long-ass survey

( as if I didn't get enough at work )

oils

teenagewitch needs the recipe for my protection/cleansing/exorcism lotion. Short answer: It's a combination of a few Cunningham bath salt mixes. Look those up.

Long answer: I don't know where I put the paper with my recipe; I'll dig around.

Meanwhile, in honor of the day at hand, I made myself a new perfume oil. I call it "Holy Fuck!" oil.

Adam sniff-tested on me, and he likes. Cool.

V. D.

Showed up for breakfast early. Delivered the package to Darkside. He was wary of opening it; did not open it until I assured him that it was safe, and not romantic and mushy and stuff.

No, hair elastics are not particularly romantic and mushy. He mentioned that this was Valentine's Day, there should perhaps be less in the way of explosions on the wrapping paper, and more to do with hearts.

There were hearts, though... hearts, and hand grenades, and cartoon bombs, and sticks of dynamite, and explosions.

He seems to appreciate more the stupid computer stories that I'm sharing with him... he needs a smile.

Drat.

General household grouchiness. Still with the not sleeping. Haven't done dishes in days; sorry about that.

I don't know what that is in the sour cream container, but YUCK. Disappointing, to hope for sour cream, to find one container sealed and reserved for coffee cake, and to find one feeling promisingly full, but containing green gunk that doesn't smell bad enough to be moldy, but not good enough to be edible either.

Bitching, yeah.

I usually get very dragged-down and depressive and depressing in February/March/April. This is a very mild form of it. Ask Neighbor for details on what happens to Alaskans at That Time of the Year... look at it this way, at least I will smile, and I'm not suicidal, either actively or passively.

Bleh. I think I need a salad.