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The visible signs of the rash are gone, thank goodness -- but my hands still itch something awful.

I really should catch up on the shit-TON of work I left moldering on my desk during the Week of Pain but I can't bring myself to start on them. BORED! Hang on, why do I NOT have a Sherlock BORED! icon? I must fix this.

Okay, TMI over. Let's have something more cheerful:

The Art of Scheduling; or, How Mycroft Came To Realize He Was Well and Truly Fucked by [livejournal.com profile] igrab. It suited him, and he assumed it suited her for she'd never given any indication otherwise. (Mycroft/Anthea)

(I DID wonder about what looked like a wedding ring on Mycroft's right hand in A Study in Pink. Like everyone else, I'd assumed it was Mark Gatiss's real wedding ring and he'd just shifted it to his other hand. And then I watched that behind-the-scenes special that came with the DVD and he had one ring on each hand. So...okay, this paragraph really had no point, then.)

Anthea had the most infuriating habit of looking completely innocent when she was at her very most devious. He sighed. "There are times I find myself pathetically glad to have you on my side."

"I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else, sir."

He had turned to go, but that made him pause, and look back over one shoulder. His brow furrowed and he considered, once more, her motivations - her apparent lack of them, to the point of not even wanting a present to celebrate her date of birth. "You really don't, do you," he murmured, but it was more to himself than anyone else, and when she looked up, distracted, her eyes clearly seeing numbers and maps and far more important things than her somewhat astonished boss. It was simply a statement of fact, something he'd known for a long time but perhaps didn't fully understand until this moment.

This, here, was what she wanted. This life. His life, as a matter of fact. She'd played him like Sherlock's violin and that was all the present she'd needed.

(Maybe I should just put all these recs together in one post next time. ...Nah, I like sharing the stuff I like as soon as I find them.)


Aug. 29th, 2010 03:50 pm
wheresmycow: (Default)
I'm just finally getting over the stupid pneumonia and I was finally enjoying not feeling like a tired old wet dishrag after a week, and now I've got a bloody FULL-BODY RASH?! FUCK!

*insert impressive Malcolm Tucker-style swearing*

ETA: ANOTHER ALLERGY?! Why are you bloody things showing up 25+ years overdue?! If it turns out to be that crisp turbo-roasted chicken for lunch or Ma's delicious gravy I AM GOING TO SERIOUSLY HURT SOMEONE.
wheresmycow: (Default)
Okay, so after a whole week I've finally finished all the isoprinosine and several varieties of decongestant I was supposed to take, and I'm now left with the foulest, most disgusting medication of all: Amoclav. Good grief, the thing's a fucking horse pill. God, I hate pneumonia.

Such is the price I have to pay for (relative) good health. But oh, I hate feeling tired. It's so tiring to feel tired all the time. Climbing up the stairs after lunch actually winded me.

And I've got a flight to Tacloban this Friday, too. The thought just makes me want to curl up and die.


Jan. 13th, 2010 09:51 pm
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Things I have now that I didn't before my 30th birthday:

1. Acute lactose intolerance.

2. Bizarre random allergy to galunggong (mackarel scad, according to this site). *sad*

3. Frequent idiocy-related headaches and an increasingly short temper.

What surprises will my 31st bring me in 2 1/2 weeks?


BTW, American Idol is back. Naturally its degenerate awfulness has sucked me in again. I'm weak, I'm telling you, weak!

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