...

A picture of me right now: Hair tied back at the nape of my neck. Sitting in a swivelly chair that's got a floral cushion tied on it. My legs curled up under my for maximum accessiblity to items on desk. Having much coffee.

There are three computers on this desk; I'm typing on the laptop keyboard, but seeing my words on the monitor next to it, which is disconcerting. There is a fourth, dissasembled, computer by the door. Do I hang out with anyone who only has one computer? We have at least six, Adam and I. I think we may have seven.

But that's not *here*. I'm trying to operate in microcosm.

The floor is of large red tile and is almost entirely visible, a stark contrast from my last visit - so unusual that springdew took pictures of it when she was here last night.

(Spring was here last night; we bookended Kires in shifting snuggleness and watch Collateral and Dodgeball and Spiritual Kung Foo, with me falling asleep during the latter and being led off and tucked into bed. I woke up just a little bit, but not enough to speak, when they came to bed and snuggled in around me. "Parentheses!" she said, and I fell back to full sleep... she was gone when I woke.)

(Spring took pictures of me, too, last night, in my "I'm blogging this." shirt, petting Kires's cat. Yes, you will likely get to see them; I will likely send one to partywhipple (as requested) for his year-end review of the Cuties of the Day, of which I have been one.)

Kires is a bachelor and thus has no food. I want someone to hand me a hundred-dollar bill just so I can shop for him. I managed to find bread and thus make toast.

(He's asleep. He was awake later than I was, after all.)

I just took my medication.

(No side effects from yesterday morning's dose. Face hurting & double vision from last night's.)

There's a jar of change on the table, and also several dishes of random items - screws and safety pins, brackets and washers. This reminds me of Layne, who used to solder (and there is solder here as well, right next to the keyboard) bits of circuitry to his glasses and wear washers and such things in his dreadlocks.

(This is the only way in which Kires reminds me of Layne.)

(I used to use a soldering gun. When I made jewelry in Vegas. This is one of those random items that Adam always forgets. Whenever I see an ad for a soldering gun, I wistfully express nostalgia, and he always manages to be surprised.)

The medicine is hitting my metabolism. It's making my tongue tingle and my nasal passages burn.

Kires smokes, so there are little ashtrays all over. My favorite is the seashell that's currently residing on the "coffee table".

The coffee table is peculiar - a small, dark-wood rectangle with a white thing on top that looks like a breakfast-in-bed tray. A hole is drilled through the part that's not covered by the white tray, and a hospital bed tray is attached, swivelling out toward the couch. On there: Seashell, cigarettes, a plate that held last night's bacon.

Kires is studying architecture, and so there are projects on the shelves of the wall unit - a house for the doll he calls his girlfriend, among other things.

(The books are in his bedroom.)

On his walls: quotes he finds Truth in. Posters for goth-rock bands. A painting of a woman, all in black and greys. A sword on one wall - its empty scabbard on the other.

Behind me, a table of tangled cords and wires of indeterminate purpose. A lighter, a drill, a toolbox, and empty bottle of Arizona iced tea. Cigarettes. Scotch tape. CDs. A plastic skull. A camera.

My vision is going all boogly, so I'll stop typing. But.

Here I am. Familiar - I'm getting used to this place, several visits in. Sub-home.

It's quiet, and I like it here.
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