Cold restart fixed that one.
2.) There is a Saw V. This officially begins the time I look back with nostalgia on Friday the Thirteenth and Halloween, with soft eyes at their wholesome exploitation of sex, death, and woman and how the three combine together. Dear God I hate that franchise. This, right here, is the one thing that worries me about our bright future with 3D TV and holodecks.
3.) My nails are again too long for my laptop and people, my typing is fast but inaccurate. Now it is slow and inaccurate. Even if it would get me exclusive access to my penis of choice among men to keep them, these suckers have gotta go.
4.) I got on this entire whee smut writing and then stopped mid-coital when I got bored and went to bed. I find this so disturbing, not least because I have left them posed seconds from orgasm, but every time I go back to finish, I end up going back farther to an earlier part and them talking about something else entirely while fully dressed. I--what does this mean?
I'm sorry, I'm less creeped out by that weird Pokemon porn at asstr.org than the fact that I am writing boring smut.
5.) Okay, this is just shame. I turned on You Outta Know by Alanis Morisette and am currently feeling all kinds of vicarious break-up angst. Actually, I'm not ashamed. Yelling about going down in theatres at the top of my lungs is pretty much the best thing ever. There is something viciously addictive about this song. I know I should totally be beyond it, but come on. Tell me that singing along is not either empowering or just fun? I dare you.