-- Guess the eff what, mothereffers?!  I am pumped.  So, let’s get the bad news outta the way first…the trip for Europe that I was taking in the spring is a bust.  Yeah, I was incredibly looking forward to it, yadda yadda.  Something’s come up, though, that morphs it from a dismal amount of suckage and fuckage to a over the top amount of radness that is making me speak like a frat boy who’s had too much beer.  I’m going to get to go see Rachel (one of my best friends that lives in Chicago).  She is pretty much one of the coolest people I’ve ever met, and we’re doing it right this time.  We had the most incredible time last summer when I visited, but this time, I’ve got some money to play with…the thing is that I can go to Chicago for way cheaper than Europe (obviously, right?), and I will still have money left to both play with in Chicago (good eats, good treats, etc.) and put into savings for another trip I want to take (the Gulf in April/May possibly, if I can figure out if someone wants to do the driving to the beach…just an extended weekend…Gulf Shores isn’t that far away, and even though it’s touristy at least there’s the beach and we don’t spend as much time in car.).  The upcoming trip to Chicago is going to probably be an extended weekend trip too (I’ll fly), and I’m hoping to get it planned for sometime this month or at the latest, the beginning of March.  We really want to see this art show before it ends.  I am mad about dioramas, and if you click on photos on the site, these look nothing short of incredible.  Plus, top secret Teratoma Club meeting! 

 --Every once in awhile, you old pals know these times all too well (in fact, you can usually tell when I’ve stopped taking it within a few days), I do this bit called let’s see if I’m still really crazy.  It involves being stubborn as fuck about taking meds essentially, but I’ll break it down in a hot minute. 

First, I hate being a slave to the bottle.  I start stubbornly wishing I were free of all neuroses, and I generally stop taking my paxil for a couple of weeks.  I do it for sexual reasons as well, namely that paxil is a major buzzkill, and when I go off it, I GET OFF it.  During those two weeks, I could fuck anything that stood still enough for two seconds, I swear to Moses.  Why is this such a trip?  My ob-gyn has told me repeatedly, come in, and I’ll put you on something that doesn’t kick the sex drive.  Maybe I partially steer clear of doing that because I’m seriously afraid that if I go off it permanently, I may delve into the realm of sexual predator and straight up start humping legs like a dog in heat. 

But then, after a token two weeks, I also start to seriously go through withdrawal symptoms (paxil is defiantly tough about giving up its grip.  I typically end up sobbing in bathrooms, hating the general public, and eventually, something like an explosion in my microwave makes me have a grand maul meltdown).  Anyway, today I stood in front of the microwave watching noodles and shit all over in this grand funk of fucking mess all over the place, and I started breathing like a laboring woman.  I could feel the rage whispering up the sides of my neck, but I planted one foot firmly and thought, “Okay, you can get through this.”  People don’t understand how much my generalized anxiety can send me over the edge.  I detest grocery shopping.  There are too many choices.  I fucking want one fucking bottle of salad dressing not a row of five hundred.  I can’t take it.  I can’t take the fact that I’m supposed to somehow figure out how to plan for a week’s worth of meals, and I’m not a fortune teller, how do I figure out what I want next Saturday night?  I know, it’s laughable, but I have straight up sat down and bawled like a baby over something as small as that before.

 So, again, I’ll suck it up, start taking my meds, remind myself that I’m still chemically imbalanced, and the personal hand jobs were amazing the last few days… Gloria Gaynor & I will survive, but for fuck’s sakes, life. 

--I have to make a batch of cupcakes for Ms. Kim Gatewood tomorrow, and Mama wants me to make a batch for a party they’re having in her office.  I fuck up a lot of cooking, but I can half assed bakes and everyone knows I can make the hell out of some cupcakes.  I can’t wait until NSO time again so we can have cupcake Wednesdays in our office again.  I made them pretty much every Wednesday last summer. 

