All Souls' Night

Speaking of hooks, this random thing just popped into my head:


The problem was that the toilet only spoke French, or pretended to, though it certainly recognized swear words fast enough to take offense. He couldn't threaten it, because how can you threaten something that doesn't understand you? And if he tried to smack it, it would only start wailing and making an awful racket with the plumbing, and the appartment would flood, and the next thing he'd know the manager would be knocking on his door with an eviction notice and he'd be out of a home, again, him and the toilet both.

"You hate me, don't you?" he said.

"C'est pas possible, chérie, je t'adore," the toilet warbled.

He didn't speak French, but he was sure it was something filthy.

I was thinking of trying to consolidate tags, because let's face it, there are far more than I use these days, but it turns out that no, "Darcy is a dork" does not equate to "geekery".

I also have way more icons than I actually use, but I don't care.

Boo, insomnia. You fail.

This really only makes sense on LJ. Which I have been using since before Facebook even existed, so there.

Okay, so. For whatever reason, my mattress is about five inches short for my bedframe. So I had made a pillow-thing to sit over the gap, so things didn't fall through... like my head, for example, back when I slept in that direction. The pillow is a little wider than the bed, actually, and round; to make it, I took one of those floating noodle thingies that kids play with in the pool, and wrapped a fair amount of batting around it, then finished it up with a round bag-shape sort of like a golf-bag, which is made most randomly of green-and-autumn colored, formal-brocade-patterned corduroy, and is the actual outside of the pillow. It was there, and is nowhere near as ugly as that description makes it sound. Only the bag was too big, still, even after all that batting, so I pulled out a needle with a blunt end and a huge eye and stitched it tight with some narrow ribbon. And the open end was already designed to simply close with a drawstring, so that was that.

Anyway.

I know that I am a violent sleeper. (Not always. Sometimes I lie deathly still and wake up in a cold sweat. But that's rare.) My sister refuses to share a bed with me after I clocked her in the eye. While asleep. With no memory of it afterwards. But still.

I just noticed that that pillow, which lies at the foot of my bed, had been ejected at some time in the night, and is lying on the floor in a manner that suggests it might have gotten there by bouncing off the far wall first. Well, was. I've picked it up and put it back now. And my feet don't normally reach the foot of the bed! Man. Apparently I not only swing fists but have the kick of doom when I'm asleep.

Not so much CLASPD so much as SCAMD, but we got interviewed about going to snack. And stacking things. It was fun.

Also, on the way back, I told off a sprinkler. In my defense, it caught me by surprise, and was watering the sidewalk.