two special intentions.

last night was lovely, and included such things as libations; a corset cake; a vintage hat; my fantastic, amazing, and altogether wonderful friend patrick; and, as a result of his presence, much talk of puppetry. i do like hosting.

my left breast and i would greatly appreciate it if you would spare a prayer for her. she's in an awful state at the moment.

also, i cannot bear the thought of being without a vagina dentata icon, but hate the one that i currently have. google is not at all being helpful. if you could, perhaps, direct me to a better image, i'd insist on becoming your devoted manservant for at least a fortnight.

i'm feeling hypergraphic, but it would seem that i still cannot write lies and relative truths at the same time. it was my journal that killed my muse; at long last, my muse has risen from the dead and is chasing my journal about with the scissors from her very own sewing box. should i not manage more than a few notes here for a small while, rest assured that i am sickeningly happy, am spending lots of time with delightful friends, and regularly get to tear the insides out of dead fish. ta.