nebel

I sometimes wonder about my writing...like why I do it or why I can't stop sometimes...it just rumbles around like giants playing jumprope and singing miss mary mac.

I just wish I knew what to do with myself...

So maddy there's this boy, right? I saw him the other day on the bus. he had this "look" about him that made me think of you...You met while he was trying to stick a Nintendo cartridge into the 3 1/2" disc drive, and then when it didn't work, he went to get the supervisor. he bought you pineapple shapped chocolates and serenaded you with a MIDI-compatible drum pad. later you had dinner by the soft glow of an active-matrix LCD panel. it even got serious, and you considered a set of his 'n' her system unit keys...but found out he was acctually a drug dealer...drug dealers and software developers are basically the same anyway...they both refer to their clients as "users" and their products cause unhealthy addictions...so eventually his habit got in the way of your relationship and you discided to call it quits.i'm sorry...but I always thought he was a nerd anyway.
a nerd in a bad way, that is.

tomorrow I have to drudge through the cold AGAIN.....boo.somebody should really do something.

yikes.

I chated with this guy that works at the good will. first we talked about the weather, the economy, then the time he came back to his apartment to find the whole building blocked off with police tape. Apparently a 43 year old woman had thrown herself off from the top floor, after having a dispute with her lover. She said she was going to the vending machines when she jumped and landed on the exercise equipment 12 stories down. Months later, once the building was repaired and the exercise room spruced up, he was walking down the hall when he saw the pedals of one of those exercise bikes moving, with no one on it. just slowly going around and around. It was 2 in the morning and not a soul was in sight. He just laughed and said that the right apartment will come to me. He is afraid of computers.

que the man whos clothes smell like urine.you know if you wore those little black glasses, you know those little black things? little black glasses and, and red lipstick..oh, you'd be the most beautiful woman. My throat sounds werid, but that doesn't mean that I am going to kill myself, you know? yeah, black glasses and red lipstick.

mmm.it makes me think of that man...you know the one...the one who wrote purple rain, and prince stole it from him. the man who only drinks socially. which means if you drink, so-shall-I. he wanted to marry me. I still think of him from time to time. I wonder where he is and what he is doing right at this moment. This ain't mcdonalds, but you gotta have fries with that shake.

I should feel good, but I am tired and hurt and unfulfilled. no matter what happens. I want to wake up dancing tomorrow, with nothing but a pair of pink slippers on my floor and have all my presents wrapped and waiting. someone will call and tell me all the things I want to hear but never have the guts to say them. I will be embrassed and have good smelling things to eat and a person to share it all with.

gimmie love.
or I'll take it.