saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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Dooooon't make a mess.
I have an issue. But the problem in this case is that I cannot go into the details of The Issue in this here diary because…well, just because.
Because I am convinced that this is not the place for such silliness.
Because I am, to quote a good friend, "A sweet, squishy-centered candy, but no one knows that for sure because they cannot partake of the goodness without cracking a tooth on the hard candy shell."
Because I respect others' privacy more than I respect my own.
Apparently.
Let's just suffice it to say that my stomach hurts. And I miss someone sometimes. Sometimes. Every weekend, sometimes. But there is nothing I can do about it except hope that The Issue will work itself out. And that – since I think it's all worth it, ultimately – sooner or later I'll know that someone else thinks it's worth it, too.
I'm…uh…just sayin'.
For those of you who are confused (which, in this case, would be all of you), but are compelled to comment in my guestbook, feel free to choose your response from the following, as needed:
1 – "Louise, baby, I dig you. But for the love of god, shut up."
2 – "I never know what the hell you're talking about. It disturbs and intrigues me. Therefore, I shall begin sending you incessant fan mail accompanied by my toenail clippings and pictures of me naked with farm animals."
3 – "NICE SITE!!! I RILLY ENJOYED IT. CUM VISIT ME AT WWW.DELECTABLESKANK.COM!!!"
4 – "Write about your dreams. Write about your work restroom. Write about phlegm. Just don't write any more of this shit. Thank you cooperate."
Have at it.
Carry on (and it certainly was carrying on), my wayward son.
In other news:
* I'm going to the Reverend Horton Heat concert. In case you were all just dying to know. Next Thursday. Come join me if you can. I'll welcome you with open arms and press you to my bosom until you almost lose consciousness. Who could possibly resist such an offer?
* Eddie Izzard must have been created in a Petri dish out of a slice of my brain. When I watch his standup acts, I find myself squelching the urge to speak directly to the television, adding my own random thoughts to his monologue. Actually, that could just be because I'm completely fucking mad, but let's give me the benefit of the doubt, yes?
* And I'm completely exhausted.
Big news, I know. Take it on a full stomach. Do not mix with alcohol. Do not operate heavy machinery.
I care.
10:35 a.m. - 2003-02-07
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