These are the contents of my head

 In the last two days two people whom I respect and admire have said they’re going to link to me, one (rosemaryinwheat ) to review an unpublished work (that would be THE SEVENTH VEIL, available in a bookstore nowhere near you) and another (bradhanon ) to talk about the process of putting together the magazine he is publishing, whose debut issue I am in.  Which is very lovely on so many levels, except for the part where my LJ has descended into nothing but me ranting and carrying on about how much it sucks to be in chronic pain.

Sooooo.

Well, I dunno.  I can’t go back and suddenly make January to March interesting, and even if I were that clever, I think I’d resent my fictional self too much.  It hasn’t been interesting.  It’s sucked, frankly, and it still does, albeit less now that I have at least a remedial grasp of what’s going on and why.  Also, today a dear, dear London friend send me a care package full of malteasers and Cadbury bars.  Really, it’s difficult to be too upset right now.  Plus, I have a lunch date with Lynette on Wednesday.  And now I see that my LJ remains, as ever, a bit of a rambling cart running down the hill to nowhere in particular.  Well, smoke if you got ’em.

Actually, I have all these entries I want to write, like how I had this generational feminist epiphany while watching Legend with Anna on Friday night, and I have a new Wacom tablet and fun drawing software to report on, though I was hoping to save the latter for when I drew/created something that wasn’t the most godawful thing you’d ever seen in your life.  And maybe I will write those, or something else.  Soon.  Ish.

Though I think, also, I should just admit to myself that this blog has been and always will be the random explosions of Heidi it has always been, and much like my house, you have to love the hairballs and dustbunnies and ragged curtains along with everything else, because really, you know you really come here for the food and Joan Crawford references, not my Donna Reed impression.  But honestly, I don’t whine about health quite this much normally.  Just when I’m popping lots and lots of Vicodin, and that, sadly, has been more the norm than the exception recently.  But I look awfully fetching in a tight shirt and a pair of jeans right now.

And now I have just realized there is a new episode of House on in half an hour.  Excuse me, internets, Cuddy is calling me.

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