saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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I'm 28, going on 14.
Okay. Whew. Yes.
Hi.
I think I might have fallen unconscious for a few days there, huh? Sort of like when I eat Mexican food for lunch (like today), which almost always puts me into a foodalicious coma (like today), and then I spend the next two hours trying to figure out a place at work that I can curl up, catlike, into a tiny doughnut-sized fall of fur and proceed to be balls-out dedicated to sleep. Oh, the devotion. The commitment!
Because I am covered in fur. Not quite the size of a doughnut. And as for being balls-out anything�well, let me just leave that comment to your powers of open-minded creative license interpretation.
Now, wait. What did this have to do with me not writing for almost two weeks?
Damn. Piss. I can't remember.
Feel free to not remind me.
So, uh�the young one's birthday party has passed for another year. As usual, it was a blur of screaming, wild-eyed children, caught up in the lust of a 150% sugar bloodstream. And of party favors which are clasped with glee, then promptly broken and/or declared, "STUPID" and used as projectile weapons in a spontaneous contest to see who can blind their partymates first. And the experience of a shrieking, skin-flaying, gale-force wind caused by two birthday kids eviscerating gifts and clutching the innards as the spoils of war, barking their triumph in an eerie, keening song of doooooom.
Huh. Bet you didn't know that an eight-year-old's birthday party could be so fraught with carnage. Rated R, for sure.
So that's fun.
Done with the last final at school. Free for the summer. Someone give me a conveyor belt serving up a constant stream of cocktails. 'Cause I've got an Alice Cooper ditty stuck in my head (duh), and being unconscious seems to be the only way to rid myself of it.
Also, today I was told that I was "acting like a teenager."
I took that very well, I think, taking it in, absorbing it, and analyzing the motivation for such a comment. By closing the curtains in my room, locking the door, playing The Smiths on my CD player, and weeping softly wrapped up in my comforter. Then I called my best friend and we met up to paint each other's toenails.
I know how to take criticism. IdoIdoIdo.
4:21 p.m. - 2003-05-02
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