Il Bel Far Niente

Love this song. Need to remember to stop looking forward and enjoy the now.



That said, I really crave a cigarette.

I always have to sing that in the manner of Les Mis. Sorry.

Fall's first batch of chili is simmering away.
Putting final touches on Uncle Milo's military history.
Tomorrow is Friday before a 4 day weekend.

Feelin' pretty damn good.

Been a long week, with frustration and loneliness and general malaise. But I'll keep on going, 'cause the show must go on. It's my favorite Queen song for a reason.



Empty spaces - what are we living for?
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score..
On and on...
Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero - another mindless crime.
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime.
Hold the line...
Does anybody want to take it anymore?
The Show must go on.
The Show must go on.
Inside my heart is breaking,
My make-up may be flaking,
But my smile, still, stays on.

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance.
Another heartache - another failed romance.
On and on...
Does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess i'm learning
I must be warmer now..
I'll soon be turning, round the corner now.
Outside the dawn is breaking,
But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free.

The Show must go on.
The Show must go on.
Inside my heart is breaking,
My make-up may be flaking...
But my smile, still, stays on.

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies,
Fairy tales of yesterday, will grow but never die,
I can fly, my friends!

The Show must go on
The Show must go on
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On with the show

I'll top the bill
I'll overkill
I have to find the will to carry on
On with the,
On with the show

The Show must go on.

Here's hoping...I need to remember that writing should be FUN, not a chore.



Review for The Hardest Choices

Babygrass97 wrote: Okay. I like this. I really like this. [The first reason I clicked on it was because I'm actually watching Changing Channels. Hahaha.] But no, this is pretty amazing.


You did a good job of covering what Gabriel's face looked like when Sam, Dean, and Cas walked out of there at the end of the episode.


And btw, I completely agree with you. Gabriel's not dead; he's just hiding. I'm in love with Gabriel, therefore he can't be dead :)\


Sorry it took me a bit to reply to your review...no excuse!


I was so drawn into Gabriel's storyline, and wish that it had been explored more deeply. There is so much potential there. Frankly I find his character more interesting than Castiel (my heaven, Zatnikatel is going to flay me alive for that comment.)


And me too, I'm clinging to the notion that Gabe is hiding, not dead.



Thanks for taking the time to review!

Up late and bored....looking over old fics that I've written.

Standing Sentry

I hate hospitals, always have. I don't know why, but they make my stomach clench and my brain crawl…it's so quiet, so sterile, and you can smell death on the air, feel it on your skin. It just feels like endings.

I sit in a tattered armchair in the corner of Connor's room, my eyelids drooping with fatigue and the inevitable crash that follows a huge adrenaline dump. But there's no way I could sleep, even if I wanted to. Not until I know for sure. Not until I can look my brother in the eye and know that he's okay.

I've never seen him like this before, so pale and vulnerable. Silent and still, so different from the Connor I know, who never stops moving, and never stops yawping away about every little thing. He's so pallid he could be translucent, charcoal circles ring his eyes, and an ugly cut just above his temple has been stitched neatly closed, the dark thread marching train tracks over his white skin. A tube snakes down his throat, though the doctor assures me that it will come out shortly, and Connor's arm is well trussed up with IV tubes and sensors and the like. He does look a mite better, now that the blood has been cleaned from his face. But all in all, he looks like a corpse and it makes my skin crawl.

My own head is throbbing dully, like a giant is stamping bruises in my brain, so I cadge a couple of aspirin from a tray while the nurses aren't looking. One of them had offered to stitch up the gash in my forehead, my battle prize from the bar fight, but I settled for a Band-Aid. Wish they'd have offered me a pair of fuckin' pants, mind you, but I wasn't about to leave Connor alone, not even for a minute, even if it meant flapping in the breeze in this old bloodstained robe. Who knows if some Russian comrades of those two mobsters may come looking for a bit of payback? No, my place is here, standing watch over my brother.

