sorry about the period of silence. the past couple of weeks have been very emotional and difficult. I won't get into specifics here; besides, with biological depression compounding everything as usual, anything I could take the time to mention would just be the tip of one big mysterious iceberg. and it's so much easier for me to put a happy face on things in person. when I write I can unwittingly wax overdramatic, hence the not writing. suffice it to say that I'm feeling much more stable, back to being just as happy as a pig in...um, pig heaven or something.

since my e-hiatus was also a break from non-line writing, the brokeback mountain review has yet to see the pixeled page. will it? I'm not sure. for one thing, a lot of the really strong insights I wanted to get down went poof. for another, I'm not sure if I really want to revive petrified fountain or just let it continue to moulder. when I started it up it was so much fun, but at that time I was at a very different place in life. it was so much more...relevant. now doing full length movie reviews just seems like incredibly snooty intellectual masturbation. as opposed to the downmarket anti-intellectual masturbation I do with this blog. we'll see.

birthday's on sunday. hopefully the parents will be able to make it down. as those of you familiar with my policy on aging may be aware, I have only one more birthday for the next thirteen years. I will stop at 26, since to me 27 sounds much too close to 30. I will stay at 26 until I am 39, then rethink my numeric options.

tell you what, though. I'm afraid that within the next year I'm going to have to start dyeing my hair, seriously. the premature threads of gray have been much noticed. and that's not paranoia talking, that's PEOPLE talking, saying to my face, "look! gray hair!" I can understand the distinguished gray thing, but I think that only works post 40. until then it's all about the grecian formula.

anyone catch peter sarsgaard on snl last night? woof. move over aloysius--I think I've found a new teddy bear.

I am really getting perverted in my old age.

I hate these sleepless weekend nights. it's impossible to totally reset my internal clock for normal hours for two days a week, so I always end up slipping out of bed and footling about the house. poor justin, sleeping alone. dreaming of me? perhaps. I dream of justin sometimes. in my subconscious he's exactly the same--face, body, voice. because when you find someone who is so completely perfect for you, it's ridiculous to idealize them in dreams. he's turned my life--every waking and sleeping hour--into the greatest dream I've ever had.

I guess I'd better go and get a late night snack before you, Constant Reader, start to throw up.