The Great and Inconvenient Blackout of 2003 seems to be over... and yet, not. They keep promising rotating blackouts and brownouts, and I feel like I'm living in one of the many Pending files that live in my In-Tray at work. Will the power go out now? How about now? If I run the dishwasher, will it die in the middle, leaving me with a giant box of water and a load of dirty crockery? Now? Is it going out now?
My mother and uncle reminisced about the Blackout of '65, when lots of people were stuck in elevators, and consequently, a multitude of babies were born nine months later.
You know, it's not like I'm looking for an unexpected pregnancy, but hell, I wouldn't have minded being stuck in an elevator with a handsome stranger for a while. That's what the world of Harlequin Romance is made of, and if there's nothing I want more, it's to be the artlessly beautiful and sassy heroine in a cheap and slightly grammatically incorrect bodice-ripper. Mind you, it's probably a good thing the elevator situation didn't happen for me. Knowing your Mare, it would have been one of those times where I've got to run to the bathroom, and instead of engaging in the Horizontal Mambo with Joe Handsome, I would have entertained him with the Pee Pee Dance.
In other news, I spent most of my forced day off in the pool, pretending I was skinny and gorgeous and had a perfect right to wear a bathing suit. Thank God for private backyards.
I also managed to pick up a smidgen more sun, thus taking the edge off of the blinding white lights that are my legs this summer. Jaysus, I used to tan in four and a half minutes! Now, it takes two and a half months of politely asking the sun for a few minutes of it's time so as to achieve nothing but a scarlet chest and a glowing nose. It's all very distressing, frankly.
I very much want to go to Austin in October for JournalCon. In as much as I'm going through some kind of frustration with the world, I think I should go, if only just to have something to look forward to. Granted, I'm going to London in less than a month, but for some reason, that's not affording me as much joy as it usually would. In fact, nothing lately is giving me any kind of joy, any reason to do a Mare-Ingenii patented Happy Dance. I'm losing my joie de vivre, poppets, and that's scaring the bejeezus out of me. It's like I've got a Dementor on my back!
And speaking of Dementors... I'm reading HP5 for the second time. Damn J.K. Rowling! Damn her for torturing me with the delicious little slices of the great romance of all time that's going to happen between Ron and Hermione! Damn her for letting a whiff of it in the air, tormenting me with the absolute rightness of the Weasley and the Granger that hasn't happened yet. And Cho Chang? Get the hell away from Harry. He's going to marry Ginny Weasley, and they're going to be Aurors together, and on Saturdays, they'll take the kids to Uncle Ron's and Aunt Hermione's for BBQ. And then, Uncles Fred and George will come over with their newest invention, which will make us all scream with laughter. Yes, us. Because I'm going to marry one of the Weasley twins, and if anyone has a problem with that, well, they can just... uh... they can just sit in Stinksap! Ok? Ok?
I need therapy. And maybe a boyfriend.
0 comments so far