--Not only did I somehow survive the microwave explosion fiasco, but I also rearranged the living room furniture by myself.  At one point, I looked around, had two couches blocking pretty much the whole room off and was having to crawl over them to move them inch by inch.  I used quite a few solid “motherfucker”s, wished I had a pack of smokes for the first time in months (I could’ve just taken a break had a few and gone back in to tackle problem).  Anyway, yeah, “I’m going crazy.  I’m losing sleep.  I’m in too far, I’m in way too deep.”  Thanks, Cheap Trick. 

--Woke up in a positive funk this morning which is refreshing, especially as I had a case of MILITANT PMS all last week.  If I decided I hated you at any point, and I told you to eat a dick, apologies.  As my stepgrandpa (RIP) would say, “You’ve got your ovaries in your mouth.” 

--You know what I would do with you if my finances weren’t an issue right now?  I’d go stay in a cheap little run down (but clean) motel.  Teeny tiny cabin-ish motel in old Hardy town.  We’d fleamarket, get milkshakes at the old fountain shop, and smoke and watch the tube in bed together at night.  Maybe it’d be better in summer though…We go to the dam & feed the ducks & lay out in the park area and read on a quilt and get a bit sunburn and then screw…when it’s nice when you’re a little feverish from sunburn.  That’s what we’d do.  Or, if we were friends, all but minus the screwing, but we might drink icy peach schnapps and paint our fingers & toes instead & flirt with the boys of town. 

--Remember last year when I promised I would start recycling, and then I failed miserably after making no after at all?  Yeah, well, I’ve got my recycling bag going and stuff is actually in it this time.  Get with the program, Cash. 

--Valentine’s Day is rapidly approaching, and I’m so excited.  Fuck off, haters.  I get so sick of hearing the tried & true hipster rant, “Omg, it’s a corporate sponsored blah blah I can show appreciation for someone I love on any day.”  First of all, don’t make it corporate.  Make something for someone you care about.  Second of all, stop being a hater, you cynical bastards.  What is wrong with expressing love?  It doesn’t have to be significant other.  Try celebrating with friends, pets, etc.  Also, duh you can express appreciation any day, but there’s nothing wrong with an extra special day.  It doesn’t’ mean you have to go pay for cards, diamonds, flowers.  Made things are more fun anyway.  Finally, WHAT IS WRONG WITH EXPRESSING LOVE? 

--With school being a top priority this year, it seems as if I have less and less time for socialization.  That’s why I’m so excited to get a date with Ms. Dietz on Tuesday night.  If you are interested in hanging out, let me know, and I’ll definitely try to find an opportunity to work in a little one on one lover time.  Coffee, beer, crafting, or films are all things I’m interested in, and I will try to accommodate time for with you, little special one (whoever you may be).  Also, there’s this antique mall that I’m dying to revisit behind Walgreens (for browsing purposes).  Particularly, cheap things/dates, please, as my finances are severely hurting at the moment.  Or you can pay, and I’ll put out or something.

--The seriousness of my recent craving for sushi cannot be underestimated. 

--I have to admit, I was a little scared about having a new boss but so far, I’m loving her.  She wants to utilize my talents, people skillz, which I am really excited about it.  She said, “You obviously have quite the gift with people, and I think we need to capitalize on that.”  Honey, I’m not this charming for nothing, let’s get to it.  I’m really excited for the decoration she wants to take & is planning on developing.  Plus, she sort of let her hair down with us a bit more by the end of the week, and it’s working.  I can’t lie; I was really worried that she’d say something about my wardrobe.  I can dress if there’s an important event, but day to day, I’m definitely more quirky casual…but when I brought it up, “I don’t want you to think I’m a schlub or anything,” she seemed shocked that I’d even mentioned it.  She only recommended wearing my name tag as I look young.  I can roll with this.  I am generally, horrible to as a feminist, but much better with working for men.  She seems to be pretty great though! 

