Boy oh boy, I'm specific.
It occurs to me that I probably want to point out that yes, things in this journal do get locked, and I don't automatically friend back, though most who've stuck around for any appreciable length of time will notice that. There's no hard and fast rule about when I do and when I don't, but some sort of pre-existing relationship tends to be a rule, either that or interaction, and it takes a really significant amount of niftiness for me to add someone without either of those. And I have not much spare time these days. I have over 50 recent messages in the inbox waiting for attention of some sort. I don't mind it when people read me, though, as long as there isn't any creepy-stalker thing going on. (To date, I think one LJ person has tripped my alarms on that front, and they're quite tidily banned. And out of a rather intimidatingly-sized Also Friend Of list, that's really not bad, just the one!)
I finally managed to put things in the formerly empty cupboard over the refrigerator. It's a really awkward one to get at, if there's stuff on the top of the refrigerator. I wound up putting the great huge pot in there, the spare tea jar, the glass cake plate, and the container of paper plates up there, all together. I don't use those, any of them, not regularly, and they're all large enough to take up cupboard space that could be used for something more frequently used.
And Lady Malfoy has started sitting near my heart and cooving softly to herself. I have not heard much from Darkside. I wouldn't expect that I would. (Cooving is an onomatopoeic word from a dialect of the chicken language; it refers to the loud worried calls of a hen, especially a broody hen, and especially especially a particularly worried grey mother-hen of my family, named Chickabird.) ... I think it's bedtime. (Oh, no, I've said too much.)