An entry where I abuse parentheses. Again.

Have I told you guys that Draco has succeeded in creating a Rodney!muse that is more of a mushroom than anything? Like, seriously, he's in the Muse Swamp (and I really should detail a map of the interior of my brain sometimes) and Draco faithfully fed him an overload of coffee (which I drank) and computer games (which I played) and physics (I now know about Schroedinger's theory of superposition, and have a very basic knowledge of quantum theory) and sprouted a fungi that is totally a mushroom with Rodney's head on it. *_* (Sprout!muse says that he grew this way because with the computer games and the coffee overload, everything was warm and dark and wet, and was therefore perfect fungi breeding ground. She's trying to fix Rodney!mushroom!muse as we speak so that he won't be trapped like that. John!ghost!muse {and I say that fondly, because all I get are random flashes of Sheppard, but he hasn't coalesced into an actual mental figure, even though he does kind of want to kick up his feet with Dean!muse and have a beer.} is content with just keeping an eye on Rodney!mushroom!muse while he's stationary.

I managed to keep Rodney!muse away from settling in by drinking citrusy stuff and exercising, and that actually worked until he realized that I wasn't allergic, and he didn't have to suffer any ill affects from what I was doing and picked a spot to sprout. So now I get yelled at regularly, because I am--horror of horrors--a writer.

(Also, have I ever told anyone that once upon a time, when we were deciding study paths in high school, I wanted to be an astronomer? I had a telescope and I was part of the astronomy club and I was even set up to be in physics before I realized that math kicked my ass beyond any sort of reason. When I couldn't be an astronomer, I decided to be a marine biologist. I actually love science a lot. But everyone told me that I couldn't do it. I just didn't have a brain for numbers. I settled on being a writer because it was easy. Now, I think I've just settled.)

And so now, Rodney!mushroom!muse is making me drink more coffee now than I have in years, he mocks the way I think with disturbing regularity, and now. Now? He's making me play Minesweeper.

Let it be known now that I hate that game. I hate it. And I hate it even more now when I have someone yelling 'Do you just flail about with your mouse and hope you'll get lucky?' and 'Do you have an allergy to counting?' and 'Oh, god, forget about Ford--your fail needs an algorithm just so I can understand you!' and 'Couldn't my host be a hot blond? Or at least intelligent?'

So, I played upwards of probably 60 games. And won 1. We were so astounded we thought for a moment about whether we should attempt that miracle again, or call it a night.

I called it a night.

I'm completely insane.

In better news, I apparently have an interview on Monday. Who knew people were actually looking at my resume?

ETA: All of this was brought on by the fact that I read the word 'resent' and pronounced it as 're-sent.' *sigh*