Oh my GOD what is with these eight o'clock mornings on a *weekend*? This is insane amounts of unnatural. Dear God.
Yesterday, got the fortress floors and flooring and I feel like this crazy rabbit lady in a serious way, what with the fact that I carried around my camera for the nice Home Depot man to see what I was talking about when I said I needed flooring and speaking in *measurements* and saying clever things like, "Where do I go for all things wood?" and the nice Home Depot man realized that yes, I was serious, I wanted to buy *wood things*.
*sighs* So yeah. The fortress will have easy-to-clean floors after today.
In other news--oh, whatever, there *is* no other news.
So while reading comments on
A Touch of Your Hand, I noted how many people were genuinely hit by that line about John selling himself for a ZPM.
The problem with me here is that it took me a *while* to let it sink in that a sex-for-ZPM trade--as opposed to sex-for-survival or sex-for-alien-sex-pollen--would have completely different connotations. I mean, my problem. This is part of the reason this is one of those stories I always wanted to write and just couldn't--I mean, I'm a *fangirl*. I write porn for any old reason aliens can supply, so why would this particular circumstance make me uncomfortable? I wrote
alien sex pollen for God's sake. And drunk sex. And no one reacted weirdly after. They were just fine. It feels vaguely hypocritical to take it to that place.
Which argues either I've been in fandom way too long or I really need to get out more. So I sketched this out. It's not a story--I'm just not a good enough writer to get across what it should be.
( and, How John Fucked For a ZPM and Everyone Thought It Was Fine )