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*kicks essay*
I can't even claim a lack of interest in the subject matter, it's just the pulling-together into a coherent research summary that's tedious. It's interesting! It combines cancer and infectious diseases, my two great loves!
(Caleb says this makes me weird. What.)
Also immunology, whom I tend to have brief affectionate flings with.
So I'm sitting on the couch half-heartedly tapping away, mostly because I have found out that the Enormous Printer Software Of Doom is not a complete waste of disgusting amounts of disc space, because it lets me resize pictures without blur and if I was sitting at the table with the mouse attached to the laptop there would be no power in the 'verse that could stop me from making icons. It's too fiddly when I just have the touchpad.
THIS IS LOGIC.
---
I carefully arrange my limbs so that I do not resemble my older static self. One bare leg crossed over the other and leaning back onto my hands, tilting back the fluid line of my neck and delighting yet in the way my skin stretches tight over tendons veins and bone. I know how to be still. I hold the pose, a moment in time, all the more amazing because of the feeling glowing around my gut; the potential for change. The knowledge that if I choose to, I can flex my foot or nudge with my knee or take in enough air to fill the precarious balloon of my chest.
Do I have life, Emily? Am I ugly to you now?
I move my gaze, no more, to try and catch a glimpse of her. There is a quirk of something odd in her fine treacle eyes as they skim back to the canvas from where they have been brushing, caressing, the angles of my body. She says nothing.
---
La la la please go away, story.
I can't even claim a lack of interest in the subject matter, it's just the pulling-together into a coherent research summary that's tedious. It's interesting! It combines cancer and infectious diseases, my two great loves!
(Caleb says this makes me weird. What.)
Also immunology, whom I tend to have brief affectionate flings with.
So I'm sitting on the couch half-heartedly tapping away, mostly because I have found out that the Enormous Printer Software Of Doom is not a complete waste of disgusting amounts of disc space, because it lets me resize pictures without blur and if I was sitting at the table with the mouse attached to the laptop there would be no power in the 'verse that could stop me from making icons. It's too fiddly when I just have the touchpad.
THIS IS LOGIC.
---
I carefully arrange my limbs so that I do not resemble my older static self. One bare leg crossed over the other and leaning back onto my hands, tilting back the fluid line of my neck and delighting yet in the way my skin stretches tight over tendons veins and bone. I know how to be still. I hold the pose, a moment in time, all the more amazing because of the feeling glowing around my gut; the potential for change. The knowledge that if I choose to, I can flex my foot or nudge with my knee or take in enough air to fill the precarious balloon of my chest.
Do I have life, Emily? Am I ugly to you now?
I move my gaze, no more, to try and catch a glimpse of her. There is a quirk of something odd in her fine treacle eyes as they skim back to the canvas from where they have been brushing, caressing, the angles of my body. She says nothing.
---
La la la please go away, story.