Well, that was quick!

Dem Bones is complete and in a bid to liven up RWG, I've posted it there for critique. Presuming that heliotic isn't distraught at the idea of me writing about his chicken bones, I'll post it to my LJ after someone casts their expert eyes over it. Alas, no rockstars, or heliotic's beloved tentacles--not even purple-spotted ones.

Third person/present tense is actually quite fun to write in, although I slipped back into past tense rather a lot. Hmm. Maybe this is something to try out if I ever get around to writing the hazing fic I keep poking at.

On a completely different subject. We have all the windows open upstairs and it is absolutely boiling. There's no breeze. Too hot to sleep, but just hot enough to stir my brain apparently. I'm looking speculatively at the pie that's sitting in the fridge. I bet a slice would cool me down nicely....

Cool or odd?

Dave pointed me towards this article on the BBC.  I think it's very cool, both as a jewellery concept--I seem to have acquired an inner goth; hopefully it'll wither and die without me needing to apply pink clothing--and more importantly, the medical applications are fantastic.  If they can make the growth process more robust then this would be fabulous for hip-replacements, and reconstructive surgery.  I'm very impressed.

Ang freaks out about cats.

I knew it!  I fucking knew it!  The cats of this world are out to get me!  A huge, fat ginger cat infiltrated the garage this evening and sat mewling at the firedoor.  I assumed it was sitting outside the window--it often sits under the front window amongst the straggly carnations--but then the mewling got much louder, and there's no reason for a cat in the flowerbed to mewl so pathetically.... I suspect it wanted to snack upon my eyeballs.  Or perhaps my liver?

Dave is my hero.  He picked it up and carried it outdoors, while I cringed on the sofa.  It looked like a stuffed cat, tucked under his arm, legs sticking out poker straight.  That's something I never thought I'd see: Dave with a cat under his arm, like a newspaper.

I don't know how I can be so terrified of cats, yet adore Garfield.  And I've now realised that I've turned into one of these annoying people who journals every second of their life.  Dammit.