this is the log of capt. satah of the hmcs eatdic, an extraterrestrial cyborg that crash-landed in a canadian city full of grey rocks twenty-two years ago. their lumpy metal heart pumps only tea, cola, and beer. a stranger on the internet once described them as "lonely, young, trying to get drunk, and way too effeminate to ever get a girl in the next three years"
*awkwardly twists my upper body around to loosen your grip and then slides off the couch and out of your arms allowing me to roll about half a metre away before getting up and dusting myself off and going to put the kettle on*
OH. i didn’t realise i’d caught up to yesterday evening on my dash and for a second when i saw this photo i was so alarmed and disoriented. i was like, who is that person. they look like me. and then it WAS ME!!!
if google can just go ahead and integrate itself fully into my brain and body via an implanted chip of some kind so i stop feeling like a dang fool whenever i automatically do something like this that would be super convenient for me thaaanks
a lot of the techy slang in the future episodes of dollhouse works nicely and is a cute little detail but there’s this one fucking scene where two people are arguing and one of them yells “DO I HAVE TO UPLOAD THAT TO YOUR BRAIN MYSELF?” and the other yells back “LOG OFF!!!” and it’s like ohhhhh, oh my sweet children, ohhhh my babydoll persimmons,
a guest complimented my eyeliner as i was serving her today and i was sooo relieved bc i did it in like forty seconds so it was way too thick for work cuz any mistakes i made had to be covered up by just like sort of slopping more on and it was nice to have some positive input to balance out the mild stress
in prep and downtime today i started bantering about a catering musical with one of my coworkers, which has definitely happened before with different people, and at first it was kind of jokey but then suddenly it wasn’t and we had each other’s numbers in our phones and it’s going to be so amazing and i love my stupid job
i sleep on my back cuz it’s good for the spine and coffin rehearsal i know a psychic who reads her own palms and her findings are personal she keeps her fists shut tight and she sleeps on her side well, maybe she knows something i don’t know
but i am still alive, in love, and wide-eyed in my time not a mummy shrinking in its cloths your cat clawed out my eyes while i was distracted by your smile and now my sockets sit like empty catcher’s mitts, waiting and you ask me is there anybody else that i’m dating?