At last, a free Saturday!

It is DECEMBER. I CANNOT HAVE A COLD* wtf body.

*gulps down cinnamon black tea, sullenly*

I am also listening to my CD of worship songs from years and years ago when I went to youth group every Friday night and spent hours singing in the band. Literally hours. It was fantastic. As I believe I said recently, music has always, always been the thing that makes me feel the most spiritual, and even though I no longer adhere to most of the tenets of the Anglican faith, my love for the music hasn't changed. (And I don't regret any of it; partly because I honestly believe it was one of the best things to happen within my teenage years, and partly because I don't really do regrets.)

~

People should be obnoxious and elitist with me in comments. About anything. I am in that kind of mood. Just stare at the awesome icon that Imry made for a while and see if you don't feel Incensed To Wank. Rant at me about the morons in your fandom of choice! Etcetera!



*I feel I should hasten to point out that I do not feel like I have a torso peppered full of shot, as my mood theme would have you believe. My sinuses are just rebelling against me.

ETA: Because Ji is efficient like that, the Milliways version of the love meme is happening in the back room! Go forth! Spew love!

BSG 3x10 - The Passage

THANK YOU, JANE ESPENSON. NICE TO KNOW SOMEONE ELSE MISSES SEASON ONE.

<33333

(no subject)

HELP HELP HELP

People who have done Yuletide before - you have to upload your story as a plain text file, all right, but how do you format things like centering and italics that plain text doesn't support? Do you use HTML tags? ARGH.

ETA: NEVER MIND I'm a moron and missed the 'Upload Help' page. All good. All good.

(No, I'm not finished (3843 words!) but I was perusing the upload form and started to panic.)

Wow, this is now a pointless post. Have a snippet of something stars_like_dust and I are cowriting:

What he hadn't counted on was the distraction of her lips when he could remember what they tasted like; the way his head could be turned by her knuckles gripping a handrail just as they had once gripped his shoulders. Never before had her physicality been so difficult to separate from her personality. He would have hated her for it, for frakking him and leaving him with this frustrating set of hooks and barbs, but most of his hate had been washed out of his system by the sluicing scalding water that he stood under for twenty minutes – a selfish luxury, uncharacteristic – after they had finished pounding their marks into one another.