this is why i'm scared to leave

My mother once asked me, why does it freak you out so much to take off work?

There are a lot of reasons. It's not that I don't like endless vistas of sheer, mind-numbing pleasurable slacking, because trust me, it's my life's calling, and I'm still peeved that somehow, this isn't happening. But okay. And right, I have this horrible feeling that if I leave, the entire place will fall to pieces without me to sit there and watch. Because it totally could.

It's when I leave, something *happens*. And not something like, I come back and see chocolate on my desk or something. Though I'd find that equally disturbing, but well, I'm the girl who gets freaked if her pens move, which they DO btw, and who hides her stapler because it's the one that works when jimmied with the letter opener best. And tha'ts gone, too, but we're not discussing the stapler sitch.

Let's discuss, say, my file cabinet. The one that has my reorganized, relabeled, cleaned-out, spotless, filled with extras and back-ups, and it's *so* well organized and useful. Forms and files and all carefully placed in a particular way, and it's perfect. It's the best file cabinet in the world.

( the mystery of the locked cabient, minus Nancy Drew )

sheep are great!

I love jaymalea. Love love love.



*blissful*

I am a sheep. I'm so okay with this.

He burned on nothing but air for hours before they left. Softer now, boots kicking air when Brian pushes the loft door open before the sun's touched the horizon outside.

A ball of golden, boneless boy slung over one shoulder, giggling into his back, fingers worked into the waist of his jeans. Scratching every so often, just to make him shiver. Liquid when spilled onto the couch in a tangle of silver mesh and leather, smiling at the ceiling with glassy eyes.

Brian's hands comes away slicked with silver glitter, the smells of alcohol and sweat, teenage boy and a long night on the floor.

"Playtime's over," Brian tells him, and Justin closes his eyes on a smile. Tiny pink tongue slicking parted lips.

"Not yet."

He watched Justin for hours tonight. Incandescent in motion, wrapped in light and sound and feeling, and Brian remembers how he tasted, metal and vodka sharp. They don't ID him anymore, if they ever did.

"What did you take?"

Justin closes his eyes. "Sing the song."

It's stupid. "A, B, C, D..."

"E. E. E." He's laughing, feet kicking into the air like Gus. "I'm so high."

Bent back against the bathroom wall, legs wrapped around his hips, he licked the hit out of Brian's mouth, eyes closed like this.

Now, sweetie, make this thing MOVE, kay?