Chandri MacLeod (chandri) wrote,
Chandri MacLeod

Okay, I really meant to have pictures here.

But I left my camera at home, so I'll just have to remember to do that when I get back. I've got something unrelated I keep meaning to post, something I spent a couple of days mucking about with in Photoshop, regarding the last episode of SGA and one of the many ways I'd have liked it to end, instead of the way it did. But tomorrow.

Today I:

-Visited the Vancouver Maritime Museum with artemisiabrisol and mik100 (a museum built around the RCMP St. Roch) and hovered longingly at the edge of the nearby off-leash doggy-exercise beach like, um, I think the simile I used was "child molesters outside an elementary school." Needless to say, we are all severely puppy-deprived.

I am now out of withdrawal, as I have one on my feet. All is well.

All was also bound in damp mysterious fog, pretty much all day. Vancouver's looked like this for most of a week, now. It's like a Stephen King novel. We stood at the end of the docks below the museum expecting the Edmund Fitzgerald to come looming suddenly up out of the mist. Spooky.

-After three weeks' absence, returned to The Tea Shop (From Whence All Goodness Springs) and, um, had tea. They were closed over the holidays, renovating and, apparently, gallivanting around Asia.

-Travelled to Mum's, where I discovered the following had arrived in the mail: a)replacement credit cards, b)my CBLDF membership card, and c)my Elann shipment, containing two sets of knitting needles and bricky-coloured yarn called, co-incidentally, Brick.

-Stabbed myself in the finger via malicious staple in knitting needle packet. Buyer beware: Brittany needles are a lovely product with deadly packaging. (Survived. Have started new pair of socks. Updates to follow.)

-Still have not posted the fic I finished two days ago. Not my fault! No fic today, probably fic tomorrow. (Yes, that means that I ACTUALLY FINISHED SOMETHING. We'll see if this miracle extends to other writerly endeavours.)

-Am for some reason still awake at... *glances at clock*, four-thirty. Wait, what? Why am I still awake? Oh, right, Bette Davis. It's all Bette Davis's fault. Turner Classic Movies is a bad and addictive channel. I sit down to watch for fifteen minutes and the next thing I know...

...okay, I'm outta here. 'Night, all.
Tags: city, family, fic, movielore, pictures, sga, tvlore

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