Thoughts of a heateater

So for further writing I have done a little research including a frustrating hunt for an old (not very good) piece I was sure I put up on lj ages ago, and now can't find; if only we had tags then. If only I could remember to use them now. Oh well.

The hunt led nowhere, and, as is the way of all research, when I start, doubtless it will be about something else entirely. The idea isn't usually with me at the beginning. I stare at a blank screen, and find the headspace needed; this should be optimum time for me, now my love is away for a week, and I have house and computer all to myself, only instead of flitting off to fantasy realms, my brain pulls off in a hundred directions, all of them here, in the real world, whatever that is. I'm caught up in earthdreams, sensual, resistant to word pins; I can't even make this feeling a story, it's too real and shadowy for that. It exists under fur bedspreads, by candlelight where the heat of a fire has thickened the air til you breathe it in like silk, or petals on your mouth.

Maybe it's because I am alone, my thoughts drift towards hands and eyes, lips and fingers, someone else's touch... or maybe I'm just bloody cold, and all my backbrain wants is some victim to mercilessly suck heat from. There may be a whole collection of them under the bed, dessicated ice-mummies who, over the years, surrendered their body-warmth at the touch of my frozen feet. I won't check, just in case they're annoyed.

Explodo-work

which is great except suddenly I may be required to make myself presentable, meaning:

a) The asymmetric fringe has either got to get symmetric or look deliberate.

b) Nails must be attached by force and french manicured. Chewed up paws definitely not allowed.

c) Strange bit of psoriasis on little finger must be hidden by a ring or fingerless gloves.

Worst of all:

d) New clothes may be needed.

I really hope this latter is unnecessary. Looking at nekokaiju's lj, it's clear that there are some beautiful fashions out this season, but these things never get near the shops. I know, cos I went hunting last weekend. And guess what they want us to wear?

Cullottes.

Or tight shorts that reach the knee.

Or combats.

Now, I don't mind combats; but combats cut off at the knee look right daft, and alongside them are these skirts gathered up at the hem giving the hips a curious garlic bulb shape: the idea is to wear bright leggings underneath. The fear came upon me and gripped me most cruelly. Then, I found some MC Hammer pants, and had to back out of the shop, calming myself with the mantra, The 80s are over, the 80s are over...

The 80s are over, right?

[amended to add] And suddenly all of the above is necessary.

*Flaps hands helplessly. Makes wokkawokkawokka noises*