i just have a few things to say about WALL*E. 1) OH. MY. GOD!!!!!!!! 2) HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!1!! 3) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHF:ADLISJG:DGH:DLHG:EAGHE:O!!!!!!!

when i'm 54, like my mother before me at this exact moment...where will you all be in my life? thinking thoughts: this time in my life will one day end/this time in my life is doing nothing but ending = deepest sadness. there is nothing that makes me feel more like me like everyone i know.

my old bedroom is breezy (with the aid of a brand new super fan) and my parents keep my face cool with bags of peas and blueberries. my dad looks adorable with his new haircut. vicodin helps the just-punched-in-the-nose-five-times-while-doing-flips-underwater feeling. i rest falsely: i still hear everything that is going on around me but somehow still have vivid dreams. i walked back to my apartment (around the block) to look at my beautiful bouquet of flowers and feed my cats and back again, only to realize that the antibiotics gave me a sunburn. cruel. what a cruel, silly joke to play. that, and my return key STILL does not work: i am forced into paragraph hell.

planes are flying in circles, probably because thats the shape of the earth, probably because six hours ahead is the future! come back come back come back! even my BLOG is lonely!

things broken on my computer are the return key, the letter i (i have to copy and paste it) and both shift keys. no more exclamation points or ichat.

there are three types of mouthwashes in my bathroom
there are three types of dishsoaps on the sink
there are three two types of cats in the living room
there are four golden girls still living today
there are one too many minutes spent alone always, i say
there is one porch to sit on
there are two chairs on the porch

goodbye, asshole

Ol' blue bastard! You were a curse from the beginning, and there was never a day that passed that I didn't think about how much I loathed you.
Oh, sure. You made it ALL THE WAY to Brooklyn and back; big whoop! All I can remember are those right hand turns that you so lovingly stalled out on, without any regard for my safety: entrance ramps to the 33, the tallest one-lane stretch of the Scajaquada, or just out-and-about in dangerous neighborhoods. To think I put my one and only Kit Bowman sticker on your bumper, you filthy beast. You horror! Rot in the depths of junkyard piles with the rest of your cursed comrades.