Have you ever gotten the urge to arch your back and stretch your shoulders and...
sprout wings and fly away? *wiggles shoulders* I suppose it's a credit to all the sleep I ought to be getting, and that I probably stretched too far today that I feel as though that were almost possible. Like I can feel wings just waiting beneath layers of skin, waiting to tear free and knock over shelves and things and bang into the walls (it's a rather crowded corner that I'm sitting in) and be free.

For all my muddy earthen soul and watery emotions, I've always wanted to be a creature of the wind. I'm a mud doll that wishes it were a bird. Or, as someone else might say...

"Whoa, Virginia! Way to make with the identity crisis!"
*chuckle* Just to be cruel, I think I'll name my first-adopted son Orlando. And then I'd name my first daughter Orlando, too. And it will amuse me to no end, and I'll force them to read the book, and they'll cry.

Right, that's it, I need more sleep. *giggle* But I could call the boy Lando a la Star Wars and I could call the girl Orla, a la Crono Cross, and- oh, dear, that would just be bad, wouldn't it? I'd better get off this train of thought before it crashes or explodes or something and Bruce Willis has to come and rescue me. Because I'd much rather have Bruce Willis rescue me than Mel Gibson- what was Shyamalan thinking? Not that I won't see Signs anyway, but I really just don't like Mel Gibson that much. (And this is just going to get me even more weird search engine queries. I mean, damn it people! You'll find no porn involving nuns around here! And I'd beat Hayden Christiansen to death with his own bleeding stump of a hand if he dared show his face on my blog! So stop looking for him!)