God, I don't think I'll ever forget the sight. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer as I knelt on the rough pavement before that fat, ugly Russian douche bag, staring up the unwavering barrel of his 50cal. The concrete was tearing at the skin of my knees, and a cold wind screamed down the alley, but I was too scared to even notice. I knew I couldn't hide the fear in my eyes and I didn't want to give that bastard the satisfaction, so I raised my gaze toward heaven to offer up a last prayer to the Blessed Mother. And I remember thinking, Say novenas for me, Connor…

And then I saw it. A flash of white, a falling toilet, for fuck sake, and my brother, airborne, legs pinwheeling in a frantic midair sprint. Falling. My heart jumped up into my throat and I wanted to scream his name, but everything happened so bloody fast, I couldn't even make a sound.

The rest seems a blur…I only remember Connor's weight was dead over my shoulder, and I was praying desperately to whoever may be listening that he would stay with me. Com'on, Connor, don't you dare do this to me…don't you dare…

I can't lose you.

A nurse pokes her head in, gently suggesting that I take a walk and get a cup of coffee, but I ignore her. I shift in my chair, stamping a foot to jostle out the pins and needles of immobility, and lean closer to the still form of my brother. I touch his hand.

I don't know how he did it…flying down like fuckin' Superman to the rescue. It gives me a perverse sense of pride, to be honest. That man is my brother. And I'll stand here at his side, come what may. He's my brother.

Gawd, I miss living in the city....being able to go out to a club and just forget everything....dance and drink and live for the second you're in.

I never knew cons were so much fun...now trolling the web for where I want to go next!

Here's some more photos from the Wizard World Con in Chicago this past weekend...Just the BDS pics because the others are so random.  The last one is my fav...that's my little head peeking in on the side, but I cut myself out 'cause nobody needs to see my ugly mug.

Met the Boondock Saints in the flesh at Comic Con in Chicago this weekend.  Had some minor internal swoonage when Norman Reedus greeted me as "Hey Babe!" Chatted with him about Mingus and he was just sweet as he could be.  Sean was busy tweeting up a storm, but was friendly and hilarious as usual.  A couple shoutouts to the Boondock Betties, of which I am one, tyvm.




Also met Chad Lindberg, AKA Ash from Supernatural. So fucking sweet and nice and I just wanted to squoosh him. Ahem. Sorry. A little overheated.

The internet is amazing. We take it for granted, but it truly is astounding what you can do. 

I've been working for a long time on researching the military career of my uncle (last post for detail).  I got an email today from a soldier in his division, who gave me the names and addresses of five guys who served in Milo's unit (what made me laugh is that this 80 something year old vet sent me this email from his i-phone).  Connecting with these men is something that would never have happened before the net.

It ain't all about just porn and fanfic, kids. :)

Am watching Band of Brothers again, up to the point where Easy Company goes to Bastogne, and I sort of need to say why this particular section of the series makes me so very sad. My uncle was in an infantry unit during the Battle of the Bulge. He had been through a lot so far, seen a lot. During that terrible cold winter in Ardennes, he suffered, as did all the men. During the battle (after Christmas of 1944), Milo suffered terrible frostbite in his feet and was sent to the rear to recover along with another solider from his unit. While they were gone, their entire platoon was wiped out. Killed in the battle. Gone. Milo and the other soldier were the only survivors of their platoon of 49 men. When Milo returned to the States after the war, no one in the family ever spoke to him about this. They whispered about it to each other, but never ASKED him. When I began studying the war (I have studied WWII in depth), I sat down with him against the wishes of my family, and asked him about what had happened, and how he felt about it. And he looked at me, suddenly tearing up, and said, "Do you know that no one in the family has ever asked me before?" And he told me everything. Nearly 50 years, and not one person in the family had the guts to ask if he wanted to talk about it. We cried together. I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't let these stories die. The memory of great men will live through the stories that they pass down. Don't be afraid to ask. Explore. Learn. And appreciate the sacrifices. I love you Milo, and miss you.