Foot in mouth disease

So I've been busy doing things like making new friends, going to abbattoirs, sewing, fending off men who want to fly interstate to see me and alternating between thinking about Captain Starlight nekkid, getting all drooly at the mouth and then wanting to brain him (I'm now firmly in the brain-ing camp despite still getting raging moments of pure lust, so I would consider myself well on the path to recovery.)

One of the best things I've been doing recently is having chats with the cousin, who has convinced me to get my writing ass in gear after years and years of letting my fiction muscle atrophy. I found some of my old writing from back when I was 14 and shockingly, some of it is good. Reading them brought back memories of being hunched over the computer for hours writing out the stories that spooled out like thread, a direct circuit from brain to fingers. I miss that feeling of being completely and utterly consumed by the fantastical. I think I've been too bogged down by real life.

About the title of this post: I just thought I should share the blondest moment I've had in a week filled with extremely blond moments (how blond has this week been, you ask? Put it this way - a blond laughed at me. That's how blond.)

On Thursday, I was present at a truly exhausting talk on animal slaughtering which lasted two hours, given by a man equally famous for his long-windedness as he is for his niceness. (His record to-date is digressing off his main topic to tell completely unrelated stories no less than 37 times in 2 hours. )I've had an exhausting week where my day starts before 7 am and I end after 9pm. Slinky is not a happy kitty.

So there I am walking with two friends, crazed from lack of sleep and dreading the the group work I need to do (title of my blog? Accurate.) and I bitch, "Oh my god. That was terrible. [Lecturer's name] really likes to go on and on and -" I startle when my friend gives me horrified deer eyes. Because of course, he is RIGHT BEHIND ME.

Slinky, people person. Sigh.