April 7th, 23:26 | lilephyte : 1; pants : 0

There isn't really much I wanted to document. Except that I'm finally done hemming my pants. One pair down, one to go. Sadly, the pair that's left is the fancier, way more expensive pair that I'm a little terrified of maiming. But, really, it'll be fine. No, seriously. These other ones I did look great! ...right?

Coming off my Neil Gaiman overload (the only thing I've got left, really, is Neverwhere and American Gods, and both of those can wait a bit) and I appear to be going through recovery by reading as many books about bonsai, houseplants, indoor plants, orchids and horticulture in general as I can get my twichy little hands on. The ever-changing mountain of books in my room is starting to alarm me. Since when do I read non-fiction?

Maybe it's a defense mechanism. I don't seem to be able to find the words for anything I want these days. Possibly because what I want isn't words. For the second time in as many weeks I find myself completely unable to express the mess of emotions trailing thoughts like entrails running amok through my innards. (I'm sorry; somewhere in there I totally got my metaphors all crossed.) It isn't an apology, and it isn't a promise; I've made both of those, and many times over. They haven't changed. This is all the "else" that's supposed to step -- sometimes gracefully, sometimes hesitantly -- over the hopping stones that promises and apologies are, I guess. I guess it's harder to pin that down in words.

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