Greetings from the Omnigraphic Blogopticon. On view are vile sticky things dragged from the attic, snarky commentary on the world at large, and all-encompassing ennui. All that and a weird rubbery smell. A horrible time will be had by all.

Thursday, December 20, 2007


Ahhh, you all are probably thinking that Severina's finally gone off the deep end and she's been shut up in her cobwebby apartment stumping around in one combat boot like some Generation X Miss Havisham. It was one Converse, actually, and sometimes an ice skate and a ballet slipper. I also buried myself in mud for a couple of weeks, hoping I'd at last pupate into my adult form, but it didn't happen.

Anyhow, my computer has been beastly dead with a huge dose of internet cooties for the past couple months and I think I caught a dose of my brother's tediousness which didn't exactly make me want to sit down and work on the computer. He is quite tedious, you know.

But everything should be back to whatever passes for normal around Stinktown. Emails can now be checked and answered like a real human does. Blogs can be updated, also like a real human does. My cat, the Lord of the Fleas, still seems bent on laying waste to my belongings. I've either chased away, set fire to, or eaten the last of my lab assistants. I shall have to knit some new ones.

Oh, I haven't been doing much in the way of knitting either. I've spent weeks at a time looking at endless pattern books looking for things to make but not getting at all inspired. I did crochet a beaded bag that I should post over at the Stitch-O-Rama, along with that damned pair of gloves and the moonflower socks that have been sitting here on top of my printer since maybe April. Dang it, I still haven't gotten further than the one leg on those cool-ass French Knickers. I think I just hate the yarn. The cone had a lot of wear on the bottom where it had been on a shelf for years so the yarn has fuzzy spots.

I did just post a sewing pattern for a Victorian Shroud, just in time for Christmas. Jacob Marley, anyone?

I almost forgot to mention that last week I dreamed I went skydiving and I accidentally decapitated Gary Numan. There was some not so fun slapstick bits where I was trying to hide the head so I didn't get into trouble. Then I lost the head which for some reason was way worse.

Oh, and a couple weeks ago I was sleepwalking and I looked at the cat and decided that he was deathly thirsty so instead of going five feet to the bathroom where the tub faucet always drips I decided I had to go all the way to the kitchen and refill his bowl. This is the bowl he never drinks out of because he likes the tub faucet. I apparently got to the kitchen without kicking anything and I filled his bowl at the sink and dumped it all over him. Nothing like being soaking wet from the knees down to wake somebody up.

I'm guessing that accursed construction site next door has wrecked my sleep cycle so much I'm wandering around at night watering the cat like he's a houseplant. Being woken up at 6:45 am sharpish by some dink pounding fiercely on a 50-gallon drum with a mallet isn't exactly my idea of a good time. The pounding doesn't even seem to serve any purpose construction-site-wise so I'm quite perplexed as to exactly what the hell they're doing.

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