This new year, already,

is taking no prisoners. And by that, I mean tinkle or get off the potty. She is NOT fucking around.

Have you ever noticed that people, as much as they'll rave in fury if anyone tries to restrict their choices, will make choices that take away as much choice from them as possible? A lot of people don't want to have a choice, because choice is a big enormous responsibility and you will be held accountable. *insert big finger pointed at face*
It's the shovel all over again, only it's built in to protect not to destroy. Like a fever. Designed to protect, but incredibly inefficient and only makes you weak and stay home from work.

Goddamn I love metaphors.

So, the truth of my right now is several things fast approaching, in true tinkle-or-get-off-potty fashion.

One- Edwardian Ball, brought to you by Vau de Vire. One death by swallowing tacks, one death by...not telling, my solo is a surprise (code for not finished).

Two- Lupercalia, The Nekyia's homage to the pagan seeds that brought you Valentines day, only more fun. More luscious, more decadent, more glorious by far. And my own personal salute to:

The Man.










And a fast approaching audition which I can't discuss yet.

And working on tissu every day until I get these weird hickey-like splotches where the fabric is apparently sucking my fear of heights from my skin. Or, you know, friction or whatever.

I still haven't told you the best part. The very very best, most favorite part. It's so good I can't tell you, because my writing gets stupidly simple and girlishly juvenile. Which means of course,

he's home.

*grin*