*pathetic whimper*

[trinityofone]

I hate today today. I am not going to go into the reasons I hate today today—let me just say that they are copious. Legion, even. They involve such fun things as random, completely out-of-the-blue stomach flu/food poisoning/who knows the fuck what, and going to Boots to get something to help ease said who knows the fuck what, and forgetting your wallet, and having to go all the way back home and do it again. TODAY IS NOT MY FRIEND.

So please: if you have something nice to tell me? Something fun to show me? Something shiny to distract me with? Today would be an excellent day to whip it out. I really, really, really need distraction; if I could, I would curl up in a ball and do nothing, but my brain gets bored even when my body is wasted. Please occupy it. Or else I think I'm going to start having to poke through siriaeve's SG-1 DVDs again.

Please to bring the amusement and the porn. Thank you.

ETA: Aww, fuck it. I want to be writing. Gimme drabble prompts--SGA only, please.

Comments

Poetry

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

John never had a death wish. He wanted to live. But he understood his death might be necessary, so he wanted to die as he’d lived: soaring. So close to heaven they’d have to take him in.

He dies in his sleep at 92: not with a bang, but no whimper, either. Slow and gentle, yes, gentle into that good night, and if he were alive to say it, he’d tell them it no longer seemed like such a bad thing.

Letting go of life like he let go the ground, and nothing but sun and sky to greet him.

Re: Poetry

[wychwood]

Oh, that's just beautiful. And I love all the other poem references, too (at least the ones I got).

Awwww. John.

Re: Poetry

[eliade.livejournal.com]

God, 92--THANK YOU! *sigh* I don't know if I can read another story where John (or Rodney for that matter) dies an early death. So painful. And just not emotionally enjoyable, even when I'm recognizing how well-written something is. :-/