Buffy ,'Showtime'
Natter 72: We Were Unprepared for This
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
Commas are very relaxing!
Earless dragons and mouthless moths in the same place? Sitcom! Or they fight crime.
How do they eat? Do wild silk moths have mouths? I'm so curious and my job is not all about researching moths, dammit.
It's nice to see other people type on Amibien...Ambienishly.
Polgara, I'm sorry for you loss, and despite not reading what you deleted, my heart goes out even more to you for its complexity.
My brain is fucking with me so hard that I can't face going to work--the one where one of my "interesting" relatives when full Miley (while dating the Biebs) was bad enough, but last night I woke up in sheets of tears because I let a great-grandson get hit by a car and lose an arm.
I don't understand how to start the day after all that. I'm not hungry, I'm just disgusted and feel sorry for myself for no reason because even though nothing happened, everything was felt.
Even the Maytag man isn' cheering me up. I can't be sick again. Maybe I can work from home on an off day.
Ah, well, domesticated adult silk moths starve to death. I don't know if wild silk moths (the species that the domesticated version is from - is still out there) also die of starvation.
Become adult and just start dying from starvation? Damn. That is hardcore.
I'm sorry, ita, that's rough to have your dreamworld fuck with you like that.
Become adult and just start dying from starvation? Damn. That is hardcore.
All sorts of reasons to have adolescent angst right there.
Right? How amazing the adolescent poetry of the domestic silkworm must be.
Do they know they're going to die? Maybe their poetry is all about the things they'll do, the places they'll see, what's this uncomfortable constricting sensation?
Possibly even more amazing, to an audience that knows what's coming.
I've woken up from dreams so upsetting I had to take a day to recover (the memory of the one where Hubby was buried in the front yard still has the power to freak me out)