don't bother. i won't die of deception.

Sometimes I think my blog serves as nothing more than evidence of my moodiness. I'm just glad that it's interesting enough to keep the three of you coming back for more.

one two three four tell me that you love me more

A mouring dove hatched a couple of eggs on my balcony and the babies flew away today. (I'm not being metaphorical. It's actually just a statement.)

My sister is getting married in a few days. I never understood why people cry at weddings, but I tear up when I think about it. My sister is obviously the person I've spent the most time with in my life. We were always close, and even though we have been talking more lately than we have in a few years, it just seems like some sort of loss to know she's going to be married. Married people are different. She won't have the same last name anymore. She'll be part of her own newly-defined family. Once you're married, your family is another set of people. You get older, you have kids, you start to call your family the people who live under your roof. Except I get older, and I am more alone all the time. I'll never have that "family." I'm a sad, weird, slightly-pathetic introvert who can't even say any of this stuff out loud. My favorite friend is half-way across the world and just got engaged. The best friend I have in the city doesn't need me nearly as much as I need him. And I try to make new friends or date and most of the time can't figure out exactly which category someone is trying to fit me into, though usually it is neither. And the worst part is that I don't blame them. So welcome to the pity party-boat. Get off while you still can.

i'm half alive but i feel mostly dead.

Do you sense it, dear readers? It's a beautiful summer day outside and I have a brand-new reader. Cookies and punch! Can everyone give Ms. New Reader a nice warm welcome? You may remember her from one of my first-ever posts as a wonderful character that goes by the likes of Nurse Kill. In case you don't remember the particular post, let me refresh your memory as so. I had a little problem with obsessing over phrases that might sound more demented coming from a nurse with her particular last name, par example: "Hello, Little Jimmy. My name is Nurse Kill. Your mommy was very sick when she came into the hospital." I'll let you finish that conversation in your own heads, but it doesn't bode well for Little Jimmy.

I'm freezing, I'm starving, I'm bleeding to death. Everything's fine.

Dear readers, I do not wish to alert you, but your beloved blogger has fallen ill. Some say it's just a mild summer cold, but in this age of tuberculosis and smallpox, one cannot be too careful!

My classes start back on Wednesday. Nothing too difficult this summer--just a drole computer class and sociology. I've been looking for a proctor to take the classes for me, but nothing yet. The search continues.

Who you callin' a cootie queen, you lint licker? (my favorite chewing gum commercial)

Take care, readers! Until next time, be safe, be mobile, and--most of all--be able!

on the surface simplicity

Could everyone who reads this please make me one promise: see Bjork live. Whether you like her or not. I realize she doesn't tour very often, so even if you have to go to Iceland and knock on her door and hand her a check and ask her to sing a little ditty for you, do so. Of course, I completely adore her, so you may not care about my opinion. But just listen to this objective bystander: "Bjork is amazing. Long live Bjork." See. I told you.

they say I'm plump but I throw up all the time

I finished my second semester of my return to school a couple days ago. I'm on vacation from work next week, and I am doing my job shadowing thing with an embalmer. I can't wait. And then I'm going to see Bjork in Chicago (she's performing in Chicago, not the musical Chicago--though wouldn't that be fun?). She's pretty much my favorite person in the whole world, so obviously, more excitement. Let the happiness ensue!

the sky was made of amethyst and the stars look just like little fish

I was reading a story in Augusten Burroughs' Magical Thinking today. It's a wonderful little story where he's been dating someone for a few weeks and has quickly fallen in love but is obsessed with trying to figure out how the other guy feels about him. And there's this really wonderful line or two: "I don't want to know what my feelings are until I know what his are. Somehow I know this can't be right." I hate sounding like one of those people who reads something or hears something and suddenly thinks THAT'S SO ME but it happened. Everybody probably feels that way though. Just let me say, this once, that I feel it more. Why be so afraid of feelings and even hide them and suppress them because of insecurity? (As I reread that sentence, suddenly it seems like an okay excuse...) What if the other person is doing the same thing? Are we all equally crazy?

hair's too long and in your eyes, your lips a perfect suck-me size

Not a very productive day today. But I got up at 9:00 and gave myself a haircut. I guess that can be of note. Did some painting. Staved off my Mountain Dew craving. What more do you want from me?


There is nothing to fear but fear itself. But it can really get you, so watch out.

that i would be good even if I gain 10 pounds

I have to find a mortuary to do some observations in. Before I take any real mortuary classes, apparently I'm supposed to find out if I'm going to pass out or stab myself with dirty needles and have someone "official" swear that in their professional opinion, i won't.

On a lighter note, this semester is almost over and I've done pretty well, considering my life of debauchery and constant rutting.

these stories don't mean anything if I've got no one to tell them to

I haven't had a Mountain Dew in almost 2 days. I would stay away from me if I were you.