o My classes have been going great, particularly my US Civil Rights class.  We read W.E.B. Du Bois’ The Souls of Black Folk and discussed it today.  Three of us kept much of the discussion going until Dr. Jones-Branch finally said, “Can someone other than Ms. Cash, Mr. Haneke, and Mr. Williams add to the conversation?”  It was funny hearing my name in the group as I never spoke up in class years ago.  I always wanted to, but somehow never pushed myself.  Finally, the whole class began to chime in, and we really tore into it.  I have to say it was one of the most rewarding discussions that I’ve ever had because everyone offered up a different take, and there weren’t any pauses once we got going.  I can’t wait to read the autobiography of Malcolm X. 

o I wrote something for our newsletter that will go out at work in February, and I’ve gotten quite a few compliments on it which is nice.  It’s rewarding to be praised for something that I really really enjoy doing.  I sometimes wish I would’ve stuck out my English b.a.  Then again, I’m always up for attempting freelance when I actually apply my lazy sod ass to it.  There are other things that I’ve got in the works for the newsletter, but they’re a little more corny and honestly, I feel a tad bit like I’m selling my soul when I do those.  I can do them fucking great though, and you know why?  Because for most of my life, I’ve ridiculed and detested the whole tongue in cheek corporate slap on the ass humor.  It’s entirely too hokey and appropriate for me. 

o My best friend, Bee, & her Mister finally had their little Olivia.  She is so precious and cute, and man, I won’t say it if I think your baby isn’t.  Believe me, I’ve seen some ugly babies, but her complexion is so sweet.  She has little fuzzy hair, and that bow was enough to send me over the edge.  She looks like Lauren to me.  She has this sweet cupidesque face, and these little chubby cheeks and I think she may be the softest little person I’ve ever seen.  I call her “my little baked potato” affectionately.  She reminds me of a little scoop of sweet.  I am so happy for them. 

o Somehow I’ve lost another 5 lbs. this week which whatever, works for me.  Hopefully I have a tapeworm or something. 

o Man, what is it with breast feeders?  That group is more militant than anyone I’ve ever met.  I get you, breast feeders, it’s natural.  It’s healthy.  There’s a bond, but I’m still going to bottle feed if I ever have kids.  Guess what?  I’m a militant bottle feeder.  A) breast feeding disturbs me.  It reminds me of a dog.  Just kick over on your side, and let the little beasts saddle up to you (everyone says I’ll change my mind, but no fucking way).  I’m disturbed by it.  Also, B)  You can force your husband to help a lot more, if you get up in the middle of the night.  Sorry, dude.  Your turn.  I’ve said all this to some of the militant breast feeders in my life, but those women don’t play.  “It’s healthier for the baby; don’t you care about their health?!”  That’s what added vitamins & minerals in formula are for, mothereffers.   

o Speaking of women’s issues, man, I have had PMS like a sonovabitch this week.  Lookout world; I will annihilate you.  I about ate out the eyeballs of some jackass this week that wanted to tango.  I still adore him, but he was briefly entitled to some Osborne Cox rants from me.  Gratuitous uses of the word fuck.  Hi, nice to meetcha. 

o I will say this about the inauguration, because everything else has already been said much more eloquently than I could ever say it, but Aretha Franklin’s hat rocked my world.  I loved it.  It was perfect, and also, can that bitch wail or what?  It gave me chillz.  Also, Beyonce’s version of “At Last”, and the nuzzling Obama’s made my little heart flutter in a typical ohhh-loveeeee 6^th grade girl mode.  The Obama’s are love.

