Having watched more Game of Thrones last night in an attempt to catch up with things, I’ve been in a medieval adventure kind of mood (yeh, it happens). While browsing that kind of thing online, I happened across this little pop-culture wonder.
My English Literature nerdiness is showing, in that I laughed until I cried when this crossed my dash.
Cracks
So in an effort to write a little bit each day, I decided to write a poem about the fact that my windshield and my iphone are cracked, and curiously ended up expressing more than I intended to. Go figure, inspiration comes in strange places I guess.
19th July, 2012→Happy 36th Birthday, Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch. We love you.♥
This is how I have been feeling the last few days. Oh, and Tj shares a birthday with her. Just found that out. Super cool.
Postest with the Mostest
I had a fantastic D&D session today! Okay, so we are playing an evil campaign and I am a half drow with the insect template attached. Right. Well, I have been really struggling with this glass ceiling that restricts my near-epic awesome character to advance in drow society. So I planned all my moves, and today we were in Calimport (we play faerun) which is a great place to launch ideas that require the mindless mob mentality, and I started a Half-Society of political terrorists!! I am so proud. I raised a mob, I blew up some flour silos, and generally caused an incredible amount of havoc! And, as further testament of me thinking like a drow, there was no evidence left behind to link the incident to me and I was still able to make my message loud and clear. This being due in no small part to my wonderful shade companion who kindly pulled off multiple altar memory spells, blaming it all on wererats. Wererats! how perfect can you get! Yes, I am moving up in the (imaginary) world. Some day soon I will have enough power to openly attack the drow house in skullport, then I will become the first half drow woman to be a matron mother!! Teeheehee.
Some are born under the boot, and some are born wearing it
A Poem for Breakfast
Last night I was very tired.
The bed swollowed me whole and I sunk down low into the belly of the bedsheets.
Alas, slumber plays coy and sleep evades me, the cruel temptress runs away,
down into the wild woods,
Where she can drink the moonlight off the creek,
and feel cool grass delight her feet.
I lay forgotten, elapsed a short eternity
Morning is at my window now, tapping at the pane with fingertips illuminated.
The sun has chased away all remnants of the evening’s splendor in his love-mad attempts to grasp the Lady Moon.
The radiance of his temper tempt my head to ache with sprightly sprays of shiny light, I swear my vengance take
The journey of Sol oér sky has neigh begun, and my eyes squint wish the day be done.
