January 6th, 2002


(no subject)

Last night : venison stew makes me ill, I get pissy waiting around for Chad becuase of a misunderstanding on the time he'd take at that store, it's resolved, sleep around 4 ish feeling verra loved.

This morning: woke up about 10.
Found that winbrick sent me an exe instead of the zip.
found that it still didn't work.
Found that I have no problem saying that I'm very not gaddamned pleased.
just now found out that the issue is that it's over 1mb and insanity has a fucking cap. it only transfered 850K...
gonna have to find someone to have it sent to so that they can then transfer it to me with icq or aim or... something.

very boring day, tried to start reading cryptonomicon again and realize why I stopped.
It's boring as watching old people waltz.
well, okay.. that would be mildly interesting in comparison. there's at least be the possibility of someone slipping and breaking a hip or a mixed up teeth mishap.

talked to my sweets.
did some trash talking on a list.
wondered what the hell happened to Tim and wether or not he's gotten 5 chickies pregnant yet (when you get 5 at the same time, you get an engraved zippo, ya know....)

talked to my sweets.

and then the fog descended.
and that's why this post is written this way.
That's why this is the only way I can write.
short and choppy.
because that's how long I can pay attention, lil soldier.
that's all it is.

and I haven't had anything stronger than ibuprophen in a few weeks.

some people would pay a lot to feel this way.
but when it's unbidden...


(no subject)

too foggy
for phone calls.
this is when I need to write

just let it come out however it likes and stop worrying about my prissy little structuring of things so they sound like my voice.
why does it always sound like my voice.

(no subject)

thinking about taking a lot of caffeine pills and metabolife at 2 am...
normal behavior ?
psychotic, self destructive tendencies?

the fact that I will instead call Chad and risk boring him to death when I zone off AGAIN....
proof not of my maturity.
but of my age.

and that makes all the difference in the world.

(no subject)

Check out my cat.
My cat with the horrible name.
My sister's fault.
She named him, then moved.
He somehow became mine. Not my choice. He just picked me. Not a hard choice.
I let him sleep in my bed, I indulge him when he's feeling very needy, I talk back to him and play with him and pet him when my hands are otherwise idle.

My reward is him drooling on me in the wee hours. and a little bit of warmth in an otherwise cold bed.