it's 11:35 p.m., on 2001-06-20 - sheila.

~

Moderately exciting news for me, even if it's not for you-- I'm talking to Sheila on AIM.

And, okay, part of me is grinning at the Oz conversation, about how he's emotionally detached, and nodding along and having this intelligent (semi, on my end) conversation. And the other half of me (oh, shut up, more than half) is wracking my brain to remember how to talk to people that I have a rampant crush on, and think of something witty to say that isn't going to have her just roll her eyes.

I'm not out to impress people, but it'd be nice if they were mildly interested. *g*

So, I'm gazing in adoration at Sheila/alternately freaking out that I'm going to ruin a first impression that I care about quite a lot (hell, if I were talking to, like, Val Jones for the first time, I'd probably be worse, but I can't think of anyone else I admire more...) I'm also sitting here and *not* listening to REM, because while I still love it, I think I've overdosed a bit. I'm in silence instead.

And it's fucking hot here.

Spike and Dawn, maybe, in New Mexico with King Mob. Drinking corona lites with lime and trail dust in it; Dawn learning how to shoot a gun. Spike saying, 'I never held with guns, in my day, but they're bloody useful now'... Robin muttering to KM, 'what did Lennon tell you this time?'

'Oh, I didn't bother with Lennon. Called up a few old ghosts, and talked to her mom-- seemed okay with the idea.'

Robin would raise an eyebrow. 'Mom?'

'Oh, she kicked it a little while ago.'

Robin would cluck. 'poor thing.'

KM would shrug. 'Yeah. We don't have to put her through the ringer, like Jack. She's already been.'

~*~

Mel just said, 'he's the man with the fur on. He's the coolest. We all need a little Oz in our lives.'

And I say, amen, baby.

~

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