So as if this couldn’t get any more surreal, today, J. K. Rowling bitched me out, in front of everyone, during brunch, because she thinks this whole Angel blogging is designed to become a new book and then movie series specifically starring Daniel Radcliffe, because I accidentally told her once how I fancy him ever since I had the pleasure of seeing his semi-amazing uncut penis on stage in that horse play in New York, and she feels ownership since she created the original character that made him famous but feels I want to push her out now that the whole series is done and besides, he’s grown hair on his chest (and balls) and really can’t play a young schoolboy anymore anyway.
So I’m trying to quietly explain to her that Daniel and his semi-amazing uncut penis has absolutely nothing to do with this, and that this is about me and not her, but she was several drinks in by that time and there was no reasoning with her, so I finally had to leave.
It has affected the way I eat: I could only eat vegetables for the first several days when all this started. I tried my favorite stress-eating junk food Nachos Supreme last night and thought my stomach was going to get up and leave without me. I needed soup today, and nothing would do except soup, so I made soup and now I feel – balanced I guess is the word. Correct. I feel like I feel I’m supposed to feel right now.
I suddenly need things I’ve never really needed before. I needed a new pillow case with a turtle printed on it. I needed new socks. I needed underwear, but I don’t think I need them anymore. It’s still growing and changing and developing and I’m just following my instincts and feeling fairly confident that I’m doing exactly whatever it is I’m supposed to do.
(Oh, and to the little hottie who is concerned about the care and maintenance of said Angel wings — dude, they’re Angel Wings. No care and maintenance required. They repel dust, dirt, mud, dog poo, shitty people, generalized evil, and most minor demons.)