Monday was my first day back in school after something like five years, and it was intensely surreal.  The room looked exactly the same as then, and I am taking an instructor I had during that time.  I had to shake my head when walking out of the room and remind myself that it wasn’t then.  I had to force my legs to remember that I wasn’t headed to the Wig to meet up with any of them.  I had to keep my hand from rifling through my purse for a cigarette since I quit smoking around eight months ago.  I wonder if I went back to the building that bred days and days of hell at Pocahontas High School if I would still feel the crushing demand of uniformity that comes from adolescence.  If I would be all nerves and desperation and menacing glares and clenched fists, backed into the corner by small town judgment and my own stubborn condemnation of routine and intellectual poverty in all forms, little to no empathy.  Myself as small minded then as I thought them.  I don’t have time for much socialization during the beginning because I am as dedicated to my studies as I was then to “true living.”  I constantly skipped classes, especially if I had other ideas in mind.  I would, on the way to class, ask myself, “If this were your last day on earth, would you rather have sat in class, or gone to the library to lay in an aisle and read up on Salinger?”  Salinger always won.  I would curl up in an aisle on the fifth floor, where fewer people frequented, and lay between the books with my head resting on my bookbag.  I read almost the whole of Anais Nin’s diaries this way during my sophomore year.  I spent the majority of this weekend studying, never once opening my current “pleasure book” about the beginnings of spiritualism. 

I did have a few pleasant indulgences this week, lest you think I am all hum-drum.  The first came in the way of spending minutes upon minutes clinging to the news story of Sully and the aircraft landed in the river.  I think it came at an opportune time, as never before does the world need a hero and an all survived story as badly as it does now.  I marveled about the calm of the people, and I joined in an instant adoration of a stranger, an older gentleman with white hair and soft eyes in a picture, looking idealistic, intelligent, and humble.  I didn’t know the world still made this class of Americans, and I sometimes feel as if I only read about them in books anymore.  It was refreshing, and I swallowed a lump and raised a prayer that, at last, something for a bit of encouragement to us all, an aspiration as well. 

Then, a dear friend of mine, Shanette, recently returned from a trip to Pakistan brought me wonderful little souvenirs:  a lovely bag with embroidery & sequins & tassles, and then a bit of foreign candy!  Anyone that knows me, knows that I have a passion for foreign candies.  I have bought black market illegal kindereggs more times than I care to mention, and I could easily eat my weight in Galaxy bars, I imagine.  Mama’s boys, Dr. Howard, Glen, & Cagri are constantly bringing back surprises for me from their trips.  Turkish delights are showered upon me often enough that I have left trails of powdered sugar on my shirts & around my desk.  These treats from Shanette were some of the best I’ve had yet.  They came in a box that said “Umm-e-Shireen”, and they tasted flaky and sweet and are apparently “made with pure desi ghee” (I believe this is an Indian milk product…true or false????).  I would love to order some more eventually.  Every other country in the world has better candy than we do, but friends of mine insist I just think so because it’s more of a rare treat.  Still, I don’t think I could get tired of eating French macarons every day. 

Finally, I know I must be close to getting old.  I got text messaging after swearing off it for the last several years.  I am now hunting & pecking my way through slow messages & modernity.  I haven’t found anything that has to be said, or is ever something of utmost importance or epiphanies that have been exchanged in this way, but damn if it isn’t fun to still say hello.  Also contributing to my fear of encroaching age is my as of late indulgence of root beer floats in bed while listening to late night jazz are dangerously close to being better than sex. 

My beautiful little jeweled green & yellow parakeet, singing with me on Sunday afternoons. 

Since I know about tailors now, I will have my red dress taken in soon.  My red dress I wore in Lexington, Kentucky during the summer.  When I stood in front of the hotel, and the dapper man with steel gray hair & ice blue eyes told my grandmother I was beautiful.  Held his warm hand on my bare neck & shoulder.  My grandmother reminded him of his concrete feet, when she said with reprimand, “Why she’s only twenty-five!”  My flowing red dress that slides between my ankles, and makes me junt my nose into the air aristocratically.  

My cousin, Alexis, is one of the Stephens’ girls in charge of the senior fashion show this year, and I can’t wait to visit Columbia again.  It will be her twenty-first birthday too.  Columbia is a wonderful town to visit.  I bought the most beautiful bag there last year.  There are lots of boutiques & a nice stationary shop. 

