It doesn't help for you to flod my e-mail with messages saying how worried you are about me. Really. As if I weren't already worried enough? I'll talk to you all when I'm ready, just like I said.
daughter
In other news, it has again been proved that I am shite at accents. I'm going to be devoting a good three hours to writing in syllabic accents for Mother Theresa's lines. I'm going to sound like an idiot, but I really don't care.
In case that made no sense to you, let it be noted that I am appearing in a
staged reading of the 2005 play
The Last Days of Judas Iscariot by Stephen Adly Guirgis, staged by the University's Undergraduate Theatre Artists Society. It will be performed at
CSPAC, Wednesday 5 April, 5-7p. Anyone who is around then really should come see it. It's blasphemously delicious!
Poor computer apparently doesn't like Sundays: last week it deleted my 'net bookmarks, and today it decided to either delete or corrupt one of my system files. Evan from downstairs, who is God, fixed it for me, but it was a scare I certainly didn't need. Not on, computer, not on.
And now, quizlings. The big honking meaningful post should land tomorrow.
What type of Fae are you?