as on we go drowning

Gaaaack I'm never going to be able to write on Virginia Woolf! I have no critical brain for her at all, I'm just all happy sighs and perfect contentment and I don't even really have to understand what's going on cause it still makes me swoony. Is hard to write on objects of fangirlish passion.

I need to buy some goddamn pants. The top rivet on my jeans popped off, and for like a day I was squeezing it back together every time I went to the bathroom. Problem was eventually solved with superglue, but still. I think it might sort of be a sign. But then again, it's almost summer, so maybe I can get away without buying jeans until next fall. I hate pants so frelling much. I think I will go to the Salvation Army this weekend and buy a million tops to salve my wounded soul.

... I can totally tell that Supernatural is on hiatus right now, because my fanbrain is empty, and that makes me sad. I think I need to find a new shiny thing. Maybe we'll start watching Farscape. I want to keep streaming first season Xena from Netflix, but the Boy can't seem to get beyond the camp of it all. Eh. Am watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice in the background to take the edge off.