I want to go to a hockey game this year.  I went to several as a child in St. Louis, and I remember the lovely cold feeling of the air around the rink.  Hockey is exciting.  It’s the only sport I can see that would ever be worth a damn to follow.  All the others bore me stupid.  I could learn to love hockey, I think.  Not like baseball, where the only benefit, like R says, is the beer.  I’m not sitting there for 9 innings in a hundred degree weather, and the sports gods know this, and that is why they get you soused while you’re watching the game.  The nachos are good too, and the snocones.  That’s the only way, I’ll get suckered into a game like that.  Good junk food & cold beer. 

I have a date with my favorite gay boyfriend this week, and I am so excited.  We are going to possibly look into yoga classes this semester too.  We’re going to run away to the city when we both graduate and find our people.  I am disgusted with the normalcy and predictability of Jonesboro more and more.  I will suffocate if I stay.  I need a city that recognizes and embraces eccentricities and heart. 

Can you believe in a few days we'll be inagurating our first African American president?  I will probably cry. 

o Oh, hi guys, guess what?!  I am taking a second class this semester.  It’s online, and guess what it’s called?  Plagues and Pestilence.  You know the crazy thing about that class?  A couple of months ago, I got a book called The Great Mortality, and it’s one required for the class too.  I’ve already read it, but I definitely don’t mind rereading it.  Plagues fascinate me.  It’s about all sorts of modern plagues that could occur too.  I’ve heard it’s a bit of a tough class which excites me too.  I’m also seriously considering going to school in Mountain Home, after I finish my degree, to become a mortician.  I’m going to start contacting morticians in the community to see if I can shadow them, etc.  I think that there is need for a great respect for the dead, and I’ve always been interested in this as a career.  I’m also looking into Heritage Studies as a possibility for a future career path.  I could get my masters in Public History, and then go on to get my doctorate in Heritage Studies (they have both of these programs at ASU).  I just know that Dr. Howard discussed my 10 year plan with me yesterday, and I told him, “10 year plans scare me.  I’m lucky if I even have a five year plan.  I’m a day to day sort of girl.”  Maybe part of growing up, for me, is developing a plan.  Those are just some options I’m considering, but first I guess I should just finish my bachelors. 

o A dear friend of mine brought me back chiclets (Canel’s) from his trips, and he told me a charming story of how, across the border, the Mexican children would sell them for a quarter, calling out, “Chicletas!  Chicletas!”  That story was worth as much to me as the gum which is great too.  The violet flavor is wonderful.  It tastes exactly like you’d think eating a flower should taste (which in my mind is sweet & slightly feminine). 

o The only thing I watch on tv anymore is the news.  Also today I found the online stream of NPR so that I can listen at work.  Morning edition is one of my favorite things. 

o I survived the first week back at work quite nicely.  I work with a lot of fucking good people.  They were so kind about telling me that they missed me, and I had a gross amount of the best hugs ever.  The encouragement I have received about going back to school has not gone unnoticed.  The faith that they have in me pushes me to “do right” by them.  I am doubly excited for next week when I will be reunited with my students. 

o I met this girl this week who is newly relocated from the Caribbean islands, and I love her accent.  She is 25, and her husband is a physician.  I’m not sure why they moved here, but I’ve spoken with her twice now.  She’s lovely, nervous about getting into school again too, and ragingly beautiful.  I am trying to adopt her into friendship, and she seems willing. 

o Oh Mother Moses, did I accidentally stumble into a makeup goldmine with a recent purchase from Macy’s or what?  Have you tried the Benefit Cheek & Lip Color called Rush Hour?  It works amazing on me.  Amazing.  I have that just fucked glow all the time.  It works great on fair skin.   Five effing stars.

