(no subject)

I am so tired. Just. It's impossible to think hard enough to get at any emotion beyond that because I am just so tired.

Many many dreams involving Rodney McKay last night. There was a very young Rodney doing some sort of dancing competition with Katie Brown, and there was laughter at Daniel Jackson in a walrus moustache, and there was me squishing neenie and squealing madly about the bit in the show where Rodney TTLY MADE A KISSY FACE AT JOHN OMG. I have no idea. My favourite dream for sheer random was I am convinced when I was actually still awake and thinking about an original story idea I have. It involved John Sheppard being a trapeze artist and some random girl eating fire and then both of them being consumed by lava which poured in through the door of the big top. WHAT?

Suspect I am stressing about all the things that I can see building up and getting out of control around me, but which I am just too tired to deal with.

Wstfgl.

(no subject)

I predict that before the end of the day, Dell will make me cry. Countdown starts here.

Also, what is worth more, £6 or work tomorrow? Trade off, see. Either I return DVDs and videos to library tonight, or I go to work tomorrow. Bones = that bad.

I'm feeling enormously, hugely, catastrophically unintelligent, today. Be nice to me.

(no subject)

( SG:A 3x18 running commentary. Spoilers, obviously. )