Entry tags:
External brain is external.
I may not crochet an anatomically -- well, I suppose the best we can get is anatomically probable -- velociraptor cloaca until I have finished the (human) sex ed hat.
I must also finish the crocheting project that is meant for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
afuna. (Localfolks have probably seen me working on it.)
I think I may need a sink plunger.
I am working on a code tour; my standard code tour protocol dictates that I remain awake until the code tour is finished.
I have words to put together on the topic of "but it's made up/invented/performative/a social construct, so that means it shouldn't matter very much", but suffice to say that given the utter wankstorms that can erupt over things like whether Harry Potter ought to have wound up in a serious relationship with Hermione or Ginny, and how friendships imploded, stuff that's a lot less fictional matters. And whether or not someone with an "objective" perspective thinks it should matter means fuckall. And how "objective" is a filthy lie and also dangerous.
Some eschatological humor, in concept form: Macdonald Hall fic. Miss Scrimmage falls prey to some doomsday prophecy, and in dotty but practical Miss Scrimmage form, prepares for the coming disaster by instructing her young ladies in the post-apocalyptic arts. Meanwhile, across the road, the boys are very busy in a fashion that all goes completely and explosively haywire on the very day indicated by the prophecy.
I still need soap, soup, and cider.
Whatever that thing was, it is an ex-that-thing, and should be discarded.
Having obtained the indicated boxes, it would be great to start putting the things from the shelves in them, and the boxes back on the shelves.
Nice gel mattress pad. It's still a thing.
There is plenty of fruit. However, we have established that carrots give a really weird texture to the smoothies.
I must also finish the crocheting project that is meant for
afuna. (Localfolks have probably seen me working on it.) I think I may need a sink plunger.
I am working on a code tour; my standard code tour protocol dictates that I remain awake until the code tour is finished.
I have words to put together on the topic of "but it's made up/invented/performative/a social construct, so that means it shouldn't matter very much", but suffice to say that given the utter wankstorms that can erupt over things like whether Harry Potter ought to have wound up in a serious relationship with Hermione or Ginny, and how friendships imploded, stuff that's a lot less fictional matters. And whether or not someone with an "objective" perspective thinks it should matter means fuckall. And how "objective" is a filthy lie and also dangerous.
Some eschatological humor, in concept form: Macdonald Hall fic. Miss Scrimmage falls prey to some doomsday prophecy, and in dotty but practical Miss Scrimmage form, prepares for the coming disaster by instructing her young ladies in the post-apocalyptic arts. Meanwhile, across the road, the boys are very busy in a fashion that all goes completely and explosively haywire on the very day indicated by the prophecy.
I still need soap, soup, and cider.
Whatever that thing was, it is an ex-that-thing, and should be discarded.
Having obtained the indicated boxes, it would be great to start putting the things from the shelves in them, and the boxes back on the shelves.
Nice gel mattress pad. It's still a thing.
There is plenty of fruit. However, we have established that carrots give a really weird texture to the smoothies.