12.Apr.2003

there are no songs in my head

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[....]

Thank you for the greetings, guys. I appreciate it.

Despite my actual birth day being utter shite on the proximity front, I am extremely grateful to have loving cronies spread strategically throughout the globe.

I, at least, made Cheryl happy.

There were no drinks. There was no party. No one in the state of Oklahoma called. I assume it's my fault for having poor taste.

The familial celebration is tonight.

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Malachi's nick-name for next week is "Colin".

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I want a gin and tonic.

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"Drunken Bacchanal" is supposed to be redundant, like, "Happy Fantastic Wonderful Happiness." You know. Excitement in repetition.

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I want the fuck out of here. I want to start out very poor in a separate state I love, merely to arrange my chromosomes in human form, instead of wake up despondent here. And work here. And detest it here. I see no point here. I haven't for a while.

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The Beast is wonderful; he purchased me something for which I stated I would sell my right ovary. I opened the package the other day and have been listening to the Heathers Soundtrack since. Thank you, Beast. You are one of the most thoughtful individuals I've ever had the pleasure to slam against.

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There's something very bi-polar about this entry. I don't think it's supposed to come off as a textual tidal wave of Saint Martyr and F�hrer Angst.

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time & machine