a well-turned calf

i’m bored.
i’ll go do the dishes in a minute, but i’ve already watched the copy of mallrats the fantabulous jodi chromey sent me for my birthday, and i’d start reading the copy of american gods she sent with it, but i’m in the middle of the lord of chaos and i’m not starting anything new until i’m finished this series.
i’m just so bored. i’m always like this the night before i return to work after time off. the day flies by but the evening slows to a crawl in some subconscious time-bending desire to prolong my freedom. what that subconscious time-bender doesn’t realize is that it’s fucking annoying. i’ve done everything cinderella-like i need to do to be ready for work, so let’s just get on with it. make it bed time so i can start the grind all over again. bleh. time shouldn’t be so subjective, dammit.
someone asked me for a risque photo of myself now that i have a high-quality camera at my disposal. i think they’re nuts. it’s plainly obvious we haven’t met in person or they’d know asking me for naked, semi-naked or even pseudo-naked photographs is absurd. i’ll think of some sort of alluring, but not too naked, pose eventually. ankles are still sexy, right?