Mmm... fresh and fruity. That's how someone described me today, and I kinda liked it.

These pretzels are making me thirsty!

So I was somehow convinced by a co-worker to join myspace. For some stupid reason I decided I'd look at my school and see if there was anyone I remembered. And... well... I was reminded of just how much I hated high school. It really was just a truly awkward time for me and I'm so glad it's over. I can't imagine high school being the glory years. If that's the case, I'm in for one rough life.

I haven't been posting much because the new format still confuses me. I fail the internet.

My cats have this new thing... they keep torturing and killing small animals (field mice, lizards, etc). My oldest (and most emotionally disturbed) cat is the ringleader. She'll bring her find into my room in the middle of the night, cry until I get up and acknowledge her as the huntress she is, and then the bodies are usually gone in the morning. However, I sometimes find the lower half of said creature laying around on the floor. Apparently tails and bowels aren't quite as tasty as the rest of the body. Today my youngest cat (I have two) had a lizard that she found and was batting around the kitchen floor. Have you ever seen a half dead lizard sliding across a tile floor? I have to admit that I'd find it quite fun if I were a cat. Yeah, I know it means they love me. But that doesn't make it any less stomach-churning.

I have to say that as a Jayhawk for life, I am loving Sophie's set

tired.frustrated.restless.tense.anxious.naive.irresponsible.hot.mindless.
Yep... that's right.

I think there must be something wrong with being my age and still wishing I could move back in with my mom but I can't put my finger on what it is just now.

I feel lonely because I can't grow a garden and there are no summer bugs to keep me company. No cicadas, no crickets, no bullfrogs. Only the sounds of erosion.

I don't think I like this whole "my top 5 friends" thing. Is this myspace? Maybe it's just because I don't have 5 sg friends that I talk to on the regular.

Wow. I should get some sleep.

This whole working thing is really getting in the way of my drinking.

Someone I know once made that comment. He was being serious, which I find a bit sad and a whole lot humorous. He was also prone to living in rented storage sheds, "borrowing" (air quotes for that... it meant pawning) other people's DVDs, peeking into bedroom windows, and leaving a funny smell on the couch. As an added bonus, he wouldn't hesitate to smoke the last scrapings of your weed (and your resin) while you were at work. But quite frankly he could hold one hell of a conversation on just about any subject and he was a pretty interesting guy to hang out with. Almost made up for the times he would use my stove to make tea and leave empty pans (yes, I meant that to be plural) on high heat for 4 or 5 hours.

So Mr. "Lease-Man" Bitchikomie, wherever you are tonight... I salute you!

A Sad Child


You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

Margaret Atwood



Nobody likes a sad clown.