Somnambulists

This is what it looks like when samantha is profoundly not going to work when she should be. I -told- them I was going to be late so dammit, late I will be.
I've been to the doctor and back. I'll spare you all the details, but I must say that I disapprove of anyone calling my uterus "cute." Just...no.

While waiting, I discovered that Napoleon and I share a love of letters.
Along with that whole world conquest thing.

I'm still having angst about this whole journal situation. I've started a different one somewhere else, but I'm not going to tell you where it is. I was, in fact, not planning on mentioning it at all, but we all know that I can't keep my mouth shut. And the fact of the matter is that interested parties will figure it out whether I mention it or not.

I'm trying to place myself in this rerum concordia discors--this discordant concord of things--and the problem is that I can't make up my mind where I want to go. I can't decide how honest I should be in this, if my honesty here is making it hard to look people in the eyes outside of here.
So the moral here is that I don't know what's happening, which track I'll be going along. It's very possible that I'm just far too sleepy lately and that it's making me melancholy and unsure.

...It's also possible that I'm being systematically hypnotized by the giant stuffed roosters. Really, only time will tell.

(no subject)

Breaking News:

Goose invades Les Piafs. Villagers flee.

Ew. Just Fucking Ew.

Thoughts of goose

Ok, so I know, logically, that it is in fact -illogical- to be afraid of a stuffed goose.
But the damn thing creeps me out beyond any sort of logical thinking.
I make lots of jokes about it, but the truth is that I'm seriously phobic of birds. Those of you who have seen me refuse to walk near a crowd of pigeons or cower in the fetal position behind Dave, hiding from Jackie's parakeet, have some idea. I am deeply terrified of the stupid things, although it's quite an uncool fear and so I try to pretend not to be. In cages, fine, dead and stuffed, also ok.
Unless it's a goose.
I suppose that the reason the goose freaks me out more than the roosters is that I don't have any deep seated issues with roosters. Ducks and their ilk (geese), however, are all out to get me. Obviously.
And the stupid creature is so realistic looking that I expect it at any moment to charge me, hissing, neck twisting, tail wagging, eyes flashing, smelling of brimstone...the whole bit.
I hate it.
Passionately.