superflea

Christ, is my neck sore. I really have to invest in some quality furniture. This futon has been an albatross since the day I got it. Granted, the ergonomics of futon design probably don't include planning for me sprawled across random cushions (and try and control yourself over that image, ladies) for very nearly the entire day watching two and a half DVDs straight of "Six Feet Under". It's good stuff. I never thought I'd laugh myself sick over a diving accident and a woman very visibly short about three quarters of a skull.

These are strange times.

Update: Is it silly of me to be disappointed that "Nathaniel and Isabel" wasn't a real series of books? Or to admit that I thought it might not have just been specifically created for the show?

Sometimes, I wish you just couldn't ever remember your dreams. Sometimes it's about something you want too desperately, and when you wake up and it's gone, it just hurts all day. Thinking you had it and realizing it wasn't real sucks a lot more than just plain not having it. Fuck almost.

I've wasted a good portion of my mental energy thinking about stagnant water under a very, very ancient bridge.