Propping my eyelids open

I went to work yesterday at noon and came home at 3:30 a.m., fifteen and a half total (all at straight time instead of overtime, too, dadgummit, since I was out sick all day Wednesday and half of Thursday). Opening arguments in the Big Trial are today, and so I was typing 'em. And I drew the short straw to be the early Big Trial typist, too, so altogether I got two hours sleep.

*Sigh* I'm too old for this.

I am drinking a cup of double strength mocha, which is helping a little, but not enough. Give me some snogs, or post something to cheer me up. Have a bad headache and am feeling extremely fragile.

Don't make me send out the ice weasels.

Why on earth

isn't anyone trying to get a movie made of the Miles Vorkosigan books starring Peter Dinklage? Well, all right, he's a little too old, but he's almost exactly the right height (he's 4' 5" whereas Miles is 4' 6"). And handsome, and with charisma to burn. And a fine actor.

Of course, he probably wouldn't be interested if anyone sent him the script that was written when Lois originally optioned out the film rights. It was so screamingly terrible that we used to read it aloud in a circle, each person passing it around to the next as soon as he/she burst into gaffaws of horrified laughter (Lois called it her "Springtime for Hitler" script).

But if someone would write a good script . . . wouldn't it be cool.

I should talk with Lois about it.