o I’m so excited!  So excited!  I’m officially enrolled for this semester for US Civil Rights Movement with Dr. Jones-Branch who is one of my absolute favorite professors.  Oh, I’m mad about her.  Its fate because the other day I went to look through the books offered for classes in the bookstore (I’m a nerd; sometimes they suggest phenomenal novels.  I used to be an English major), and I bought the biography of Malcolm X before I even know what class it was for/if I was going back to school, etc.  Anyway, I started reading it last night, and Dr. Jones told me today it was for her class.  I may see what other online courses look good, but I’m so fucking excited to get back in classes.  I can write the best papers, and I just know I’m going to be one of those obnoxious older people that never shut the hell up now.  I remember when I was 18, and they’d be discussing things/asking questions with the professor, and I’d think just shut the hell up, so we can get out of here!  I’m totally going to be one of those fuckwits now.  For your sake, I hope you’re not in my class.

o Oh man, Lost (spoiler alert!) is getting so good, I can’t take it, but I’m so pissed at Michael.  I don’t like him anymore since he just killed Ana Lucia and Libby in the last episode I watched.  First of all, Ana Lucia was my hero.  She was misunderstood, looked the best in the jungle (bitch was hot.  If I ever see a girl that looks like Ana Lucia, I’m becoming a full fledged lesbian), and didn’t get on my nerves like Kate.  Kate pisses me off when she jerks Sawyer & Jack back and forth too.  I hate women like that.  Ana had demons.  I like a girl with demons.  Also, I liked that the fat person of the show (Hurley) finally got a cute chick.  Fat people never get any love on t.v., and if they do, it’s only with other fat people.  Fuck you, Michael, now Hurley is all alone again.  This show takes it out of me. 

o I love NPR Morning Edition.  It’s the only thing I’ll listen to while getting ready in the morning now. 

o I went back to work yesterday, for the first time in ages, and it felt nice.  I touched based with Miss Australia and the Leadership crew, and then Mama’s office.  I went searching for Patience, but their office was empty.  She stopped in to see me in the afternoon, and after that, Craig came by.  I missed everyone.  It was nice.  We have a new girl who is from South Africa and has this lovely accent, and she’s just amazing.  Wonderful even.  If I had to lose Bee, at least they picked someone that is pretty nice.  She laughs at my jokes, she has a fiendish addiction to diet coke with cherry, and we’ve already discussed pets and the dating pool (or lack thereof).  Hi, nice to meet you.  Let me know your life’s history.  She has some wonderful ideas, and while she’ll never fill my Bee hollow hole in my heart (gossiping over the broken printer, gossiping over the jammed copier, gossiping while we attempted to sort out labels on the phone, and oh my, fun lunches with Bee, Mister, & Mama), she isn’t half-bad.  The day was pretty good too considering that I fucking overslept in the morning.  I made it to work on time.  Jeeze, I’ve been off for ages, and my first day back I overslept.  Papa called to offer me coffee, and I shrieked into the phone, “I overslept.  I’ve gotta get up!  I’ve gotta get up!  I’ve gotta get up!”  Then I hung up on him.  Everyone says they like my hair even though it is dirty and messy and needs to be cut. 

o Some brighter news, hopefully:  ACLU of Arkansas sues over ACT I.  Please, dear God, let this ridiculous discriminating act be overturned.  That would be a wonderful present in the new year. 

o OMFG, Valentine’s candy is out.  Now, my favorite holiday candy is Easter candy (the reason for the season), but I do love some Valentine’s candy too.  Hi, I’m a fat kid, pass me that fucking chocolate covered mushroom heart.  Also, hearts.  Valentine’s day appeals to my inner 6^th grade girl because of all the fucking hearts all over creation 

