Gods. It's 11:46 a.m on a frelling Sunday morning, and I've already had a geeky argument about alignment in D&D. In some alternate, unrealized reality, Caitlín R. Kiernan is not an uber-nerd. She married an investment banker and moved into a pricey suburb of Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She has a dog named Patches and adopted two kids, a girl and a boy. She shops at Sam's Club and drinks cheap beer (a practice she thinks daring) and loves sitcoms. She wears a lot of pastels. Her idea of kinky sex is being on top (which she never does), and she's a member of the PTA. She drives an SUV (white), votes Republican (though she's a Democrat at heart), and has never quite gotten the hang of e-mail. She likes Thomas Kinkade and reads John Grisham. Goths make her nervous, though she isn't precisely sure why. She bakes bundt cakes (from mixes, not from scratch).
And she most definitely does not play D&D.
Someday, I'm going to write a whole book of alternate-world me's.
I was too tired yesterday to wash all the excess wax and moisturizer off my body and awoke this morning feeling like the sticky floor of a theatre. So, I have to wash my hair and bathe before I go play...well, you know.
Last night, I cooked a particularly hot, particularly yummy stir fry, and Spooky and I watched Olivier Assayas' very effective and surreal cybererotic corporate thriller, Demonlover. Then I played a couple of hours of Kya: Dark Lineage. I need to finish this game, then finish Prince of Persia, in preparation for the release of Ghosthunter.
Should I say something about writing? Hmmmmm. Okay. I can safely say that The Dry Salvages will be the most proofread thing I've ever published. There. Duty done. Have a doughnut...