o In weirdo tales (yes, why do I draw freaks to me like ants to a dorito), my friend from India that always has the most beautiful turbans wraps on his head, came by to talk to me about my time off.  He was a doctor in India, and he is trying to get his degrees or whatever here I think.  Anyway, he asked about my monster baby on my ovary.  Then he found out they had removed my left ovary and said, “You are a bachelor right?”  I nodded.  “You need to meet a man.  You need to start having babies.  How old are you?  23?  24?”  “I’m 27.”  “You need to think about arranged marriages like in my country.  Do you see people?  You need to get married and start trying for a baby.”  Count on me to get in these sort of conversations with relative strangers.  I ended up in a conversation, this afternoon, about the economy with this perverted weasel guy that I don’t really like, but now I think I’ll talk to anyone concerning world events.  It gives me the opportunity to learn a lot.  It makes the modern world seem a little bit more solid to talk about its flaws.  Does that make sense?  I sat with Miss Australia, drinking her coffee, and she shook her head.  We commiserated on the poor mess of an America that Obama has been left to deal with; we are glad it’s not left up to us we say.

o World event wise:  I know we always support Israel, but this is disgustingly absurd.  Give me a break.  How can we ever give our support unequivocally to another country without risk of advantage being taken, etc.?  This makes absolutely no sense to me, and I don’t understand how we can pretend that the action Israel takes should be condoned.  Civilians are ceaselessly being targeted, and not only that, but supposedly there is also depleted uranium being found in victims.  Uranium has long term health effects.  How could we have blocked the UN’s attempts to impress a cease fire?  I cannot stand watching this on the news.  It horrifies me.   

o I went over to the Leadership crew’s office to finally tell the true horrifying story of my monster baby.  I did it to defend BB’s honor, as he had told them, and they had called b.s. on him.  They believe now; even if they are rightly, grossed out.  It could happen to you too.  Boys and girls can have monster babies. 

o I picked up the forms to get readmitted to school today.  I’m going to take some online classes in the fall I think, and then maybe some more next fall.  I still don’t know what I want to do.  The only thing I ever enjoyed in school were my African American history classes, and I was going to minor in that at one point.  I wish we had African American studies as a major.  I’d love to major in that, but you know, we don’t.  The only other thing I’ve been interested in during my life has been taxidermy or mortuary school.  I like the idea of working mostly alone and bringing something back to the splendor it had in life. 

--I am restless lately.  Maybe I will adopt my biological father’s lunacies through my bloodlines.  Can you make a conscious decision to go crazy?  My biological father is not crazy; he just has some eccentricities.  The weather irritates me.  I have my windows open, and it smells earthy and warm like during the seasons of the crop dusters.  It smells and feels like spring.  Time is playing tricks on me.  My senses can’t be relied on anymore.  Every time the wind blows I am confused.  What year is it?  Do I really exist?  Is this a memory from the future that I’m living? Am I somewhere old and gray and remembering this day?  Do you ever wonder those things?  Do you ever feel so intangible?  Like if you think too hard about it, you might just melt away into dust motes or something? 

--My favorite gay boyfriend paid me this compliment yesterday:  “Don't be sooo hard on yourself...u have the grace of the Dame Judy Dench....I think thats a good thing, I don't always know the right "gay boyfriend" things to say!!!"  I consider it one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

--My brother had friends over the other night, and I walked in and this girl was there with the most beautiful red hair.  I told her about it too.  I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, or I would’ve taken a picture of her.  That hair looked like goddess mermaid hair.  I rambled on this horrible “sage” advice for an hour because I couldn’t get that hair out of my mind.  It looked like if you could just bury your face in it, it would smell wonderful.  It looked like something from a dream. 

--I have been trying to moisturize and take care of my skin again, but I’m lazy about it.  I have really good skin.  It’s one of those things that people that are blessed with, be it whatever you may be blessed with, start to take for granted after 27 years I guess. I go to bed with makeup on all the time.  When I do take care of it, I can tell a difference though.  

--The images on the news are horrific.  It looks like a burning breathing hell.  I understand the protests in London.  I would pick up a sign in a second.  I don’t understand it, but I understand enough to know this isn’t right.  Children are screaming into the tv about other children being harmed at what expense.  This is what the world has come to…children picking up signs and speaking out to protect each other?  A world that can’t even save it’s own children?  I feel like I am in a Blake poem.